What Heroes Do

DEWEY MIGHThave missed the whole thing going down if Lena hadn’t called him when he’d been at home, watching Masterpiece Theater and researching the artwork in the background of the Georgian-era show to see if they were the right period. Some people followed actors, Dewey followed art. So sue him.

“I refuse to work overtime,” he grumbled, hitting pause on the show and scowling at the television. Somebody had slipped a Thomas Kincaid onto the set of a show he actually really admired, and he was torn between being livid and being highly amused.

“It’s not about work, moron. It’s about your knight in shining armor. Hit local news right now—it’s live!”

She rattled off the network, and he changed the channel, surprised by her urgency. Sure enough, there on the screen was his hero, handsome face unusually stern, brown eyes with the laugh-line crinkles literally blazing with anger.

The chyron read Local Soccer Coach Defends Gay Player, and Dewey’s heart thudded to his feet. Oh God. Everything Trey did not want for sports—or his kids—and here it was.

The video kicked in just as a voice from a crowd of angry parents rang out.

“Shouldn’t we have a say about whether or not our children interact with kids who live this lifestyle?”

Trey’s eyes widened. “No!” he said, surprising not only Dewey but obviously everybody in the crowd. “You interact with people from the LGBTQ community every day. They serve your food or sell you clothes. Some of them even teach your kids and police your streets. You don’t know they’re gay or bi or trans or whatever because it’s none of your business. They’re just people. You work with them, enjoy ’er conversation—some of them you even watch on TV, and you don’t know because it’s not your job to know, and it’s not their job to tell you. They’re doing what you’re doing. We’re all just living our lives. That’s all these kids want to do. Play soccer. Live their lives. How dare you try to stop them.”

The speech was impassioned and eloquent, and Dewey wondered if he was the only one who had caught the tiniest error, the most infinitesimal blurring between “our” and “their” before “conversation.” And then right when Dewey registered where the interview was taking place, the newswoman said, “This coach is a staunch supporter of gay rights, given his earlier speech today,” and the screen cut away to Trey giving another soundbite from—oh wow.

Was that before he’d even come in to talk to Dewey?

Suddenly Dewey understood why Trey had gazed at him like a man dying of thirst would gaze at water.

And suddenly Dewey wanted to be looked at that way again.

DEWEY DIDN’Tactually have a car. He lived in Midtown, near the college, walked to work, and pretty much the only reason he could afford to split rent with Ceej was that he didn’t pay for gas or parking. He tagged a rideshare, which dropped him off at the middle school he’d seen on TV as the last light faded from the soccer field. Dewey got out and tipped his driver just as he saw Trey and another stockier man trudging up to the parking lot from the field, each bearing a duffel bag full of uniforms and a big net bag full of soccer balls and other equipment.

“Gah!” the shorter guy muttered. “I don’t know about you, but after a hard day of social activism, I like to go home to the wife and get roaring drunk. How about you?”

“No wife,” Trey said dryly.

“Well, get yourself a husband,” the other guy told him. “After today you earned it.”

Trey glanced up to where Dewey was waiting by his SUV, and it was like the lights went on with his smile.

“Maybe I did,” he said. Then he paused. “Do you… do you think I should have, you know…?”

His assistant coach, probably, and friend—Dewey would have put money on it—turned to face him. “No,” he said softly. “You did what you set out to do. Made it about the kids and the game. It’s like you told them all at the end. They don’t deserve to know anybody’s personal life. This is about kids playing soccer, and shame on them for making it about anything else.” Then the other man—plain and middle-aged—gave a smile that could explain the happy wife at home. “It would have been a fun fight. And I swear to God, if anybody tries to make it a thing if you start dating, me and Mike will burn the club down. Half his kids are queer—he’s at a board meeting right now, showing the entire board where diversity is written into the bylaws. And he should know—he built the fuckin’ club.”

Trey laughed a little and nodded. “Thanks, Don.”

“My pleasure, Coach. Go talk to your guy there—he’s being patient.”

