Caught Running (15 page)

The science teacher just shook his head. “Did my backpack make it inside?” he asked, standing from the stool and gathering his dishes.

"Yeah, I dumped it at the door,” Jake answered sheepishly. “You said you've got grading to do?"

"When don't I have grading to do?” Brandon asked drolly. “Not too bad, though. Only two blocks, no essays,” he said, rinsing off the plate in the sink. “If I get it out of the way I won't have to deal with it tomorrow,” he added.

"Right,” Jake nodded seriously, privately wondering how godawful boring a biology essay had to be. “Because you have plans tomorrow,” he reminded with a smirk.

Brandon laughed. “Right. I have hot plans tomorrow that are not to be missed,” he teased. Inwardly, he knew he was in for trouble. Oh God, yes. The awkwardness between them seemed to have disappeared, leaving a comfortable camaraderie tinged with humor and warmth. And it was oh so seductive to think it could last.

Hot plans. God, did Jake wish. He was really going to have to plan a trip into the city soon, just to relieve some of the tension building inside him. Once again he found himself watching Brandon with nothing to say. And so he simply watched, uncaring of the silence now.

Seeing the teasing fall flat, Brandon's smile faded. He left Jake sitting there, regretting the words now. Obviously Jake didn't feel as at ease around him as he felt around Jake. He wondered if the allowance to stay was out of pity. Pity for the brainy teacher who had nothing better to do than grade papers on a Saturday morning. He jerked up the bag, intending to turn around and tell Jake he'd changed his mind, that he needed something back at the school.

Jake watched the light fade in Brandon's eyes before he turned, and he frowned, chewing on his lower lip as he pondered the situation. His knee bounced nervously, and he stared at the floor, worrying, wondering too many things and imagining too many things to even categorize. He wouldn't allow himself to hope that he was sensing what he thought he was sensing. No way was he going down that road.

Brandon walked back up the hall with a purpose, stopping in the doorway to look at Jake, and he froze. The look of indecision on the coach's face arrested him, the obvious worry there surprised him. What on Earth? “Jake? You okay?” Brandon asked, completely forgetting about what he'd planned to say.

Jake jerked his head up in response and blinked at the man. The desire to just come out and ask was almost overwhelming. But Jake knew on a basic level that he didn't have the balls to do it. “Yeah,” he answered belatedly. “Sorry, just floating,” he said with a smile and a slow flush.

The urge to go over and do something about that smile was painful. Brandon cleared his throat. “I'm going to sit in the living room, be comfortable.” And he fled, afraid of what he might do to get himself in trouble. Big trouble. He flopped on the couch and stared at the fireplace, but all he saw was brown eyes. “God. I'm so, so fucked,” he muttered.

Jake rolled his eyes to the ceiling and pressed his lips tightly together as he was left alone in the kitchen. “Get it together, sport,” he murmured to himself. He thought he heard Brandon speaking in the living room, but it wasn't loud enough for him to be certain. He sat there for another moment and then stood abruptly. He might as well get the lineups together now. Then maybe he wouldn't feel quite so stupid as Brandon sat in the other room being a real teacher.

Snapping out of it when he heard Jake scoot his stool around, Brandon huffed and pulled his pack open, yanking out portfolios of papers and digging in the zipper pocket for his glasses. He found a pen at the bottom of the bag and sat back against the arm of the couch as he slid the metal-rimmed glasses on. Work. Work work work. Work is good for distraction, he told himself. Work, he repeated, every time he heard Jake moving.

After looking through the third place Jake thought he might find his scorebook, he stepped into the living room and glared around at the surroundings, trying to think back to last night. “Well, fuck a duck,” he finally spat. “Is the scorebook in your bag, by any chance?"

Brandon's chin snapped up as a strangled laugh escaped him. “Fuck a duck?” he asked as he bent to dig in his pack, successfully finding the book and holding it up.

"Don't tell me you've never heard that one,” Jake growled as he thumped over and snatched the scorebook. He flopped down onto the couch beside Brandon and flipped through the book grouchily.

