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----- A Drink with a Stranger By: Sean Roberts -----
-- Chapter 8 --
Lane walked onto the deserted, darkened pitch. He saw a figure kicking a ball around lightly.
"Ellis," Lane said softly. His voice echoed in the empty space. Ellis kicked the ball up into his hand and turned around.
"Lane?"
"Finn told me you were here." Ellis nodded.
"Isn't it beautiful when there's nobody around?" Lane looked around the empty pitch, at all the empty seats. He could almost hear the cheering crowd and the soccer players grunting as they ran into each other with their powerful thighs. But those sounds were at a distance. Right now he was there alone, in silence, catching Ellis' scotch coloured eyes and the scent of a freshly showered teenage boy.
"I came to yell at you about that article," Lane said.
"Lane, as much as I deserve that, I'm not sure I can take it right now."
"Ellis, how am I supposed to go out with you after you went behind my back like that?"
"I'm sorry about the article Lane. I promise I will never do that again. I just didn't think that you would allow it, and it's very important to me."
"Why?"
"Long story."
"You know Finn isn't coming, right? I've got time. And since we're together, umm, again, how about that drink?" They fetched the bottle and the glasses and sat in the bleachers, staring out over the empty field.
"I got kicked out of St. Thomas'," Ellis said. "Some other kid—who I thought was a friend, actually—was cheating off me. He got caught, but the teacher didn't see what was happening properly. He said I was the one cheating; they believed him. Even my parents aren't entirely convinced that it was him and not me.
"So what do I do? I transfer to a school where everybody hates my guts because I've kicked their arses so many times. The icing on the cake is that all the friends I had before don't talk to me anymore because now I'm playing for the enemy.
"But when I saw this happening here—with students buying assignments—I had to do something about it. And I promise, I found this out later. It isn't why I wanted to join the paper, and it isn't why I wanted to ask you out."
"Wow," Lane said. "I had no idea that's why you transferred."
"You never asked. Nobody did. Ha, not seriously anyway. I did get a lot of `why the fuck did your dumb arse transfer here Walsh'? But it's okay. I don't know if I would have told you anyway. I always get upset when I think about it."
"I don't blame you."
"How's your face?"
"What?"
"The bruise."
"It only hurts if I touch it," Lane said, thinking about Finn kissing it. "Not that I'm complaining. You seem to be in pretty bad shape after that match yesterday."
"Yeah. I can usually deal with it, but when your own team is pounding on you as well, it's a different story. Still, I showed them all by kicking in that last goal. The scotch is helping though, so thanks for that. So what's the deal with you and Finn? He didn't do that to you by accident."
"I said some stuff to him that I shouldn't have. I had it coming."
"No you didn't. Nobody has it coming, no matter what they did."
"Ellis, we went on a date and I pissed you off and made you leave before we even ordered drinks."
"I just said you didn't deserve it, Lane. I have no trouble believing that you set him off. So really, what's the deal with you two?"
"There's no deal. He's a prick. I'm a prick. We don't really get along."
"Yet he somehow shared my text with you, and had you come here instead?"
"He was at home. Our parents are friends and I guess they all came over. He mentioned to me that you sent him a text. Anyway, nobody on the soccer team really gets along with me. That isn't a complaint; the feeling is mutual. I lumped you into the same category as the rest of them. That's what I meant earlier, about why we aren't friends. I didn't mean that I don't want to be. Fuck, I'm such an idiot. We're writers. We're supposed to be able to explain stuff like this! I figured because you were a jock you'd be an idiot. But, umm, you're not."
"But I'm not? Okay. Thanks, I guess."
"Can I just shut up now?"
"Please do," Ellis said. "Can I take a crack at explaining what you're trying to say?" Lane nodded his head. Ellis put his hand on Lane's cheek and leaned in to kiss him. Lane closed his eyes and their lips met, their tongues nervously tasting each other.
--
Breakfast on Sundays always took longer when they were all there. Taylor handed his parents the latest edition of the Deer Creek Hunter, and cutlery clanged against the table. They bombarded Taylor with questions about it.
"Ask him!" Taylor said. "He writes the paper!"
"I didn't write this one," Lane said. "He published it without telling me. It's just as much news to me as to everyone else."
"Well if you boys hear anything about who has been doing this, make sure you tell us right away, so we can take this to the principal. This is completely despicable." Lane dropped his fork; the attention was back on him.
"Yeah, imagine such a thing happening at Deer Creek. Speaking of which, I have a lot of homework to do." He excused himself and ran up to his bedroom. It was anti-climactic. He needed to do something about this situation with Ellis, but instead he sat down to catch up on his homework. When he had finished, he opened one of his hidden bottles of scotch.