Trey’s eyes fell on Dewey again, and oh, that smile! Quiet, self-contained, saving all that banked heat for Dewey.

“Hey,” Dewey said softly as Trey approached. He reached out for an equipment bag so Trey could open the back of the SUV for them. He made sure to brush the back of Trey’s hand with his thumb. Not obvious, but not ashamed either. Private.

“Hey,” Trey said with a tired sigh. “What, uhm—”

“Not often you see the guy you’re almost dating on the news,” Dewey murmured. “And, you know, it looked like you could use a friend.”

Trey closed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah,” he said and sighed.

Dewey searched his mind for something to say or do that would lighten the moment, and what came to him was his stupid job. “Have you, uhm, eaten?”

Trey chuckled. “I have not,” he said in surprise. “And you know, it’s been a helluva day!”

“I know,” Dewey said ingenuously. “I saw it on the news.”

Trey laughed again and walked around the SUV to open the door for Dewey before returning to the driver’s side to get in himself.

Dewey stared at him as he slid in, thinking about how tired he must be and about the… the gallantry he’d just displayed.

And suddenly he didn’t want to wait for the movies Friday night. He wanted to date this guy forever, starting now. He wanted to see if he was grumpy in the morning or if he ever wore anything besides coaching sweats or what he wanted for dinner.

“Did you want to stop somewhere?” Dewey asked as Trey pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic. “My treat!”

“I’ve actually got this casserole my aunt Nan made me that I’ve been looking forward to all day,” Trey said. “She goes on a bunch of business trips at the beginning of September, so before she left she made enough for a week, and I’m supposed to save some for my sister, Debra, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt.”

“Ooh, that’s wicked,” Dewey said. “I like it! But didn’t you tell me she lived, like, a block away and lets herself into your apartment on the regular?”

Trey grinned. “You remember that, huh?”

“You’ve been the highlight of my week,” Dewey told him frankly. “And there I was, thinking, ‘Hey, I’ve got this date with this really awesome guy on Friday,’ and you show up on TV, and”—he let some of the brightness drop from his voice—“I didn’t want you to be alone tonight. I mean, I hope the date is still a go, but tonight….”

Dewey’s hand was resting on the console between them, and Trey took one hand off the wheel to cover it, stroking the back with his thumb. Dewey’s body hummed with pleasure, with comfort, at that small contact.

“Dinner,” Trey said with satisfaction. “I’ve got Nan’s apple crumble for dessert, and then we can watch mindless television and see if the cat will attack our toes.”

“Is that his hobby?” Dewey asked. “I like animals with a hobby.”

“It’s his obsession,” Trey told him seriously. “Beckham eats feet—no exceptions.”

“And how do your other dates like sacrificing their toes?” Dewey laughed.

Trey grew sober again. “I wasn’t kidding about not dating in the last couple of years.”

“Was this what you were afraid of?” Dewey asked, and before Trey could answer, Trey’s phone rang, and Trey hit the Speaker button.

“Hey, Mike,” Trey said. “Don and I just wrapped it up.”

“Yeah, I know. The press hit me after they hit you. Good job by the way.”

“Thank you. And thanks for the backup.”

The voice—a warm, sort of throaty dad rumble—grew irritated. “Bullshit. It was all complete and total bullshit. Of course we backed you up.” There was a sigh, and then Mike said, “Hey, Don said something about your boyfriend showing up to say hi. Are you dating?”

Trey rolled his eyes. “Seriously? That just happened. And, uhm,” Dewey felt his surreptitious glance in the dropping twilight. “Yeah. Worst possible time, I know—”

“Oh, who cares. You’re dating. That’s awesome. Try to stay dating until the soccer banquet. My wife starts fussing at me about making sure my coaches are happy. I want to get her off my back.”

“Will do,” Trey murmured.

“And Trey?”

“Yessir?”

