Caught Running (9 page)
Jake shook his head and told himself to move. Walking in on the man innocently was one thing, but standing there and listening while he considered the shape of his ass was bordering on territory that would have him feeling dirty. Yeah, he definitely felt dirty. He crept out into the other side of the room, flushing hotly even though he was the only person who would ever know what he was thinking. He pushed at the locker room door. “Bed check!” he shouted, his usual bellow somewhat ineffective as it came out slightly croaked.
Brandon's eyes flew open, and he turned in place, then moved to stick his head around the corner of the lockers. “Bed check?” he echoed. “Are we in the Army now, Sergeant?” He tilted his head, noticing that Jake looked out of sorts.
"Any kids in here?” Jake asked the man without responding to the tease, already knowing the answer. His voice was tight and clipped. The last thing he needed was an attraction to another teacher. Another teacher who knew him from before he'd grown up. Not to mention that he really didn't want to be outed at any point because he was ogling the man, thank you very much. So he overcompensated, his black eyes hard and his body tense.
Feeling an unexplained wave of coldness, Brandon shook his head and dropped the attitude. “No,” he said shortly before leaving Jake's view to finish getting dressed. He just didn't know how to deal with Jake. He yelled at the kids, but took care of them. He could be friendly, and he could be cold. He could explain or he could browbeat. He could do a hell of a lot, Brandon admitted silently. “Just not predictably,” he muttered under his breath as he pulled the Under Armour over his head.
"What?” Jake called as he turned and headed for the door. He felt almost physically ill, and he was desperately trying to think of some sort of joke to break the tense mood he'd created. But he could think of nothing.
Goddammit
!
"I'll see you out on the field,” Brandon called out, feeling really off-balance. He had to figure out a way to relate to Jake or he just might lose his mind. Or worse. He dropped his head into his hands, trying to shake the odd warm flush that filled him every time he saw the man. He just couldn't afford this kind of reaction right now.
"Yeah,” Jake agreed woodenly, making his escape as quickly as possible. He needed some ice water or something. He needed to deal with this and fast.
"Does anyone else wanna bitch about being tired?” Jake practically screamed as the unfortunate kid in question started on the first of his five laps around the field. His tone was different today than it had been before. Jake always shouted. But shouting and angry were two different things, and Jake was rarely angry. Today he was, though, and the kids could tell. Dark was soon approaching, but no one dared hope it meant the end of practice was coming. Even Troy was frowning at the man and watching the kids closely. He seemed to want to step in, but apparently even Troy knew enough to be afraid of Jake when he was in a mood. He also knew that no matter how angry he was, Jake would never let the kids come to harm.
Brandon stood nearby, nearly wincing, though more at Jake's language than the tone. But the angry note was a little distressing. Brandon knew Jake wouldn't have the reputation of an excellent coach if he truly abused the kids. Still, in Brandon's own quiet opinion, the kids needed to be running more. They needed to build up their endurance. Some of them wouldn't last a mile before dropping.
Finally Jake dismissed the kids in disgust, waving them off the field without even a word as he turned away from them. There had been misplayed grounders, dropped balls, swings that were a mile off target, not to mention the complainers who always got on his nerves. It was days like this when he questioned whether he was in the right place. The other coaches just waited quietly, knowing not to poke the growling tiger. Even Troy kept his mouth shut, which surprised Brandon.
Jake grunted at the other men and shook his head. “Beer,” he snarled at them as he passed them by. Shrugging, Brandon led the way, following Jake. They were supposed to go to the head coach's house tonight, and he figured that was still on despite Jake's wretched mood. “You guys want a ride? I can drop you back here after,” he offered to Troy and Jonathan.
"I'll take you up on that,” Jonathan grinned as Troy shook his head.
"Thanks, but I'm good,” Troy answered as he watched Jake stalk ahead of them. “Jake drove today, so.... “He trailed off and cleared his throat as Jake stalked up to an old Chevy truck and chucked his equipment bag into the back, an action he usually undertook with great care. “Actually, yeah. Shotgun,” Troy said to them, and Jonathan scowled at him as they continued on to Brandon's car.