He needed a friend, and Finn was the only person to come to mind. He needed someone to help him figure out what to do. But he could not go back to being Finn's friend. The kiss was a one-time thing; something that was not to repeat. What about kissing Ellis? How would he explain that to Finn? This was worse than Finn's betrayal in the locker room all those years ago. Of course, Finn had a girlfriend—so was he not doing the same thing? Lane was confused, and the alcohol was not helping him clear anything up. At some point he got up to pee and everything started to spin. When he came back from the bathroom, he was hoping someone would have magically appeared in his bedroom. No such luck.
He was drunk enough that the last three years of not being friends with Finn did not change anything; it would make perfect sense to behave in the fourteen year old pre breakup days. Finn's parents did not seem to see the difference. They could not tell he was drunk—he kept his head high, smiled, and chewed gum. He forgot how he drove over there though. Lane climbed the spiral staircase slowly, holding onto the railing, making sure not to stumble.
He smiled as he turned the doorknob, looking forward to the inevitable smile on Finn's face when he saw Lane. Instead, he saw Finn's naked back, laying over his girlfriend on his bed. She saw Lane and her eyes widened. She motioned for Lane to shut the door, and then she hit Finn's arm (rather harder than she needed to) to get him to stop kissing her. She pointed; Finn turned around. His face turned red.
"Oh shit," Lane said. "I'm sorry. I should have called or something." Lane shut the door and left. Finn's parents asked why he was leaving so soon.
"Oh, umm, I have to run some errands for my parents," Lane said. "I just came to drop something off for him." The lies were flowing easily, which was a good thing, since Lane figured he would have to do a lot of lying from here on out. He was still drunk when he got back into his car. He could not remember how many drinks he actually had. So Finn, after kissing him, had gone right back to Victoria. Why had Lane let Finn back into his life? He felt sick that he allowed this to happen after successfully avoiding kept Finn for three years.
Of course, this was all Ellis' fault; that nosy bastard. He rang Ellis' doorbell and took a deep breath. He put on a smile, ready to be charming to his parents. He told Mrs. Walsh that he was a friend and wanted to surprise Ellis, if that was okay. She said it was fine, and told Lane where to find Ellis' bedroom. He walked in again. Lane had no idea what to expect, but whatever it was, he was disappointed. Ellis was sitting at his desk studying.
"Lane?" he said, turning towards the door. Lane shut the bedroom door behind him.
"You really are a bastard," Lane said. "You manipulated me to get on the paper's staff so you could publish your article behind my back. You kissed me so that I would be okay with it. You probably aren't even..." Lane could not finish his sentence. The alcohol had made him more emotional than usual. He was not even sure exactly what he was angry about.
Ellis led him over to the bed and sat down next to him. He put his arms around Lane and asked if he was drunk. Lane nodded. "Come on," Ellis said. He kept his arms around Lane and pulled him gently into the bed. Lane turned to face the wall and Ellis stayed with him, his arms around Lane. He could hear Ellis breathing behind him. He shut his eyes, and he found he could not open them again. When he woke up, Ellis offered to take him out for dinner. They opted for a dark, quiet corner. Lane ordered a lot of food.
"How did you find out about this whole assignment thing anyway?" Lane said.
"I heard someone talking about buying assignments. I didn't make it up. I wrote what I heard. I know there's a chance it isn't true, but I got the email address." Lane almost choked on the pasta he was chewing.
"What email?" Lane said.
"You're supposed to email this person, whoever he is. Or she. And that's how you get the assignments done. I don't really know anything more than that."
"Gotcha," Lane said. "How's your food?"
"It's good," Ellis said.
They had ordered wine, and now they both tasted like liquor. Lane climbed on top of Ellis in the car. The steering wheel was pressing into his back; there was not enough space for them. They were kissing, their hands in one others' hair and also anywhere else they could reach. They felt the hardness of their torsos; the softness of their lips. Their hands intertwined and their erections rubbed against their jeans. Buttons flew as Ellis ripped open Lane's shirt.
"Fuck," Lane said, laughing in between kisses. "How the hell am I going to go—" He could not finish the sentence. Ellis' tongue found his nipple; Ellis' teeth were biting his nipple which made him moan. Ellis' hand was trying to undo the buttons of his jeans.
They moved to the back so they could take off their clothes properly. They were rock hard; they were seventeen year old boys and spasms of pleasure shook through their bodies as they touched each other. They felt each other come; they felt warm fluid hit their bodies and splatter on Ellis' leather seats. They were warm in the back of the car, and there was an overwhelming sense of satisfying tiredness. They pulled up their jeans and sat back, breathing heavily.
"Fuck," Ellis said.
"Fuck," Lane agreed.