“I’ll be at your next game. If there’s press or parents, I’ll deal with them. You made the point about this being about the kids playing soccer, and it was pitch perfect. If I’m not there with the board, showing a united front, it’s going to be about singling you out of the herd like an antelope, and you’re our best coach. No dead antelope on my watch, okay?”

Dewey laughed, and the dad voice got excited.

“Is that him? Are you Trey’s friend?”

“Yessir,” Dewey said.

“He’s a total keeper. I’m serious. All this hassle is worth it. Okay, I’m bailing. You guys take it easy. Trey?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to obsess, and definitely don’t let them get you down. I know it’s got to be hard, particularly in your position. But like I said, you’re our most qualified coach, and your kids would die for you. Hang in there.”

“Thanks, Mike,” Trey murmured.

The line went dead, and the quiet alt-rock station Trey had going before the phone rang filled the car.

“Wow,” Dewey said. “Nice guy.”

“The best. Sort of the ultimate in dad, you know? Harold, the coach at the college, is all soccer all the time, but this is a kid’s club, even though we’re in comp, the competitive branch of it. Mike’s kids are mostly grown, but he coaches a team because he likes being part of the community, and he’s good at the dad thing.”

Dewey hmmed. “What’s that like? I mean, I have a single mom. She lives up in Oregon with all the cousins, right?”

“Oregon’s nice,” Trey said, sounding surprised. “Did you move from there, or did she move from here?”

“She moved from here,” Dewey said with a shrug. “She came down here for my dad’s job, they split, she stayed long enough for me to get into college and make it on my own, and then, well, she missed her family. She texts all the time. And she’s a riot too. She has, like, three small dogs, two giant dogs, and an untold number of cats, and they all follow her to the bathroom. I get pictures in the morning, from the throne, of an entire menagerie staring at the camera. She calls it ‘Poop Theater,’ and I tell her I save them all for the commitment hearings, but really, I just like to know she’s happy.”

Trey laughed like he was supposed to, and then, much to Dewey’s surprise, he answered the original question. “It’s good having a dad who… you know. Dads. Does the dad thing. Asks you if you’ve eaten. Makes sure you’ve got water. Visits your team when they’re playing. My own parents were… well, they worked hard. Really hard. But sometimes that leaches the joy out of people, I think. They were always so hard on Nan, who moved to California to do flaky bohemian things, and Debra and I always thought she was so glamorous. So when I got recruited by the college—and then by the team—here in Sacramento, the first thing I did was get me and Debra tickets from Indiana to visit Nan. And she was—” He laughed. “—as advertised. She runs a crystal and tarot store and does readings, but you know what? She makes money, and she supports local artists, and people come in wanting reassurance about their lives, and she helps them. Debra got a scholarship out here for business when it was her turn, and we both moved within a block of each other because we wanted family—but we wanted Nan and her son, Pete, who’s like the brother I never had. So Mike is like the dad who gives me lessons for when I have a family of my own. I have Nan and I have Mike, and I get to see how other families work.” He gave a short laugh. “Which given I’m thirty-three is sort of sad, you know? I mean, I’m behind on the curve. But….”

“But what?”

“I wanted people in my life who remember how to laugh. Your smile, when I walked into the café….” He shook his head.

“Made you glad your date bailed?” Dewey said.

“Sure,” Trey said, laughing a little.

And then it hit Dewey, the thing Trey had not talked about when remembering his “joyless” parents.

“What about you coming out?” he asked softly. “My mom was fine with it—sort of excited, actually, like it gave her hippie cred when she moved to Oregon. How were your folks?”

Trey grunted. “Three guesses,” he said. “I’ll give you a hint.”

“You haven’t been back to Indiana since you came out?” Dewey hazarded, suddenly sad for this new friend.

“Neither has Debra. And Nan didn’t say as much, but I suspect Mom stopped talking to her once she found out Nan knew.” Trey’s voice was resigned, but Dewey knew that sound—a lot of his friends had it in their voices when they spoke of their parents.

“Ouch,” he said. Pain shared was pain lessened? Maybe. Maybe he wanted Trey to know Dewey heard what he didn’t say.

