Page 15 of Caught Running

Jake watched with a smile as Brandon asserted himself and slowly realized that the feeling from the locker room was returning. “Don’t let him into the limes, you’ll be scarred for life,” he warned, his voice slightly strained as he tried to fight back the sudden attraction. He gassed the truck before he could stare any more and drove quickly out of the parking lot.

Muttering and mock-glaring at Troy, Brandon turned on the car. “My luck. I bring beer, and you filch it,” he said under his breath.

Jonathan hung over the seat, still laughing. “Wait till you see what Troy can do with a lime.”

“That’s, yeah, that is pretty impressive,” Troy chuckled evilly. “Hey, what crawled up Jake’s ass and died, huh?”

“Shit, I thought maybe he needed some fiber or something,” Jonathan said.

Brandon choked back a laugh. “I don’t know. He was fine after last block,” he said. “I noticed tonight he sounded a little more...”

“Mad.”

“Yeah.”

“I haven’t seen him that mad since—” Troy stopped suddenly and simply stared out the window, shaking his head as if muttering to himself. “Must have had a bad day,” he finished finally without moving.

Jonathan prodded Troy’s shoulder. “Since what? Is this something we should expect to see more of?”

“I don’t know,” Troy answered reluctantly. “I mean, I dunno what set him off, is all. Last time I saw an extended pissy fit like today was when he found out that his shoulder couldn’t be operated on.”

Brandon’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as Jonathan launched into a rant on how ten years ago players got pushed too hard and how many careers had been ruined because of it. Jake’s shoulder? Along with his ankle and a blown out knee? What the hell had he gone through to compete? Brandon realized he just had no concept of how much Jake must love to play. He drove, deep in thought, while the other two men ranted.

When he pulled into Jake’s driveway, Troy was still clutching the Corona. “I’m not getting those back, am I?” Brandon said flatly.

“Nope,” Troy answered with a big grin as he got out of the car.

“You’re not getting all the limes,” Brandon retorted.

“You won’t want ‘em when I’m done with them anyway,” Troy twittered as he strutted up the walk to the front door like he lived in the place. He fished out the spare key from a hiddenspot over the door and unlocked the door, inviting them in with a cheeky grin.

Jonathan laughed and bounded up the steps. “C’mon, Brandon. If you want one of those limes you need to get it as soon as possible,” he said, making Brandon grab his pack and run up the stairs and into the house.

Jake pulled into the drive not long after and sat there glaring at his front door. “Get a hold of yourself, you fuck,” he muttered as he sat with his wrists resting on the steering wheel. He had dealt with this before, an attraction to someone he shouldn’t be attracted to. He could do it again. With a grumpy snort he got out of the truck, slamming the door loudly so Troy would know to get out of his stuff, and grabbed the several cases of beers he had bought and lugged them up to the front door.

Having heard the car door slam, Brandon loped to the front door and opened the screen for Jake. “Watch out for Troy, he’s on a tear,” Brandon warned just as the blond came sliding into the hardwood hallway in his sock feet, singing into his stolen Corona bottle like it was a microphone.

“Oh Jesus,” Jake groaned as Troy turned, shook his ass at them, and strutted off. “You let him into the limes, didn’t you?” he muttered at Brandon, smiling slightly and heading into the kitchen with his load. “Sit down!” he shouted at Troy in his loudest, most authoritative voice. Troy plopped down on the couch obediently and sulked at him. “Before we get too trashed, we do need to divvy up the teams,” Jake reminded him.

Troy huffed, and Jonathan chuckled as he flopped down next to the man with a bag of Doritos. Brandon just shook his head and watched in fascination. Jake growled softly and went to the sunroom to retrieve the rolling whiteboard he kept out there. He pushed it back into the living room, settling it in front of the television, and then he stalked to the kitchen to dig outthe markers. On his way he grabbed a cold beer and opened the cabinet where he kept his many little bottles of pills.

Brandon had come around the other door into the kitchen, planning to get a second Corona and lime, and he paused in the doorway when he nearly ran into Jake standing at the cabinet. “Sorry,” he murmured, moving past the other man to the fridge.

“No problem,” Jake muttered as he poured out a handful of pills and then picked out two of them. “Small kitchens make for close families,” he said without thinking, the words his mother had loved to say, even though the house was sizable and the kitchen wasn’t that small.

Straightening, Brandon looked curiously at Jake as he moved to the cutting board for a slice of lime. It was an interesting aphorism. He could see that applying at the house where he’d grown up, the house he still lived in. It sounded loving. He twisted the top off the bottle and shoved the lime down the neck, watching Jake chase the pills with beer. Were it anyone else, Brandon knew he would have said something.

Jake glanced over his shoulder at the man as he realized what he’d said, and that Brandon was silently watching him. “Hmm?” he asked in what he hoped was an innocent tone as he flushed slowly.

The attraction Brandon had been trying really hard to bury reared its gorgeous head again, and all he could do was blink and look at Jake—at what must be the real man. Not puffed up, not coaching, not yelling, not joking. Just him with a tired sag to his shoulders, bobbing Adam’s apple, mussed hair, and warmed skin. The science teacher had to close his eyes fully to break the tableau. “Ready?” he asked, voice rough, tipping his bottle toward the other room where he could hear Troy and Jonathan squabbling good-naturedly overAmerican Idol.

Jake took the opportunity to think seriously about slamming his fingers in a drawer. That would distract him easily enough,right? Right. “Yep,” he muttered as he grabbed the three markers and his beer and headed back out into the other room.

Brandon followed him, trying really hard not to look at Jake’s ass in the white baseball pants. Really hard.Oh, man. Not the thought to have. He sat on the couch, pushing Troy over and away from the Doritos as Jake went to stand at the whiteboard.

“C’mon, Bartlett, be a pal,” Troy whined, practically climbing on top of Brandon trying to reach the bag of chips while Jonathan convulsed with laughter, rolling off the couch onto the floor.

“Troy!” Jake shouted, fed up and tired and hot and dirty after a long day. “Get back on the fucking Ritalin or something!” he barked in annoyance as he uncapped a marker.