Safety Net (15 page)

Okay. Dale could live with this,
whatever this was, this crazy back in college stuff. He could live with it
until Lowell woke up and realized he’d been getting head from a dude and had
the stammered conversation of, “Hey, it’s cool and all, but I’m not like that.”
It didn’t mean anything, wasn’t going to mean anything.

The next Saturday they beat
Sacramento State, 41-0. On the floor of the living room, Dale sucked Lowell
off. Sat back to jerk off and Lowell rose up on his elbows to watch.

The next game was UCLA, their first
away and first conference match of the season. Playing in the Rose Bowl -- the
fucking
Rose Bowl
-- was still such a trip, a high in and of itself.
Erick was on a roll, the whole team focused and right there with him, and they
handed UCLA its first loss of the season, 48-21. Afterwards, Dale lay awake in
the hotel room, listening to Erick snore, and talked himself out of texting
Lowell to meet him in the staircase.

When they got back to Crocker on
Sunday, Lowell sprawled on the sofa in the darkened living room while Dale
sucked him, and Lowell ran his fingers through Dale’s hair and over his
shoulders. When Dale finished, he sat back on his heels and wrapped his hand
around his cock.

“Wait,” Lowell said, soft, low. He
reached past the sofa, flicked on the light, sat back and looked at Dale.

Heat rushed to his face and Dale
had to glance down, at himself, at his hand working his boner. He worked it less
frantically than usual, giving Lowell the show he was asking for, and when he
looked up, he met Lowell’s eyes watching him. The blush spread from his cheeks
to his cock and he jerked a rough few times to come.

That night Dale woke up in the
dark, disoriented. A heavy warm weight shifted, Lowell’s arm wrapped around
him. Lowell was naked.

“Lowell.” Dale’s voice was hoarse.

Lowell slung a leg across Dale to
anchor himself and planted a soft kiss on Dale’s neck. “Mm?”

Don’t do this to me
, Dale
thought.
I don’t want to fall in love with you.

He patted Lowell’s arm. “This bed
can barely hold me. No way both of us can fit.”

“Depends on how we use it.” Amusement
in Lowell’s voice. Lowell moved his hand, finding Dale’s neck and jaw, and
shifting, touched his lips to Dale’s in a gentle, warm kiss.

Dale placed his hands on Lowell’s
chest, not quite pushing him away. “Don’t. Just. Don’t.”

Lowell’s lips brushed over his
again. “Why not?” He hesitated and asked differently, with serious curiosity, “You
don’t like kissing?”

Dale sighed heavily. “Of course I
like kissing.”

“Well, then.”

They kissed, made out, brought each
other off, and the way to sleep in the same horrible dorm bed was wrapped up
together. Dale had never been a snuggler, but there was something nice and
comforting in holding Lowell while he slept, in falling asleep in Lowell’s
arms.

After that, it became more than a
once-a-week thing. It became an every-night-until-we-have-an-away-game thing.

The season became a whirl of
Crocker wins (Washington, Arizona, Arizona State, Washington State, Oregon
State) and hand-jobs and blow-jobs and kissing and falling asleep together, and
Dale waited for the other shoe to drop.

It dropped the Sunday after they
kicked USC’s butts again, 38-28.

“Do you love me?” Lowell asked in
the darkness, draped across Dale’s chest. They were wedged together in Dale’s
bed. Dale’s breath caught as he frantically searched for an answer.

“Um. Why do you ask?”

Lowell was moving his fingertips
over Dale’s skin, whatever was in reach. A ticklish touch on Dale’s knee. “I
have a confession to make,” Lowell said, and Dale’s gut clenched as he braced
himself for the punch. “I think I love Erick.”

This was so completely what Dale
hadn’t expected to hear that relief washed over him. It took him a few moments
to recover. He blinked at the darkness and caressed the back of Lowell’s neck,
pushing his fingers under Lowell’s hair.

“Hmm. Y’know, I think the whole
team’s in love with Erick right now.” Giving Lowell an out if he wanted to take
it.

Lowell chuckled, a deep rumble that
reverberated through Dale’s body. “There is that. But no, this is more than
that.” He paused. “I think I’ve loved him for a long time. I don’t know. It
seems sorta weird that I wouldn’t have figured it out immediately, but...”