The hand on top of his tightened, their fingers lacing together for a moment before Trey returned both hands to the wheel.

“It wasn’t unexpected,” Trey said, sounding so self-contained Dewey wondered if he’d ever hear how awful it had really been.

“So,” he said now into the silence, “we have some of your aunt’s casserole, and then we watch movies and play with your cat. And this doesn’t count as a date.”

Trey’s chuckle sounded much less stressed. “Of course not. The real date is the movies Friday.”

“Hmm….” Dewey pretended to ponder. “So do my breaks at the coffee shop count as dates?”

“Why are we so obsessed with counting?” Trey laughed. “I mean, seriously, what’s the deal?”

“Well, ’cause usually the third date means sex, and I just want to see where we are.” Dewey meant to be snarky when he said it—you had sex on the third date, ha-ha, everybody knew that, and hey, it’s not like they didn’t both have a past, right? So, yeah! Sex on the third date!

But the sudden rush of breath from Trey’s mouth sounded like it had been kicked out, and Dewey was brought forcibly back to everything Trey had been through tonight.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly feeling like he had to be the one comforting. “I meant no stress tonight. I was kidding. It’s been a while for both of us—I get it. Tonight’s climax will happen when your cat eats our toes.”

“It’ll be thrilling, I promise,” Trey told him earnestly, and that made Dewey laugh, so he thought they’d be okay.

“VERY… MODERN,”Dewey said when he saw the inside of Trey’s house, and he saw Trey wince. The neighborhood was nice; not too upscale, but Trey’s house had pretty yellow siding and sported a nice little lawn, some lawn ornaments in the shape of black cats, and some trimmed shrubs in front of the porch. Inside, it looked like an IKEA store had marched in and assumed formation. The furniture was dark wood with very square lines, and the rugs on the equally dark hardwood floor were cream Berber style—tough and warm and spare. The blinds were black and the couch was off-white, and if it wasn’t for the bright burgundy throw on the back of the couch that had Republic worked into it and a tropical-fish tank in a recessed part of the wall by the couch, the monochrome would have gotten oppressive.

Trey glanced around and grimaced. “It shows the imagination of a termite,” he said. “That is a direct quote from my aunt Nan, my cousin Pete, and my sister. You can be honest. It’s boring as hell.”

“It’s… functional,” Dewey attempted.

“Nice try. The best thing about it is the furniture is comfy. Go sit and I’ll get us some dinner while you find a good movie.”

“Mm… what counts as a good movie?” Dewey asked suspiciously. “Something with lots of subtitles, weird filters on the camera, and a way of making you feel like all life is meaningless?”

“Ugh. God. No,” Trey replied with gratifying horror. “Explosions. Muscles. Wisecracks. And if there’s an animal, it’s absolutely imperative that the animal not die. Not the dog, not the cat, not the weasel, and not the giant gorilla, which means King Kong is right out!”

Dewey cackled and started checking out the streaming services for some of his favorite B movies. He pulled up Rampage. While he was doing that, he saw Trey was moving about the open-plan kitchen, getting the casserole dish out of the fridge and dishing up two portions to put in the microwave. When those were started, he pulled out some salad mix, and Dewey was charmed by the idea that he’d offered fast food or even a restaurant but was getting home cooking with greens instead.

“I take it you’ve had dates try the giant monkey death movie with you before?” Dewey asked, hitting pause so Trey didn’t miss the beginning.

“I had this one boyfriend who thought all movies have to ‘improve the mind and spirit,’” Trey intoned. “No. Absolutely not. Some of my favorite movies will never improve me, but boy do they improve my mood.”

“The Birdcage,” Dewey said, getting it. “I’m sure it commits all sorts of offenses in this day and age, but I can’t butter my own damned bread without screaming, ‘Oh God, I pierced the toast!’”

Trey’s laughter was nearly infectious. The fact that Dewey sort of invaded his life on this super stressful night to get him to smile seemed less like an act of kindness and more like a public service. Trey Novak had to laugh. It was a moral imperative.

