Winter Ball (8 page)

He read enough, watched enough movies, to be able to envision a perfect day.

That Halloween Sunday was a perfect day.

He woke up with Richie in his arms, and that was a start. They didn’t have enough time to fool around, but they did kiss, long and slow, like they’d
always
wake up in the same bed, like they’d
always
have time for sex, like they’d
always
be in each other’s arms.

They took turns in the shower, and this time, when he got out, Richie had made coffee. They ate cold pizza for breakfast (because
cold pizza
!) and were out to the field half an hour early for warm-up. The smell of cold, of wood smoke, and the midautumn haze—all of it sang in Skipper’s bones. It wouldn’t matter if they won or lost—he was playing soccer with his friends, with someone who cared about him, and yes, damn, he finally knew what sex was about.

And then they won the game.

This time
he
was the one who lifted Scoggins on his shoulders and ran with him down the field. In six years of that soccer club, three seasons a year, they hadn’t taken the championship once.

Running down that field, Scoggins whooping with his arms out under the heartbreak blue of the Halloween sun, felt like flying.

That night Richie hid behind the tree and waited for the older kids to walk up to the front porch. As soon as the motion sensor kicked on for the ghost, Richie popped out from behind the tree wearing the Frankenstein mask, roaring, and the brave kids who got past
that
got the candy bars.

One tiny little girl slipped by Richie’s radar, but when he jumped out and hollered, she squealed, “Do it again! Do it again!” so it wasn’t too bad after all. (Skipper liked that kid—he gave her extra chocolate, and she gave it to her little brother, who was sitting down at the sidewalk in a stroller.)

When Richie got tired of that, he answered the door and roared, and Skipper handed out the candy bars anyway, but that didn’t last long. Richie needed to be active, and apparently chasing kids was its own awesome sport.

One mom with zombie makeup and a blood-soaked pink bathrobe laughed appreciatively as she balanced a squirming little zombie on her hip.

“Your boyfriend’s really good with kids,” she said, laughing, and she turned away with her wiggling kid before Skipper could reply.

What would he say? That Richie wasn’t his boyfriend? That they weren’t “that” way? Because they
were
that way, and Skipper wouldn’t mind if they were boyfriends.

But what? He was just going to bring that up? Stop Richie as he chased some high school kids through Skipper’s yard and tell him, “Hey, I think you and me, it’s more than a weekend thing or some fucking when you’re staying over for video games. It’s real. We’re boyfriends. Is that okay?”

Richie trotted back up to the porch, still laughing as he tore the mask off his face. “I think I put the fear of God in those little bastards!” he crowed. “They’re not coming back for a triple helping of candy—not on
my
watch!”

Skip wanted to laugh with him—he did! But all he could think was
I want to kiss him! I want to throw my arm over his shoulder and ask him if
he
wants a triple helping of candy, and hear him laugh dirty! I want—

“Skip, anything wrong?” Richie asked. Skipper fumbled for words and Richie started going through the candy bowl in his arms. “Oh, hey! You still got
massive
quantities of Almond Joy—excellent! Those are my favorites!”

Skip said, “Yeah, I got lots left over. It’s nine o’clock—you think anyone else is coming by?”

Richie looked out into the gentle little neighborhood. Most of the porch lights were still on, and they could see flocks of children moving like starlings from porch to porch. “I’d say wait until ten.” He yawned. “I’ll be ready to go to bed by then anyway.” He leered up at Skip. “Gotta get my fun in before the weekend’s over, you know?”

Skip nodded unhappily. He thought about saying it, then decided against it and was completely horrified when it came out of his mouth anyway:

“I wish you didn’t have to go home.”

Richie didn’t look horrified—he looked sad.

“Yeah, me too.” They’d locked Hazel in the bathroom, so they were standing in a lighted doorway. The whole world could see them. And Richie grinned up at him and tapped his cheek gently with a knuckle. “You think I want to leave a place that serves cold pizza for breakfast and has Almond Joys?”

Skip rolled his eyes and grinned, and they went back inside to watch
Insidious: Chapter 3
before the next round of kids came by.

