Eastshore Tigers 01 - Strong Side (6 page)

I don't know why he's asking. It's not like he doesn't change in front of tons of guys in the locker room. But I guess being at his house is different. Maybe he thinks I’ll somehow be offended if he doesn't leave his own room and go into the bathroom to change. He's definitely wrong about that.

"Go for it. I can turn around if you want. Cover my eyes," I tease.

"Very funny."

He pulls some fresh clothes out of his dresser, and I wonder if he'd feel the same way if he knew I was gay. I've had friends who didn't care, but for the most part, the guys I played with always seemed really uncomfortable getting undressed around me. Probably thought I would see one flash of skin and lose my fucking mind.

But it doesn't work like that.

Of course, as soon as Hawk strips off his shirt, I start to regret my decision. He has his back turned to me, and I have a full, indulgent view of his muscles as they flex and tense. He's not insanely built, but
something
ripples whenever he moves, drawing my attention in an unabashed stare. I want him to turn around so I can see his chest, but I don't want him to see me watching him. It's definitely a problem, and now I'm kicking myself for having some holier than thou attitude about not being immediately drawn to guys who take their clothes off.

But I'm around half naked—and sometimes fully naked—guys almost every day in the locker room and the showers. It's just Hawk that makes me this way. Turns me into the kind of creep who stares lustfully at a guy who's only trying to help him.

As he tugs down his jeans, I turn my head away. I doubt he'll strip beyond his underwear, but even that's too much temptation. Way too likely that he’ll catch me checking out his ass, and there's no way I can cover that up. Not much chance of hiding a boner if it happens, either.

Oh, who am I kidding.
When
it happens.

"If you aren’t tired yet, I can fire up the Xbox. I don't have a ton of games, but I've got the newest copy of Madden."

A smile quirks my lips. Not that long ago, Hawk complained about the guys who hang around in the dorm rooms and play video games all day. Either he's a little jealous, or he just doesn't get home that often. Considering there's a light layer of dust on top of his console, I'm guessing it's the latter.

"Yeah, that'd be cool."

Hawk finishes changing, and I realize I've only really got my gym clothes in my bag. A few shower supplies, too, but not the stuff I'd need to stay the weekend. He’ll have to drop me by the hotel tomorrow morning. As I'm trying to decide whether I should change, Hawk sits on the edge of the bed and fires up the Xbox. He doesn't exactly invite me there, but there aren’t a lot of places to sit, so it's either there or the floor. Against my better judgment, I take a seat beside him, leaving enough space between us to still be cool. But my heart is racing the whole time, and I can practically feel the heat of his body beside me. My mind starts to conjure images of Hawk reaching over, sliding his hand over my thigh, giving me that look, and then pushing me back on the bed and having his way with me.

Shit. This is
not
the way to avoid a boner.

We play a couple games, and I try to keep it together. I suck at Madden under regular circumstances, but doubly so when I'm thinking of anything but the game. Every time it's Hawk's turn, I check out his profile as he concentrates on the screen. He has an adorable habit of licking his lips when he's deep in concentration, and it's killing me. Slowly but surely.

He kicks my ass easily, and once the controllers are set aside, he gives me a strange look. His brow is furrowed, his lips are parted, and I can tell he wants to say something. Again my heart speeds, and I wonder if he's going to call me out from looking at him so much.

"Derek, I gotta be straight with you, man."

I really wish you wouldn't.

"I know what happened to you in high school. I saw the video."

I can practically feel the relief flood my body, but it's also mixed with a chaser of disappointment. I guess some part of me is still hoping that, against all odds, Hawk has this deeply hidden desire to experiment with his sexuality. Oh well.

"I forgot that even existed. Used to watch it for hours on end after I got out of the hospital. Shit messed me up."

"I bet. I just… Wanted to see what you're dealing with. And I may be way off base here, but it looked like that hit wasn't just a regular tackle."

My breath catches in my throat, and it's like my lungs suddenly stop, threatening to strangle me. Is he really asking what I think he is? It's been years, and nobody has ever seen through that clip. Then again, it takes a football player to know what another is thinking, and it's not like it's been on anyone's must-watch list beyond some morbid fascination with seeing another person’s pain.

I have to make a decision, and quick. He's going to ask questions, and it's probably better if I just throw it all out there and let him deal with it the way he wants. But there's a part of me that's afraid of his reaction. Either he'll move firmly into the camp of pitying me, or he'll start to distance himself from me. Both options suck, but I don't want to lie to him, either. In a very short time, Hawk has become a friend. I think he could be a really good friend, and I don't want to fuck that up.

My parents used to tell me that anyone who decides they don't like me because of who and what I am isn't worth knowing, anyway. But they’re my parents. They have to say shit like that. It's harder to think about it that way when you're faced with the prospect of losing a friend.

I swallow down the lump in my throat, and make my decision.

"That's because it wasn't."

He doesn't say anything, just lets out a breath like he was holding it in, waiting for my answer. He nods slowly, and whether he's just taking time to process it, or actively giving me time to compose my thoughts, it's appreciated.

"I told you I lived in a small town. Not the most open-minded place in the world, and anything that happens there gets around within a week." There were times when I feared for my life in that town, and that's part of why I ultimately decided to go to college out of state. "My junior year, I started having to… Face some hard facts about myself. I wanted to live my life and stop being afraid. To figure out if my hunch was true."

I'd been on dates before that. With girls, obviously. I even had sex before that, though it was awkward as hell and pretty much confirmed the fact that I'm 100% gay. I don't know what came over me that year, but I’d just had enough.

"I'm gay, man. I came out to my parents that year, and the team found out about it a couple months later."

