Page 9 of Caught Running

Brandon looked up at Jake, face even. He didn’t pity the man. He was sure Jake was doing something suitably athletic at the time, but he wouldn’t wish that sort of pain on anyone. “Saw that happen to runners a few times. Painful,” he commented quietly, going back to slicing. “Ligaments, anyway.”

Jake raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He doubted many runners got tackled from the side by wild bears in thick pads as they trotted down the trail or something, but he left it alone.He also hadn’t explained the bone spurs in his ankle or the utter destruction of his shoulder that his dumbfuck high school baseball coach had wrought by pitching him too often and too much. He just let it go at the knee and twisted open his beer. It didn’t occur to him that most people used bottle openers to do that.

“I’m guessing since this stuff is in your fridge, you’ll eat it all,” Brandon said as he built two large sandwiches, heavy on the meat and cheese. He stole glances at Jake, seeing the play of emotions across his face. He was curious, but it wasn’t right to push. For all that he’d gone to school with and now worked with him, Brandon barely knew him. It felt awkward standing in his kitchen making him a sandwich.

“I’ll eat anything,” Jake responded automatically. “I’ll eat bark if you put beer on it,” he assured the man as he popped a few pills and took a long gulp of his beer to wash them down.

“Bark?” Brandon asked with a snort. “That would certainly take care of your fiber for the day,” he joked, setting the plate with the bigger of the two sandwiches in front of Jake on the bar that faced the nook. He sat at the table and rifled through his back pack to pull out a folder of papers. Then with a glance up—though he wasn’t sure why he was embarrassed, he wore them all day when teaching—he pulled his glasses out and slid them on. “Good with the sandwich?” he asked.

“Mm hmm,” Jake answered as he straddled the nearest bar stool. He watched Brandon silently as he ate, glad that he didn’t have to deal with grading papers.

Nodding and taking a bite of his own, the science teacher started reading and marking, scribbling a grade at the top of each paper and circling it before setting it aside. He kept eating as well for several minutes, pretty much caught up in what he was doing until he glanced up to reach for his beer and saw Jakewatching him. He froze in place. How had he not felt the weight of those black eyes on him?

“What?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Jake answered with a small smile. “Just another one of those times where I’m glad I’m me,” he laughed softly with a gesture of his beer at the stack of grade papers.

Brandon cracked a grin. “You already said you wouldn’t help with the teachery things, too. Bastard,” he muttered under his breath.

“That’s the rumor,” Jake answered with a shit-eating grin as he pushed his empty plate away and finished his beer. He plunked it down on the counter and leaned back on his stool, trying to reach the refrigerator without having to get up.

“I’ll get it,” the science teacher said, pushing his glasses up with one finger and crossing to the fridge. He took out a beer and pressed it into Jake’s hand, then went and sat back down, going right back to eating and grading.

Jake frowned a little. “Thanks,” he muttered, looking at the man closely. He wondered how much of a doormat the guy really was, or if he was just too nice. There was such a thing as being too nice.

Back at his marking, Brandon made a noncommittal noise. “Just don’t get used to it,” he said, not even looking up from his papers. He wondered how long Jake would let him stick around before kicking him out. He was getting a decent start on his grading now.

“Hmph,” Jake offered as he twisted off the top and kicked back a large portion of the beer. This was his nightly ritual. Get home, get ice, take drugs, and chase them with alcohol. He knew he likely should have been embarrassed to be doing it in front of Brandon, but frankly, after ten years he had lost the capacity to care. In fact, he had rarely cared what people thought of him; itwas one of the qualities he supposed had made him so popular everywhere he went.

“That reminds me, every Wednesday the coaches all gather somewhere under the guise of team meetings,” he said as he watched the pen move. “Usually we drink and make fun of the Dugout Club, but it’s always a good time. If you’re interested.”

Brandon glanced up—Jake was inviting him to hang out? How wild was that? His glasses had slid down enough that he could look at Jake over the frames. “The Dugout Club?” he asked, smiling a little.

“Yeah, you know, the parents who can’t keep their noses out of the game long enough to let us breathe?” Jake answered with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t get me started on the Diamond Girls,” he warned.

Smile getting bigger, Brandon chuckled. “You know I’m gonna ask,” he pointed out. “Better I know now than look like an idiot if I have to ask later,” he pointed out reasonably.

“Cheerleaders for the baseball team,” Jake grunted. “Baseball shouldn’t have cheerleaders,” he protested grumpily.

The science teacher’s eyes got really big. “We have baseball cheerleaders?” he asked in utter disbelief. “OhGod.Don’t tell me it was one of Misty’s ideas. I knew she wanted to figure out a way to be around the field in the spring, but this?” He threw down his pen and leaned back with a groan.

“Don’t say that name to me,” Jake warned good-naturedly. “I tried to fight it, but the girls started shouting discrimination.” He grunted in distaste.

“Oh, good Lord. Does the softball team have cheerleaders?” Brandon asked, tossing his glasses to the table.

“Not that I know of,” Jake answered wryly. “As long as they stay away from the dugouts we deal with it,” he added. “That’s another thing. When you’re in the dugout with the guys, make sure they know you’re willing to smack them around if they getout of line,” he advised as the warmth of the beer began to flood through him.

“You know why you have a cheerleading team, right?” Brandon asked. It was an open secret, really. Misty ran her mouth about it even in the ladies’ room—or so Rhonda had told Brandon. The cheerleading coach was gunning for a handsome husband; specifically the Prom King to her Prom Queen.

Jake leaned back warily and narrowed his eyes. “Why?” he asked with a slight touch of dread.

Brandon looked uneasy. He’d never been one to pal around with the guys, comparing cock length and notches in bedposts. He wasn’t really comfortable with that kind of talk. “You remember how Rhonda was looking at you like an appetizer?” he asked.

Jake blinked at the man and then shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, that,” he muttered. “Misty’s tenacious,” he huffed uncomfortably.

“She looks at you like you’re a side of high-grade beef, man,” Brandon said with more than a tinge of sympathy.

“She always has,” Jake shrugged. “Senior year I thought she was going to kill me if I didn’t take her to the prom. I skipped last period one day, drove over to Berkmar, grabbed the first girl I saw and asked her to go with me. Just to save myself the trouble.”