THAT NIGHT
they did the thing again, but something was different. It was like they’d gotten some of the “Right the fuck now!” out of the way and they could go slower. Skipper was gentle with Richie when he knew Richie was about to come, pulling back and letting Richie’s cock flop out of his mouth and cool in the air. Richie drew Skipper’s blow job out a little, slowing down when Skipper warned him, and moved so Skip could stroke him off while Richie was deepthroating Skip.

They turned off the lights this time, because both of them were tired, and Richie said he’d eaten too much chocolate to do the butt thing. It didn’t matter. The sexual contact, the explosion of orgasm behind Skip’s eyes, Richie’s little whimper as he buried his face in Skip’s thigh—all of it made for the perfect day.

But the next day they had to get up early. Their morning was a flurried game of “I got next!” in Skip’s tiny bathroom. One of them shaved while the other one shit, and one of them showered while the other one shaved. They ended up dressing at the same time, Skip in his polo shirt and tan pants, Richie in his mechanic’s blues and jeans.

Skip shoved toast in Richie’s hand before they both ran out the door. Richie paused, one hand on the doorknob, his duffel bag over the other shoulder, and Skip grabbed his lapels suddenly and hauled him in for a thorough, lip-pulping, cock-hardening, nipple-tightening mauling. When Skip released him, Richie let go of the doorknob to rub his lips.

“What was that for?” he asked in wonder.

Skip was already hot from the kiss, but he knew his face got even redder. “Just… don’t forget this weekend, ’kay? Was… you know. Like the best weekend in my life. Want another one.”

Richie’s smile was almost shy. “You want another one?”

Skipper bit his lip. “That okay?”

“Yeah. I mean….” A smile of wonder split Richie’s face. “
Yeah
!” He reached behind Skip’s neck and hauled him down for another kiss, and this time Skipper found himself smiling when it was done. “We’re gonna do it again, right?” Richie asked, their faces so close Skip could feel little puffs of Richie’s breath across his lips.

“Next weekend,” Skip promised rashly. “We’ll go out to a movie Friday, play Saturday—can’t promise we’ll win—”

“Who cares!” Richie said, clearly enchanted. “Friday! I’ve got a reason to survive the fucking week now! That’s
awesome
!”

He was out the door before Skip could tell him that he could come by
any
day.
Any
day was a day Richie could hang out on his couch, play his video games, strip naked, and molest Skip’s unprotesting body.

But it didn’t matter, because they were going to do something on Friday. Richie would find his way to Skip’s door when he needed to, right?

BY LUNCHTIME,
Skip was staring at his phone like it had the secret of the universe.

“Skip,” Carpenter muttered, “you’re up!”

Skip looked at the phone bank, swore, ignored his cell phone, picked up his work line, and squeezed his squishy brain-shaped toy. “Tesko Tech Business Services! This is Skipper, how can I help you?”

“Oh, hey! Skipper! My boy! Lucky me, I got you again!”

Oh Lord. Skipper rolled his eyes at Carpenter and mouthed, “Mr. Gay Porn.” Carpenter made an obscene gesture using his fist and his closed mouth and his tongue in his cheek.

Skipper grinned and walked Mr. Gay Porn through his paces. When he was done, the guy laughed and said, “We’re going to have to stop meeting like this, Skipper. Any chance we can meet any other way?”

Oh boy. Skipper sighed grimly. “Actually, I’m seeing someone right now, sir. And this is highly inappropriate.”

“Oh….” That sound was not promising, in that it didn’t sound like Mr. Gay Porn would go away. In fact, that sound was highly
un
promising. “You are seeing some
one
. You didn’t say a
girl
. You said you are seeing some
one
.
I find that interesting. Don’t you find that interesting?”

Skipper pasted a smile on his face. “Thank you, sir, for using the tech services at Tesko. If you have any questions or any complaints about the service you’ve just received, feel free to dial the number provided by your employee manual. Thank you again, and have a nice day!” He hung up. “Without
me
,” he finished with passion.

“What’s the matter, Skipper? He having trouble realizing that no means no?”

Skipper turned to his friend and shook his head. “Man, you’d think the guy would… I don’t know. Take the hint. I told him I was seeing someone—”

“You are?” Carpenter took a deep drag from his flavored water and looked eager. “Tell me more!”