Brandon sniggered, relaxing unconsciously as the easy banter seemed to be back. “You've got an awfully inventive vocabulary,” he said. It was sort of a backhanded compliment.

"Shut up,” Jake grumbled good-naturedly as he sank further into the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. “My momma taught me how to cuss,” he drawled with a grin.

Brandon hooted, slumping against the arm of the sofa. “That's one momma I'd like to meet,” he said with a snort. “Sure she didn't do that just so she'd have a chance to go at that mouth with a bar of soap?"

"I learned to talk early,” Jake blurted defensively, smirking as he tried not to laugh.

"And often,” Brandon shot right back.

"Ooh,” Jake cried as he pressed a hand to his heart. “Truth hurts,” he laughed, eyes dancing.

Brandon licked the tip of his finger and hooked it in the air in front of him, making a fizzing sound. “Score one for the nerd."

"Even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then.” Jake snickered.

The other teacher's jaw dropped, but he came back with a quick jab. “It's easy when the ground's littered with them."

"Shake that tree enough, and you get hit in the head,” Jake practically giggled.

"So
that's
what happened to you!” Brandon exclaimed with exaggerated, huge eyes.

"Hey!” Jake barked. “Momma fumbled a lot,” he huffed, barely keeping a straight face.

Brandon opened his mouth, but stopped and pressed his lips together. He rolled his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. “Goddammit,” he muttered, unable to think of a good comeback. Jake chortled with gleeful relish as he settled back into his scorebook. On the coffee table, his toes twitched and bounced to a tune only he could hear.

Picking up his pen, Brandon again shook his head as he started back on the grading. The banter shocked the hell out of him. It came so easily with Jake.
Like they'd known each other for years
. But now he was relaxed, he could focus on his paperwork, and he could deny how happy he felt because Jake was sitting right next to him.

It was a full thirty minutes later before Jake got his stats tallied and the lineup solidified for that day's game. He tapped his pencil against the list of batting averages and fielding percentages that he'd figured up in his head, groaning loudly as he realized that it was almost time to start getting ready to head to the school. He tossed the scorebook to the coffee table and flopped sideways on the couch, jostling Brandon with his feet.

Shaken out of his concentration, Brandon pulled back as feet attached to long legs pushed onto his lap, nudging the papers. He lifted a brow and tipped his chin to look at Jake, glasses sliding down his nose. “Is this your way of telling me you want my attention?” he asked. Yep. Still feeling happy.
Shit
.

"No, but feel free to keep my feet warm,” Jake ordered haughtily as he waggled his fingers at Brandon and then tucked his hands under his head, long body stretched out comfortably.

Brandon now had ankles on his multiple-choice tests, and he looked at them, bemused. Without thinking, he dropped his pen and pressed a finger to a whitened scar and slid it along the tendon.

Jake's leg jumped, and he shivered violently, but he didn't pull his feet away. “Careful there,” he warned seriously. “It's tender. Prod too deep and I kick."

"Dare I even ask how many scars like this you have?” Brandon asked sadly. “Tender, still, after how much time?"

"Years. And it's just the two long ones like that,” Jake answered with a tap to his shoulder. “My knee was arthroscopic."

Brandon turned serious eyes on him. “Like that makes it better. ‘Yeah, I went under the knife, but they did it by camera instead of looking with their own eyes.'” He shuddered, obviously not liking the concept despite where he'd been headed in med school. “I'm sorry you still feel it after all this time,” he said, unconsciously caressing the scar with one hand.

Skin prickled all over Jake's body as he watched Brandon's hand move with dark eyes. That was a decidedly tender gesture. Christ, could he be right about Brandon? Was it really more than just in his head and wishful thinking? He swallowed heavily and watched the man wordlessly.

Seeming to realize what he was doing, Brandon sat back and pulled his hand away with reluctance, fingers brushing along the skin before leaving it entirely. He glanced to the other man and murmured a weak apology. His touch had been beyond that of a doctor or therapist and well into something more intimate.