That’s not the whole truth. I think about the offensive tackle in that video—the one who deliberately missed his block—and I feel my stomach lurch. I could've dealt with just being harassed and called a fag by the rest of my teammates. I could've even dealt with the injury, deliberate or not. But the way it happened…

Hawk sinks back into the bed for a moment, and I venture a glance at him. I can practically see the wheels turning, and I wait for him to put it together.

"He didn't block for you. He could've easily taken that guy out, and he didn't." There’s a severity to his voice that surprises me. "That's fucked up."

Can’t argue with that. "Yep."

"Seriously, Derek. That's really fucked up."

He stands, pacing in the small space between me and the TV. One hand covers his chin and his mouth, and the other is holding his elbow. He actually looks a little torn up about this, and I don't know what to say. I guess I didn't expect him to be completely unsympathetic, or to be an asshole about it, but this looks like something more than pity. Honestly, the overwhelming emotion I'm reading from him is anger.

He stops in front of me, and his eyes are a little wild. "Did you file charges?"

"What? No, I didn’t file charges. What was I going to say? I was tackled on a football field, Jason." It doesn't feel right to use his nickname right now. And since he's actually using my given name, too, I guess this makes us even on the familiarity scales. "There's no way I would've ever had a case. I just wanted it to go away."

He sits back down again, and the bed jostles beneath me. As I watch him, he rakes a hand through his hair and lets out a hefty sigh. "Sorry. That shit just gets to me."

"It's okay," I say quietly, not knowing what else I can offer. This definitely isn’t the reaction I expected from him.

"No, it's not. I had a friend in high school. Nathan. We went to different colleges, and the first year I was here, I found out he got the shit beat out of him behind some bar. Some guys thought he was hitting on them."

Now it's my turn to look surprised. "Shit. Was he okay?"

"Yeah. Spent the night in the hospital. They broke a few ribs, and he had to get stitches. But he was okay." Hawk—Jason—hangs his head down past his shoulders, putting both hands on the back of it.

"People are really shitty."

I came into this thinking that if I ever told him I was gay, I'd have to offer him an out. Give him an easy way to put some distance between us. But knowing Hawk has a friend who's gay puts me at ease. Even if what happened to him is terrible.

"Yeah, they are." He lifts his head a little to look at me. "If anybody on the team even starts to give you shit, you tell me, okay? I'm not going to let this happen again."

A flutter makes its way through my chest, and I have to remind myself he's only defending me because he feels guilty for what happened to his friend. "Sure. But it's not really something I want to broadcast to the team. If they find out, they find out. You're the first person at Eastshore who knows, aside from my roommates."

"Nobody will hear it from me."

It's easy to believe him. Jason Hawkins doesn't exactly seem like a gossip, and he looks like he's trying to atone for past sins. It rankles me a little, but beggars can't exactly be choosers. At this point, I'm just glad I'm not going to lose him as a friend over this.

Now I just need to get my head on straight and stop fantasizing about him.

He doesn't ask me any more questions, and we both get settled into our respective beds. I'm glad for the quiet. There are some things I'm just not ready to talk about. As I lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling fan, on top of a roll-away that's a little too small for me, I think about what it would be like to tell Hawk everything. We’re not there yet. But maybe someday we could be.

CHAPTER EIGHT

- Jason -

I don't know what time it is when my door slams open.

It's Sunday morning, I know that at least. Griff’s been here for one day, and my dad had him watching his favorite tapes from past seasons. We cooked a few stakes in the backyard, and had an okay time. Griff and I headed out to the Y to play some hoops, and when we got back, dad was gone. Probably hit the bar, but I'm not his keeper, so I didn't worry about it.

I guess I should worry about it now.

"What the fuck is this?"

It's the first thing I hear, yanking me violently out of a dream. My heart pounds as I sit straight up in bed. I try to catch my breath, feeling like I've just run a marathon, but he isn't giving me the chance. He shoves a folded paper in my face, and my eyes are still bleary from sleep. I can't make out what it says.

"Answer me, Jason. What is this?"

I hear Griff rustle on the roll-away beside me, and my stomach lurches. I can't smell any alcohol on Dad's breath, but he's pissed as hell. Taking the paper, I squint and try to make sense of it, hoping if I give him an answer he’ll leave me alone.

It's a list of the classes I'm taking this semester. Eastshore always sends them out the week before classes start so we can get our books and anything else we need. As I look it over, I realize what he's angry about.

"Can we do this somewhere else?"

"No, we do this here. Now."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Griff sit up. He blinks away the sleep, and I hope he isn't awake enough to realize what's going on.

"Sorry," I say to him. He just gives me a sympathetic look. "You mind getting the coffee started this morning?"

"The coffee can wait," Dad says, in a voice that makes Griff stop moving. "Right now, you’re going to tell me why you're only taking three classes this semester when you need 15 credits to graduate."

"I can't fit in 15 credits with football. You know that."

He rips the paper out of my hands. "No, I don't know that. I know you’re supposed to be a full-time student at that school. That you’re supposed to graduate this year. Hell, I know you were supposed to graduate last year, and I already gave you slack for that, Jason."

Bullshit. He's been on my ass about that since he found out.

"What do you expect me to do? When I'm not at school or practice, you've got me working drills here or at the park. When am I supposed to do schoolwork?"

His face is red, and his brows draw close together. "Don't you put this on me. It's your responsibility to do well in school."

"So what do you want me to do?" I repeat, knowing I'm treading on thin ice.

"Monday morning, you tell them to fit you into two more classes this semester. I don't care what they are, but you're getting those credits."