“Spy,” Trey said. “With Melissa McCarthy. My sister made me watch it, and now it’s my favorite rainy-day movie. I can quote entire chunks of it.” He gave a girlish sigh. “I love it so.”

It was Dewey’s turn to laugh. “Excellent. I think I picked a good one, then. It’s stupid, it’s got the Rock in it, and the big monkey doesn’t die.”

Trey went to the fridge and rooted around. “Beer, soda, milk—”

“Most of the time it’s milk,” Dewey said, “but tonight I think I can have a beer.”

“My sarcasm detector is glitchy,” Trey told him, using a bottle opener to remove the caps. “Does this mean you drink a lot of beer, or is this a treat for you?”

Dewey had to laugh. “My roommate is a bartender,” he said, “in this terrible uberprofessional watering hole that’s balls-to-the-walls investment bankers and lawyers. I mean, if I was trying to marry to improve my social status, I’d be all over that place like a barracuda, but as it is, Ceej—CJ, my roommate—comps me free beer, and I have an excuse to leave the house.”

“But you do like milk?” Trey said. “Because it’s all I’ve got for breakfast.”

Dewey gave him the side-eye as he approached to put the two bottles on coasters on the black lacquered cube-shaped coffee table. “Presume much?”

Trey shook his head. “I swear, I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” he said. “I … you know. If it gets late and you want to crash here, I can take you home in the morning. I….” He bit his lip as behind him the microwave dinged with their dinner. “If I don’t say this later, or if I fall asleep on you because it’s really been a hell of a day? I saw you waiting by my car tonight, and I almost cried I was so happy. You were already the best part of my day, and—how’d you know where I was anyway?”

“They had the location on the news,” Dewey said. “And the chyron said ‘live,’ so I took a chance.”

“Well, that was hero stuff,” Trey told him. “Just so you know. You’ve set the bar pretty high for a relationship now. I’ll try to make the jump.”

“You need to go get our food so I can clutch at my heart yearningly behind your back,” Dewey said, not even really kidding. “I don’t do well with praise.”

“Too bad,” Trey said, returning to the kitchen anyway. “I’m that kind of coach.”

“How’s that work in bed?” Dewey asked before he could stop himself. “You’re banging away chanting, ‘Yes! Yes! You can do it! Just a little more effort, come on team!’”

Trey stumbled and caught himself on the kitchen island, then stayed there, shoulders shaking, while Dewey had a deep, deep moment of remorse.

“Oh God. I did it again, didn’t I? I said the thing that will end the relationship. Oh dear God, my mouth—”

Trey didn’t answer. He simply buried his head in his arms on the counter and held up a finger, clearly trying to contain his laughter. After a moment, Dewey got up from the couch and moved to the microwave, thinking that the counters were dark tile while the cabinets were white. He found a drawer full of cloth placemats and set up their dinner, being sure to dish up the salad Trey had prepared while they were talking. With a little more hunting, he had forks, and he picked up both services to ferry to the table.

Trey was still laughing, the sounds muffled by his shoulders, his entire body shaking with what Dewey had to admit was probably some repressed hysteria from what had been a real shitter of a day.

He leaned over to murmur, “I’ll be watching TV while you finish there, okay?”

Trey nodded and gave a weak thumbs-up while the last of the laughter shuddered itself out and Dewey made himself comfortable on the couch with his portion of casserole.

A few moments later Trey had hold of himself, and he joined Dewey, still wiping his eyes.

“Sorry,” he choked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Totally my fault,” Dewey said humbly. “I… I don’t know what to—”

The kiss on his cheek surprised him for a number of reasons, not least because he’d had no idea a kiss on the cheek could be sexy.

“Thanks,” Trey said softly. “I needed that. You’re perfect. Don’t change.”

Then he took the remote from its spot on the coffee table and hit Play, and for a moment all they did was eat and watch the blessedly stupid movie.