Jake pushed up onto his elbows and licked his lips as he watched Brandon intently. His stomach was churning after that gentle caress, and he could see that Brandon was embarrassed by the touch. Perhaps thinking he'd overstepped his boundaries? What if Jake was right? What if Brandon
was
attracted to him? The likelihood was slim, but Jake had reached the point where he just couldn't tolerate not finding out somehow.

"Can I ask you a question?” Jake blurted before his better senses could stop him.

Brandon glanced at him. “Of course,” he answered, pulling off his glasses and setting them on the pile of papers he'd just slid to the couch's arm.

Now that Jake had embarked on this road, he didn't quite know how to proceed, and he certainly didn't know how to turn back. He sat up and tucked his feet under him, peering at Brandon intently as the man turned on the couch to face him. Jake wasn't a wordy person, and though he was quick with the insults, having a serious conversation about what he wanted to ask just wasn't in his makeup. Actions spoke louder than words to Jake. So instead of asking the question he'd intended to, he reached out quickly, tugged Brandon closer to him—and kissed him.

It was the last thing Brandon expected.

He froze for the first few seconds as his heart tried to tear out of his chest. Then the heat swamped him and he practically melted against Jake's strong chest and firm lips, a soft moan in his throat.

The best way to tell if the answer to Jake's unasked question was a resounding ‘no’ would have been a swing of some sort. He half-expected Brandon to push him away and hit him. What he didn't expect was the responsive sound. It sent a fire through him he hadn't quite foreseen, and he nipped at Brandon's lower lip experimentally as he crawled closer. Brandon shivered and opened his lips slightly, softening and molding to Jake's as his head spun. God, was this really happening?

Jake leaned closer and kissed him harder, finding himself enjoying it even more than he'd thought he would. He kept his hands carefully off Brandon's body, that last mental barrier still yet to be broken down. Finally he pulled back and pushed himself off the couch, standing quickly and breathing hard. “Ha!” he shouted as he pointed down at Brandon. “I knew it,” he announced with relish.

Brandon's eyes were wide and surprised, and he flinched when Jake practically yelled. “Knew what?” he asked, raising a hand to touch his lips.

"You're gay, right?” Jake asked in a slightly amused voice. “Or bi, anyway. I knew it,” he repeated as he took a step forward and bent over Brandon again, bracing his hands on the back of the couch and trapping the man below him. “Aren't you,” he said softly as a smile pulled at his lips.

As Jake leaned close, Brandon first considered panic. Second, denial. Third, he thought flying off the fucking handle might fit well here. Instead he just nodded, studying the other man's face for warning signs.
Jake
had kissed
him.
Surely it wasn't a damn joke.

A happy flush spread through Jake's body as Brandon nodded slowly. “Can I kiss you again?” he asked impulsively as he hovered. If possible, Brandon's eyes got bigger. Unable to form words, he nodded again. Jake brushed his lips over Brandon's as soon as the tentative permission was given. He growled softly and finally let his hands move until they were resting on Brandon's shoulders, holding him down.

Clearing his throat, Brandon tilted his head up. “Why?” he asked softly before his mouth was taken again.

"Why what?” Jake asked a little breathlessly against Brandon's lips, telling himself that if he didn't get calm very fast the cup he never wore to games would have to make an appearance this afternoon just to preserve the innocence of the children.

The moan escaped before Brandon could stop it. “Why this? How did you know?” Brandon's voice was deepening to a rasp and his hands clenched on the couch cushions.

"Hope,” Jake answered immediately. “Sheer hope,” he murmured as he kissed Brandon again gently.

Jesus.
Brandon leaned slightly into the kiss and raised his hands to touch Jake's chest and shoulder lightly. “Christ,” he whispered. If he thought his head was spinning before ... he had no concept. “Jake,” he breathed. The other man hummed in response and slid one hand behind Brandon, pulling at him gently. He wallowed in the contact, kissing him languidly over and over. Already aching, Brandon leaned into Jake when he was pulled toward him. He didn't mind at all letting the other man take the lead. There was certainly no denying the attraction any more, and the slow, warm kisses soaked through him until he whimpered from the pleasure of it.