Page 97 of Wingmen

Dustin looked down at him. “Did you?”

“Think about other guys?” Elliot shifted, embarrassed. “I tried not to.”

“Did that work?”

“Not really.”

Dustin studied him. “When did you know? Like, when did that start happening, do you remember?”

Elliot’s face went immediately red. He did remember. He rememberedexactly: it was right after the Stanley Cup six years ago, when Dustin put that shirtless locker room photo with the trophy on his Instagram. That was the first time he’d ever looked at a guy and realized it wasn’t the same way he looked at girls.

He wasn’t sure he had the bolas to tell Dustin how profoundly influential his thirst trap had been, so instead he said, “Did you ever see that movie with the gay cowboys?”

Dustin laughed. “Brokeback Mountain?”

“Yeah. That was a – uh…formative experience.”

Smiling, he slid his fingers into Elliot’s hair. “Tell me about it.”

Elliot’s face went, probably, purple with embarrassment. “Like, a play by play? No way.”

Dustin nodded, watching his fingers. His face was so kind, it kind ofdidmake Elliot want to tell him. Even after he’d screwed up so badly, he was still the only person in the world Elliot would ever feel safe sharing that with.

“Did you ever see it?” Elliot asked. “That movie.”

Dustin’s brow knit. “Brokeback Mountain?If I recall…they fuck in a tent?”

He smiled. “Mhm.”

Dustin trailed the backs of his fingers down the side of his face. “That was it? Cowboys made you gay?”

A shiver went down the back of his neck. Because…no, they didn’t.

You did.

Ay fuck, was he gonna tell him about the Instagram picture? OhGod, he was. Madre de Dios, he was about to tell him about the picture.

He swallowed. “Well, that was…part of it.”

Dustin trailed his fingertip onto his bare chest. “What else?”

“There was a picture,” he said. Dustin’s finger continued onto his stomach, and heat throbbed deep inside Elliot as it landed at his waistband.

“Of what?”

“You.”

Dustin’s eyebrows jumped. He stared at Elliot a moment, and continued trailing his finger. “What picture?”

Elliot’s cock stirred. “The one on your Instagram: in the locker room with the Stanley Cup.”

A flicker of a smile. “What did you like about it?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Dustin nodded, smiling. “Okay.”

He trailed circles around Elliot’s belly button, watching the effect this was having on the bulge in Elliot’s sweatpants. When he rubbed the bulge with his palm, Elliot’s hips arched, his eyes fluttering closed. Dustin’s other hand tightened in his hair.