THE CATwas stealthy. Dewey was impressed. For about an hour, they ate, murmured things like, “Poor big monkey!” or “Go, Dwayne, go!” at the screen, and gradually, bit by bit, leaned on each other a little more.

Trey got up when they were done eating and put the dishes in the washer, and Dewey—who had slipped off his tennies early on—positioned himself on the couch so he could big-spoon the uberfit athlete who seemed to need comfort right now like nobody’s business.

Trey paused when he got back to the living room. “So,” he said skeptically, “it’s like that, is it?”

“Younger guy doesn’t get to be big spoon?”

That adorable flush—Dewey could practically smell it coming off the bigger man in body-heated, soap-and-sweat-scented waves.

“I just… uhm… usually big spoon?”

Dewey’s low, throaty chuckle seemed to surprise them both. “When we’re naked, you can big-spoon away. But… you know. I showed up to be a friend.” He leered and gestured to the vee between his legs. “Come here and be my freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!”

Trey laughed some more and to Dewey’s eternal gratitude did what was requested. He leaned his weight backward against Dewey’s body and let Dewey drape his arms over Trey’s shoulders. Dewey could actually feel the stress, the exhaustion, seeping from Trey’s body as he relaxed, and Dewey smiled to himself and pressed Play again on their movie.

And four, three, two, one—attack!

A ten-pound void swept in from the cosmos, jumped on Dewey’s foot, and tried to eat his big toe, and as Dewey yelped and tried to flail, it fled back to the darkness of the hallway from whence it came.

“Oh my God!” Dewey gasped as Trey’s body shook in his arms. “The fuck was that?”

“Beckham,” Trey said, laughing. “You got off easy. I had to shove a catnip mouse between him and Debra’s arm once. She was bleeding by the time he was done with her!”

“Wow! What a monster.” Dewey was pleased. “I love him. Where are his toys? I may want to torment him in the future.”

“In my office,” Trey said, nodding down the hall. “So if I’m working in there and he gets bored, I can play with him for a while to get him off my back.”

“Good idea.” Dewey actually stopped the “I can see how this place could be boring” before it came out of his mouth.

“What?” Trey asked, half turning in his arms.

“Nothing—watch your movie.”

“No, pause it. What were you going to say? I could practically hear it.”

Well, ask and you shall receive. “Do you not like art? Movie posters? Art? I mean… at all? You don’t even have any sports posters in here. I mean, you seem like a normal person, but I gotta say, this is sort of psychotic.”

Trey laughed softly. “I never really thought about it,” he said. “I guess, yeah, the walls are sort of empty. Why? You volunteering to fill them?”

“Ooh….” The way Dewey’s nerve endings lit up was almost as good as sex. “Would you let me? I could go into thrift stores and get some prints and… please? Please let me get you some art for your walls. I swear, I could make it good. Clean pieces, not too much clutter, straightedged frames, bold colors. Some Toulouse Lautrec posters, Picasso….” He could see it already.

“Sure,” Trey said, and while he might not have known what a big deal this was, Dewey did. This was trust, and hey, this guy just gave it away! Dewey was so desperate for something to do with his degree, the thought of decorating Trey’s apartment made him want to cry.

And the excuse to have a project, to spend more time in this clean naked space and in the company of a man who was not afraid to be the little spoon—that was wonderful.That was worth smiling about.

“Thank you,” Dewey murmured happily, kissing Trey’s temple.

“Mm…. Thank you,” Trey murmured. “It’s a nice thing to do. I’m not sure if you know how much it means to me that you’d ask.”

“Shh…,” Dewey said. “Let’s make sure the big monkey doesn’t die.”

And just as they settled down to watch the movie again, Beckham stormed over the couch and had hatesex with Dewey’s foot while he laughed and yelped, because it did tickle and hurt, and then disappeared back into the depths of the hallway again.

Best date Dewey could remember in a long time.

THEY FELLasleep in front of the second movie, and it wasn’t until then that Dewey was aware of what Trey had studiously avoided telling him.

