Page 61 of Point of Contact

He’s young, gorgeous and straight, you idiot. When did you get so pathetic?

When the song was over, Trevor said, “Need to run to the restroom. Want anything while I’m gone?”

“No, thanks.”

Jesse stepped to the side so Trevor could get past, and to his vast amusement the gaggle of young women was passing by yet again. They paused, and Trevor could feel the “look at us” vibes rolling off them. Jesse sat back down without a glimmer of interest, and as Trevor trailed behind the group up the steps to the main concourse, one of them said, “That guy is so stinkin’ hot. Why won’t he notice me?” She flipped her shining blond hair. “Maybe he’s gay.”

Another girl snorted in derision. “If he doesn’t pay attention to you, he must be gay? Sure, bitch.”

“Maybe he and that dude he’s with are boyfriends,” the first one said doggedly. “Like a sugar daddy thing, you know?”

“Or maybe the older one hired the younger one as an escort.” Now the second girl got into the spirit of things. “’Cause he’s lonely and can’t get a date.”

“So he brought him to a ballgame?” A third voice, and one full of derision. “I’d think if he’s gonna pay a guy to go on a date with him, it’d be out to a club or something, not a boring old baseball game.”

Trevor supposed he should be insulted by the whole exchange, the implication he couldn’t get a hot guy like Jesse to go out with him unless he paid him, but he couldn’t muster up any real indignation.

“Excuse me, ladies.”

He scooted past them, enjoying their gasps and exclamations of “Oh, shit, do you think he heard us?”

Trevor chuckled to himself the whole time he used the bathroom, and when he was washing his hands, he glanced into the mirror, unable to help but grimace at his reflection. Jesus, he looked like a deranged scarecrow, all red-rimmed eyes and razor sharp cheekbones. He could see his collarbones standing out in sharp relief under the T-shirt, aware of his clothes hanging loosely when they’d used to fit.

What a wreck. An invisible, shrunken, lonely wreck.

Better get used to the thought of paying men, because that’s definitely where you’re headed, old boy.

After drying his hands off with a paper towel, Trevor trudged back toward his seat, where the crowd was on their feet, going wild as Helton rounded the bases, pounding his way toward home. He dropped into a slide just as the catcher reached to tag him, and the home plate umpire swept his arms out to the side... “Safe!”

Glancing up at the scoreboard, Trevor could see the score was 5-4 Rockies at the bottom of the eighth, and he patted a dejected Jesse on the shoulder as he squeezed past him to his seat. “Sorry for your loss.”

Jesse glared at him. “We have one more inning!”

“It ain’t happening, Jess. Ain’t happening.”

Indeed, the Braves couldn’t manage to get a single hit during their last at-bat, much less score, and the game ended with the Rockies victorious and the ballpark rocking with celebration. Luckily, Jesse was an amiable loser, and he shrugged, turning his mind to more important things.

“I’m starving,” he declared. “How about that steak?”

Trevor stared at him incredulously. “Where the hell are you putting all this food?” He scanned Jesse from head to toe, trying not to dwell on the memory of those tight abs under that loose jersey...

“My mom always said I had a hollow leg.” As he spoke, Jesse’s hands moved along with his words, and Trevor was jolted to realize it wasn’t just random gestures. In fact, he’d done that same thing earlier when talking about his mom and perfume.

Holy shit, he’s using sign language.

Trevor could tell Jesse didn’t even realize he was doing it, and he wondered if his mom had been Deaf. Curiosity about his life burned through Trevor, but this wasn’t the time or place, so he bit back the questions.

They shuffled out of the ballpark, caught up in the teeming crowd, and despite Jesse’s joke about wanting expensive steak, they ended up at a nearby grill and bar where they bellied up to the counter along with scores of other exuberant fans from both teams.

The trash talk and game analysis flew fast and thick as Trevor ate loaded nachos and had another beer, while Jesse washed his thick burger and crispy fries down with some ice water laced with lemon.

By the time they hit the I-25 south again, Trevor was floating on a pleasant buzz and feeling drowsy. It was dark outside, the music was playing softly, and the cab of the truck was an intimate little cocoon. Trevor sank back into his seat with a sigh.

“Thank you, Jesse. For today.”

“You’re welcome.” Jesse’s voice was low and relaxed. “I had fun.”

“Me, too.”