Brandon snorted and unlocked the car doors so they could climb in. “Don't sit on the limes,” he warned Troy, who was about to flop into the passenger's seat. There was also a six-pack of bottled Corona in the floorboard.
"Is that legal?” Troy asked as he slid into the seat and plucked the beers off the floorboard. “Damn! Jake told me I couldn't bring alcohol onto the campus,” he sulked, pulling the door closed.
In the back seat Jonathan laughed and reached up to pat Troy's head. “That's ‘cause you were trying to bring it for lunch, man."
"Fuck you,” Troy sneered, hugging the beers to him. “Fuck you all,” he declared as Jake's truck pulled up beside them.
"I'll meet you boys there,” Jake said to them as he stuck his head out the window of the truck. “I've got to run by the store and pick up a few cases, y'all go on ahead."
"You might pick me up another pack of Corona, Troy seems to have gotten attached to mine,” Brandon said drolly, glancing to the blond man now crooning to the clear bottles.
Jake peered past Brandon to look at Troy and then rolled his eyes. “Corona?” he asked, just to make certain.
Brandon nodded. “Yeah.” He tried reaching over to get the six-pack from Troy, but got his hand slapped. “Bastard!” he barked at Troy, though he smiled while Jonathan just cackled in the back seat.
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 ‘til 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 hidden spot 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 out the 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 over
American 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.
Troy flipped him the bird but moved back to his end of the couch. Brandon grabbed the bag of chips and tossed it against the other teacher's chest. “Now behave,” he said quietly as Troy stifled a cackle and sat back, a look of childish glee on his face.
"God,” Jake groaned, the tip of the marker just touching the whiteboard before he withdrew his hand again. “You get your cheese rush, I'm going to change,” he muttered dejectedly as he put the marker down and headed up the stairs, stripping off his shirt as he went and using it to wipe at his chest.
Annoyed on Jake's behalf, Brandon reached and bapped Troy on the back of the head. “I thought you were his friend. Can't you tell how tired he is? Button it up, Troy."
"Fuck. If I button it up whenever he's tired I'd be perpetually buttoned,” Troy muttered, glaring at the biology teacher.
"Cut him some slack, man,” Jonathan said from his spot on the floor. “Or never mind the kids, he'll be making
our
lives hell, too."
Troy and Jonathan continued to murmur, and Brandon just watched the stairs, remembering the bared chest and back he'd seen, muscles shifting. He pressed his lips together and took another long drink, despite the fact this was supposed to be his last beer for the night.
Jake didn't shower, but just putting on fresh clothes made him feel better as he thumped back down the stairs. He was wearing loose sweats and a worn fraternity T-shirt that fit him like a soft, thin, second skin. Comfort clothes. He brought a T-shirt for each of the others and tossed them in the general direction of the couch as he grabbed up his beer again.
"Okay,” he huffed, picking up the marker. “Have we settled down?” he asked them in a tired voice as Troy stripped off his Under Armour and slid comfortably into Jake's T-shirt. Jonathan took the shirt, but merely folded it back up and laid it aside. Apparently the slighter man was either comfortable in his Under Armour or he knew he'd look like a five year old in his dad's clothes if he wore Jake's shirt.
Brandon held up the shirt Jake had thrown at him. ‘Co-ed Naked Wrestling: The Mat Is Where It's At'.
Quaint.
He half-smiled and pulled off the jersey as Troy murmured an apology to Jake. Next went the Under Armour, and Brandon was surprised at the cool air that hit his skin. He hadn't realized he'd been so warm in the uniform. Just cooling off, he sat there holding the T-shirt, listening with half an ear as Troy promised to sit back and try to act at least half his age.
Jake turned around to say something and stopped short, his eyes catching Brandon's bare chest. He blinked and looked away quickly, staring at the whiteboard for a minute as he tried not to flush. God, this was just getting worse and worse. Without a word he began to write the last names of boys who had tried out for baseball. All sixty of them, from memory. In alphabetical order. By grade.
The science teacher took a moment to yawn and stretch the kinks out of his back before he pulled on the T-shirt, surprised to find it actually fit well over his frame. It had that well-worn feel of a favorite. He smoothed his hand over the lurid words and stifled a chuckle.