“No. I know what you mean.” Dale
smiled. “It’s Erick. There’s something about him.” Dale had been half in love
with Erick, himself, ever since that day he’d told Erick he was gay and Erick
had said he didn’t care.

Lowell’s smile curved over Dale’s
chest. “Yeah, there is.”

They fell into silence. Dale
stroked Lowell’s shoulder, remembering one of Erick’s perfect bullet passes to
Wotoa from the night before.

Lowell stirred a little and said, “But
here’s the thing. I love what we’re doing and all. I mean, yeah, I’m really
into it, which is kind of like, what the hell.” Dale’s stomach knotted again,
just a little bit. The bit that liked getting off, he decided. “But I think I’m
maybe using you. Having sex with you but loving Erick.”

Dale’s stomach unknotted as he thought
this through. “You’re saying, you think you’re being gay with me because you
really want to be gay with Erick?”

Lowell rose up a little, and Dale
faintly saw the silhouette of his face. “Well, fuck, when you put it that way...”

Dale patted Lowell’s arm. “Let me
ask you something. When you’re getting off with me, are you thinking about
Erick? Picturing him and stuff?”

“No.” Lowell paused. “Hmm.”

“Hmm.”

Lowell lowered himself against Dale’s
chest again. “Now I’m even more confused.” Dale kissed his forehead, and Lowell
sighed softly. “I don’t think of him when we’re doing stuff, but, um. I have
thought of him at other times. By myself.”

Dale wasn’t sure whether to be
appalled or amused at himself for finding this a turn-on. He kept his voice
neutral. “Really.”

“Yeah, I had this sorta dumb
fantasy about him that I couldn’t stop thinking about for a while, and... Oh.”

Dale sighed a little. “Yeah.”

Lowell giggled quietly, an oddly
masculine sound Dale still wasn’t used to, and writhed against him. He kissed
Dale’s jaw. “Dude. This is some seriously weird shit.”

“Yes, homeboy. Yes, it is.”

“I mean, you don’t mind? If I’m
maybe using you for sex?” Lowell murmured, nuzzling Dale’s neck.

Dale tilted and thrust against
Lowell’s hip. “It hasn’t occurred to you that
I
might be using
you
for sex?”

“What kind of sex?” Lowell twitched
against him, interested, and Dale rolled to press him back against the
mattress.

“I wanna suck your cock.”

“Oh. Oh, fuck, yeah.” Lowell arched
beneath him. Then he rose up on his elbows and gulped a breath. “Yeah. I want
to, too. I mean, I wanna do it to you. I wanna suck you.”

Dale had to bite the inside of his
lip against the jolt of arousal. He licked Lowell’s inner thigh and paused to
murmur, “Learning how to be gay for Erick?”

Lowell dropped against the bed,
groaning.

And Dale discovered, through trial
and error, that the best way to give head with them both on the damn dorm bed
was to sixty-nine.

-----

Dear Candace,

Here is the e-mail I promised. I’m
sorry about the phone charges. Were your parents upset? My bill came too and
Mama hit the roof, but Daddy was okay about it and lent me some money to cover
it. I have some left over. If you need it, it’s yours.

I’m sorry it’s taken a while to
write this. It’s been crazy busy lately. My classes are kicking my butt. And
there’s been a lot of meetings for the team this season on top of practice. It’s
good for us because we’re learning a lot but it’s also exhausting.

We’re undefeated this season! So
far. :) And pumpkin, did you know your boyfriend could win the Heisman Trophy?
Ha ha. People are saying that, but it’s stupid. I haven’t even played two whole
seasons yet. And last year was 8-4. Not the stuff legends are made of. But, if
you can tolerate my arrogance for a while, I am getting better all the time. I
wish I could explain to you how it feels when I’m on the field. You would
listen to me and say something that would put it in a different perspective and
I would understand it even better. But I can’t find the words to describe what
it’s like when I play. It’s being part of a team and trusting all the other
players, but also directing them and knowing they are going to do what I ask
them to. And when they can’t do it, because our opponents aren’t always as weak
and dumb as we wish they were (ha ha! just kidding! you know we play some
excellent teams with sharp players!), I have to look at the field and adapt and
be quick about it before a gigantic defensive lineman (or 2, or 3) comes
crashing down on me. It’s the best! But this season has been incredible. I
always believed our team could do this and we finally are doing it. I want you
to see us play. The guys are fantastic, every one of them. You have to see us
play sometime. I wonder if Coach would let us fly to England and play for you specially?
Ha ha. Go rent us a stadium, okay?

