Page 47 of Everything's Better With You
Sandy’s motivation was purely out of love and devotion to his older brother. Also, he was just a whiz with technology and gadgets.
Randy was more like Leslie in that his charm opened doors for him and he had the interpersonal skills to create a huge network of friends, investors, and influencers.
Together, his brothers were his dream team for this fundraising challenge. Joe didn’t have a chance, and while that should have tickled Leslie from a competition standpoint, he had to admit that he was thrilled at the prospect of winning the wager. Because truthfully, Leslie would be the ultimate winner whether his team beat the cheerleaders in fundraising or not. He had Joe here and that was everything.
“You should get some rest,” Sandy said softly as if he were ready to have his head bitten off. Leslie wasn’t an ogre by any means, but he sometimes took out his frustration over his physical limitations at home and he hated that about himself. He’d had a terrible example from their father and though he’d worked hard to be different, sometimes the apple hugged the tree roots.
“Yeah, I’m headed to bed. Listen, guys, this thing with Joe—”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Sandy said quietly. “We just want you to be happy.”
Well, that was the thing. Why couldn’t he be happy? Joe was here, they were having fun, why couldn’t he just relax and enjoy the spoils of the last fifteen years? He’d been patient, he’d bided his time, hoping that the foundation he’d built with Joe would blossom into something real, more permanent. Now that it was actually beginning to be…something, Leslie was trying not to panic. Would he have enough time to truly enjoy Joe? Would he have enough time?
Fifteen
Joe
It was a good thing there was no drought in Iowa, because Joe planned to spend the next several hours standing under a hose. It was the only way he was going to survive the brutal heat.
Marti’d had the brilliant idea to do a car wash on Sunday, when the college kids were moving in and literally everyone in town would have to pass by the town’s only gas station on their way to the three churches. “They’ll see us on their way and come back by after service. It’s not supposed to rain for a few days. It’s perfect!”
And of course Terrell had helped modernize the car wash by posting it all over the college’s social media, tagging everyone he knew in Missouri who wouldn’t mind driving a couple of hours on a boring Sunday to get their cars washed by hot guys, gals, and nonbinary pals. Joe capitalized on his massive social media following by running a live feed and a crowdfunding link. Folks could get autographed pictures or personalized video messages for making donations. He could answer athread of “ask me anything” questions while shirtless in the hot sun while lovingly washing cars.
An hour into the car wash, they had a line of cars as far as the eye could see. Traffic on the two-lane main road through town was at a standstill. The deputies were trying to reroute through-traffic onto residential streets to go around the mess, and three news vans, TMZ, and Buzzfeed had been dispatched. Joe ended up doing more interviews and signing autographs than washing cars, but then he got to work and let Marti take over schmoozing with folks. Around noon, a minivan showed up carrying three of his former mentees fromDance Machineready to join in the fun. They lived within a four-hour-drive radius and Joe promised them hotel, food, and personal coaching at a later date in exchange for their appearances. They came dressed for washing cars and the cameras ate up their hamming around, splashing each other, and flirting with customers. A few lucky standersby even got dance lessons.
Joe kept the sunscreen on, passing bottles around and reminding his ten squad members and fifteen hopefuls that stunting would be painful with sunburns. He stayed hydrated, ate a couple of protein bars, and tried to conserve his energy.
Until Leslie showed up in his giant truck around noon. His completely mud-covered monster.
“So this was your brilliant plan,” Les said, grinning and shaking his head as he slid down out of the cab.
“Like I said, cheerleaders have been fundraising forever. We got this.”
“Really. All right, I admit it’s a nice idea. You might make a grand today—”
“We’re up to thirteen thousand eight hundred, Coach Judd.” Terrell came over and handed Joe his phone. “Your manager just texted you with numbers from the online fundraiser.” Terrell turned and acted surprised to see Les. “Oh, hi there, Coach Payton.”
“Simmons,” Les shook his hand. “My offer is still open. I got your stats from your high school coach. Seems a pity to not have you on my defense this year.”
Terrell kicked up his chin. “I told my parents after high school Iwanted to pursue dancing. No offense, Coach, but I never felt real comfortable on a football team.”
Leslie's smile faded and he took on a terrifying expression. Terrell took a step back, bumping into Joe.
“I do not tolerate that kind of nonsense, son. I think you understand why.”
“Y-yes sir,” Terrell said. “And I appreciate that. But if it’s all the same, sir, dancing is my passion, and I’m afraid that a football injury could kill both potential careers.”
Joe caught the shift in Leslie from fierce to frightened and he intervened and he breathed easier. He’d never considered Leslie scary at all, but then he’d seen the soft gooey inside that no one else got to see. It was sometimes easy to forget that Leslie was raised on one of the roughest and most violent sports on the planet.
“Thanks for the update, Terrell,” he said, squeezing the kid’s arm. “Can you go share the numbers with your mom?”
“Sure, coach. And thank you, Coach Payton.”
Leslie nodded, tried to look pleasant, but his jaw muscle twitched.
“I can’t believe you would try to poach one of my prospects, Coach Payton.” Joe tried to lighten the mood, and it worked. Either his joke or the way his wet trunks cling to his pelvis. Or the fact that he was shirtless. There was no way he was going to chance getting a farmer tan.
Leslie groaned. “You’re trouble.” Then he sighed. “How much would it take to get Coach Judd to climb up there and personally wash my…pickup?”