Skipper blinked. “You act like I haven’t ever dated before!”

Carpenter rolled his eyes and took another drag. “Skipper, my last girlfriend was a year ago. She was sweet, didn’t mind that I was fat, and left me because her old boyfriend came back and she loved him more. It was very sad.
Your
last girlfriend was Amber. You broke up for unspecified reasons, about
five months before
Trisha and I broke up. The fact that you’ve been seeing someone is a big deal. C’mon, man—you’re my only friend who doesn’t practically live online—hook me up with some real-life details!”

For a moment Skipper wanted more than anything to tell him about Richie. Carpenter
loved
liberal political causes. If Skipper was a betting man, he’d put down actual money that the fact that his love life had magically changed from an “Amber” to a “Richie” wouldn’t do more than surprise him.

But… but
Richie
hadn’t said it was okay, and that held him back. Richie had said they’d see each other over the weekend, but that wasn’t a confession of… of commitment or anything.

It was just “Hey, man, what’re you doing next weekend?” “Well, I thought we’d try that fucking thing again, what do you think?” “Fucking sounds great, Skip—how about fuck my ass again!”

Richie and Carpenter saw each other all the time. They liked each other. Skip
couldn’t
tell Carpenter about the… the new thing, the fucking thing, because that just wouldn’t be fair.

Skip looked at his phone again, longingly. It would be so much easier if he and Richie could just
text
, the way Amber used to text him. Stupid shit—catching up on your day sort of shit.

Actually….

“How do you know when you’re okay to text someone?” he asked Carpenter thoughtfully. “I mean, is there an etiquette or something?”

Carpenter scratched at the scruff on his cheeks. “I don’t know. Are you going to see this person again?”

Skip smiled, thinking of how excited Richie had been. “Yeah, this weekend. You know, uh, after the game.” And before the game, and God, wouldn’t it be great if they could see each other after practice as well?

“Wow—you found someone who would work around your obsession with soccer!” Carpenter let out a low whistle. “This is serious. You’ve ditched many a LAN party for soccer, my friend.”

Skip rolled his eyes and checked his call light. So far it had been pretty low-key, and they were getting close to lunch. “C’mon, let’s go walk to that deli on the corner,” he said, hitting his break signal and gesturing for Carpenter to do the same. “And you know, you could play too. It’d be good for you.”

Carpenter paused in the act of hitting his break signal. “I must have had too much coffee this morning. I could have sworn you just said I could play on your precious soccer team.”

Skip shrugged and Carpenter hit the signal anyway. “Why not? It’s rec league, man—nobody’s in it for the blood, you know?”

Carpenter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I suppose the fact that I’m a fat asshole who cannot
possibly
haul this piece of meat down the field has totally escaped your notice.”

Skip frowned and together they trotted out of the building toward the sandwich place at a decent clip. Apparently November had called a halt to the shiny, blustery days of fall and ushered in the low-hanging fog and dank days of the season. Ah, well, it meant that Skip’s run after work that evening would be a little more pleasant.

“Look, since it’s winter ball, we do running and drills on Thursday night. Show up for practice and learn some of the plays. I’ll bring some of my old gear—it’ll fit. We’ve only got one sub this season—just having someone to sub for the defenders would be great. You can be the guy who hangs out in front of the goalie and just keeps the box clear.”

Carpenter grunted, but he was keeping up with Skip and Skip wasn’t going slow. “Are they gonna hate me if I lose the game for them?”

Skip remembered the time he’d kicked the ball into the goal and it had bounced off the post and halfway downfield. In a stroke of luck, the opposing team’s midfield had trapped it midbounce and kicked it into the Scorpions’ goal for the win. The team—mostly the same guys—had laughed all the way off the field.

“Naw, man,” Skip said sincerely. “We wouldn’t have lasted this long if they were all douchey and shit.”

Carpenter puffed, blowing slightly, and slowed down as they approached the deli. “Yeah,” he panted. “Why not. God knows more exercise couldn’t hurt.”

Skip grinned, happy both on the count of distracting Carpenter and because
now
he had something real and not annoying and not clingy to text Richie about.