Did you get the care package I sent?
I couldn’t find the candy you asked for. It must be an East Coast thing.

How are your classes? Stratford
sounded cool. I’m glad you’re meeting interesting people. That is the funniest
coincidence about the girl who went to my high school’s rival school. Ask her
if she knew Anton Durbin. He was their quarterback. I’d love to know where he
is now. Or their other quarterback who played in some games. Last time I saw
him was at State championships and he told me he was going to join the Army! I
wonder if he did. He could be in Afghanistan right now. Isn’t that strange to
think about? Last time I saw him he was a kid coming off the field after his
team lost, and now he could be in the desert fighting for freedom and risking
his life for us.

!!! Sorry. Why am I writing
something like that? I am going to blame Lowell Menacker. His major is
sociology and this quarter he’s been especially into his classes and keeps
telling us about what he’s learning. It is damned distracting sometimes. And
get this. For one of his classes he’s using our team as his case study.
Observing us as a society. He had to give every player a consent form to fill
out. A bunch of guys said they wouldn’t sign it but they were just giving him
hell. It was funny. Lowell asked me to threaten them into signing. I think he
was kidding. :) I don’t know what he’s observing us for. He’s explained it to
me three times and I still don’t understand it. You would understand it. You
have to meet Lowell.

Oh, crap. Today is Friday and I
started this e-mail on Tuesday! Pumpkin, don’t hate me! This week has been
horrible. We play Oregon tomorrow. I don’t know if you remember but we beat
them last year, and I still don’t know how we did it. Oregon are a fantastic
team. They play a very different style of offense than we do and it has given
our defense problems. But last year our defense kicked their butts. They will
be coming at us with both barrels this year. One of our wide receivers, Ken,
got injured in practice. Knee injury. He’s probably out for the rest of the
season. Pray for me tomorrow. (I guess it is already tomorrow where you are!)
Pray for the team and pray for my guys.

I love you.

Erick

-----

Oregon’s problem, from what Erick
could tell, was communication between their quarterback and his receivers. It
was the strangest thing to watch from the Crocker sideline when Oregon had
possession. Oregon never huddled and relied on quick, obscure signals when they
reached the line of scrimmage. It was a hurry-up offense meant to make the
defense confused and unable to keep up. Crocker’s defense weren’t as confused
and slow as Oregon hoped. Still, it was surprising to see Oregon fail to
capitalize more on their advantage of swiftness, and in Erick’s view, it was
all because of a lack of communication.

Oregon had lost to USC their second
game of the season. Crocker handed Oregon its second defeat, and Crocker was
now the only undefeated team in PWAC. In college ball, the only other undefeated
team this season was Syracuse. Almost overnight ESPN, Fox Sports, Associated
Press, and the local network affiliates were sending people to Crocker. A
reporter found Erick’s dorm and Anson Dempsey, who was rooming with Erick again
this year, called campus security. When Erick came to the football offices for
meetings, reporters and cameramen and photographers were waiting. Coach Bowman,
used to the attention from having been in the NFL, handled them well: short,
cryptic, abrupt. He persuaded Erick to spend time with them, learn how to field
questions, learn how not to answer.

Erick hated it at first and when he
watched himself on TV, it showed. He looked like he wanted to kill people. He
could see why people complained about his beard. He did look a little like the
serial killer of the week on
Criminal Minds
. He shaved more often. The
photographer from the local newspaper, there with a reporter doing a “who is
Erick West?” piece, thanked him for shaving.

When he read the article later, he
was embarrassed that he’d revealed more than he’d wanted to. He’d mentioned he
had a girlfriend, and even though they couldn’t get any details out of him, he
felt exposed even saying that much. He worried about people tracking Candace
down and giving her a hard time. Maybe it was just as well that she was in
Oxford this year.

As bad as it was to read about
himself in the local paper (beyond routine football notices, which had been
part of life since high school), the readers’ comments section was worse. Erick
had flashbacks to Ryan Hutchinson’s rant. This time, however, Erick’s
supporters weren’t dragging him into anything; this was solely about him.