This entire idyllic evening hadn’t been without cost.

Dewey woke from his curl on the couch, the burgundy afghan thrown over his shoulders, to see Trey at his feet at the other end of the couch, nodding off in front of his laptop.

“What’s doing?” he rasped, glancing at the plain black-and-white clock on the wall across the room.

“Emails,” Trey yawned. “Mike told me to answer them in the morning, but—”

Dewey sat up and stretched. “Then do that,” he said bluntly, yawning and stretching some more and then sitting next to Trey to peer over his shoulder. “And stop looking at that,” he continued, reaching up to close the laptop and take it gently away.

“Trending on social media,” Trey muttered.

“That’s a hellscape anyway,” Dewey said. “You know that. Whole thing is bots talking to bots with a few crazies thrown in. Your bosses back you. And….” This hit him. “Isn’t your college team winning this season?”

Trey smiled at him. “Yeah. Did you look that up?”

“Damned straight,” Dewey said proudly. “Hey, my best date in a year sort of wanders into my coffee shop and starts chatting me up. What do they say? Opportunity is ten percent luck and ninety percent preparation? You’d better believe I prepared!”

Trey turned his head, still laughing softly, and kissed him.

His lips were smooth and sweet, and when Dewey made a sound of want, fueled by the hour on the couch with Trey’s warm, firm body along his, he pushed the advantage.

Dewey found himself lying on the couch again, this time with Trey’s body covering his, their lips fusing, tentative at first, then deeper and deeper and deeper. Dewey let out a soft sigh and scooted his hips, spreading his legs to accommodate Trey’s muscular thighs and bring them closer together. Trey answered his soft sigh with a moan and rippled his hips until Dewey felt a surge of hard length against the crease of his jeans.

Dewey kept kissing him, shoving one hand under his sweatshirt and rubbing it up his back, and suddenly Trey rolled off the couch and stood, eyes rolling in confusion while he gulped air.

“What?” Dewey gasped, glancing around wildly for the intruder that could have interrupted that amazing kiss. “What?”

“I’m sticky,” Trey confessed, grimacing. “That’s the best kiss I’ve had in three years, and I’m sticky. Sweaty from the field. My balls are sweaty. And I really like you, and this isn’t even a date!”

Dewey chuckled helplessly. “And people say I’m blunt. I must be catching!”

“I’d love it if you were,” Trey said, his voice apologetic, “but honestly, I keep thinking about sweaty balls and chafing and how badly I don’t want you to experience any of that the first time we’re naked.”

And now Dewey cackled, throwing an arm over his eyes. “God, you’re adorable. So should I catch that Uber home?”

“Stay,” Trey told him unexpectedly. “Let me shower. Sleep next to me. It felt….” His voice choked, and he gave a sheepish shrug. “It felt so good to hold you.”

Dewey stood and moved to where Trey was still wobbling a little on his feet. He was a little shorter, but that felt good too, and he leaned into Trey’s space and slid his arms around his waist.

“I stand by it,” he said softly. “You’re adorable. And a gentleman. And we’re both beat. Let me use the bathroom first.”

“New toothbrushes are on the towel rack by the toiletries,” Trey said seriously, and Dewey cupped his cheek.

“So close to perfect,” he practically hummed. “Give me ten minutes, then the bathroom’s all yours, and I’ll be in bed and probably asleep by the time you get there. And because I know you’re a gentleman, feel free to hold me close and kiss the nape of my neck and make me dream about you.”

“The nape of your neck?” Trey asked suspiciously. “That’s oddly specific.”

Dewey wrinkled his nose. “It’s a sweet spot,” he admitted. “And now you know that about me. Imagine what you’ll find out by Friday.”

“Our date,” Trey said, and Dewey smiled so broadly the apples of his cheeks squeezed his eyes shut a little.

“Yup. Our first date.”

Trey grinned back. “We’re totally having sex on our first date.”

“Sweet!” Dewey kissed him briefly and then pulled away to go brush his teeth. Some things were definitely worth waiting for.