One on One (Cayuga Cougars Book 5)

by V. L. Locey

  “Letters?”

  “The LGBT letters.”

  “Ah, okay.” He smiled at me as if he were talking to a twelve-year-old. I rather felt like one. I rubbed my thigh a little harder. “Well, here’s the thing. First off, don’t take anything written on the internet to heart. People get paid to write crap articles for clickbait sites and they don’t know shit. Secondly, labels aren’t that important. There are like a thousand different shades of sexuality. There’s no rule that you have to be only one thing. You can be a mix of things, or you can be one thing or you can be no things.”

  “Sure, I knew that. I was just curious. So, a person can be semi-demi?”

  He laughed at that. “Coach, you can be whatever your heart says you are.”

  Okay, well that made sense. “You’re very pleasant to talk to. Tell me again how the hell you ever ended up with a rustled-up rattler like Victor.”

  “We balance each other.”

  I could see that, sort of, in a way. Not really, but we all loved who we loved. That was the grand thing about equality. “Well, thanks for the clarification. I’ll avoid the internet for any other questions and just come to you.”

  “Excellent idea.” He exited a moment later, leaving the door open and my mind a great deal lighter. I’d no sooner said goodbye to Dan when an incoming Skype call pinged at me. I opened the app up on my laptop and quickly accepted the video call from my daughter. I was doubly pleased to see Chaz sitting beside Charity. They appeared rather cross, though.

  “Daddy,” Charity opened with. “Charles and I are really mad at you.”

  I glanced from one round face to the other. Packed boxes were stacked up behind the twins. Ah yes, they were leaving their dorms today and heading back home for the summer. “What did I do this time?”

  “You have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell us about him?” Charity scolded. Chaz scowled.

  “Okay, first off, he’s not my boyfriend. We’ve had one date.” I held up a single digit. “Your mother wasn’t supposed to run around telling everyone.”

  Betty and her fiancé, James, popped up from behind the stack of boxes. My ex looked guilty as sin. “Lancaster, she told me too, as soon as she hung up,” James confessed. Betty swatted his beefy biceps. “Well you did,” the towering black man yelped. I liked James Haynes. He was an ex-Georgia bulldog d-man who’d gone on to start his own highly successful sports advertising agency in Augusta. Betty had worked for Haynes Sports Enterprises for over ten years, and she and James had started dating after our divorce. She’d sworn to me that they’d not done anything but become close friends while we’d been married. I’d believed her wholeheartedly, and even if she had been fiddling around, how could I hold that against her? She was a beautiful, passionate woman married to a man who had to force himself to make love to her every six months or so. She had needs, needs that I sure as hell hadn’t been meeting.

  “So, you are dating someone then?” Chaz asked, his amber eyes narrowed.

  “One date.” I paused. “And then another one this weekend.”

  All four goons hooted in glee. The glowers on my children’s faces disappeared, and huge smiles replaced them.

  “Okay, y’all just settle down. I’m fixin’ to take this slow,” I told the dancing foursome.

  “You take everything slow, Daddy,” Charity teased. “As soon as I get moved back in at home, I’m coming up to meet him.”

  “Oh yeah, me too! I want to meet him before I go to Scotland,” Chaz piped up.

  “We’ve not actually agreed to Scotland yet,” Betty reminded him as she piled boxes into James’ strong arms. “There are contingencies that have to be met by you that I’ve yet to get a firm yes on.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I know, but calling home twice a day is a little much. I’m twenty years old,” the boy argued. I guess I needed to stop thinking of him as a boy, he was a man now.

  “Maybe we can get your mama to back off to only one call home a day,” I interjected into the brewing fight, happy to have the conversation off me and Townsend. Betty gave me the stink eye and loaded a toaster oven onto the pile in James’ arms. Poor bastard. Moving two kids that weren’t even his out of their dorms and smiling the whole while. James was a good man. He’d make Betty deliriously happy. Hell, he already did.

  “Maybe your father can tell us more about his new beau,” Betty countered. Damn, that woman was far too quick.

  Both my kids gave me that sad puppy look. I nearly buckled. “Look, how about you two fly up here to see me before Charles hares off to Scotland—”

  “Mama hasn’t given her blessing yet,” Betty said, walking behind the kids with an arm filled with dresses on hangers. Chaz rolled his eyes.

  “After your mama gives her blessing then. Come up and spend some time with me. Maybe you can meet Townsend.” I knew the temptation would be too much for them.

  “I want to meet him too,” Betty shouted off-camera.

  “Me too!” James yelled.

  Now it was time for me to roll my eyes. “Might as well bring Marigold along,” I muttered.

  “Mama would love a nice trip north,” Betty said, appearing between the kids and smiling like the devil at me.

  “She’d sooner cut off her feet then have them touch northern soil,” I quickly replied.

  “True, but we can’t leave her home alone. She gets into stuff.”

  “Yeah, like jail,” Charity sighed.

  “That was one time,” Betty quickly corrected. “And the charges were trumped-up. Like my eighty-two-year-old mother could harm a six-foot three-inch-tall police officer.”

  “Mama, she ran her buggy into him, repeatedly, while calling him a—I can’t say it or Granny will wash my mouth out with her lye soap, but she called Officer Maple several bad things.”

  “Well, she was younger then,” Betty rushed off.

  “Mama, this was last year!” Charity laughed. Ah, Marigold Alexander. That woman was a livewire to say the least. “She was eighty-one. This is why Grandma isn’t allowed to canvas door-to-door for Governor Paling anymore. Now they make her sit at a desk and fill out postcards that they mail to like-minded Republicans asking for support.”

  “Now, now, Charity Grace, don’t take that tone,” Betty chastised our daughter. “We’re talking about your grandmother.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” my little girl murmured. Her amber eyes were lit with a righteous fire, though. Ah, my girl was going to be a hellion, just like her mother and grandmother.

  “For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places,” I softly said.

  Charity smiled sweetly. “I’ll keep wrestling, Daddy, don’t you worry,” she assured me.

  “Dad, will you please talk to Mom?” Chaz pleaded.

  “Yes, we’ll talk. Now go help them move before you get in trouble. Hey! You all let me know when you’re coming up. I’ll have to tidy up and lay in some food.”

  “We will, Daddy. And we want to meet Townsend. Make it happen! Kisses!” Charity blew me a smooch and ended the call. I leaned back, a smile as wide as the Mississippi on my face. It had been far too long since I’d seen my children. Easter was the last time, and I’d flown down to them just for an overnight visit and an early Easter dinner, as we’d had games to play. Hockey cared little for fathers who were missing their children. Or the men they were dating, sadly.

  5

  The Hartford Huskies were not the Binghamton Broncos. They didn’t wait for us to get a substantial lead in the win column before they showed their canines. They came out in game one fangs bared and hackles raised. Junkyard dogs every last one of them. It took the men by surprise, even though the coaching staff had warned them to not grow complacent. The first game in Hartford was a disaster, filled with turnovers and foolish rookie moves by seasoned vets.

  Game two was a much better outing. We took them into overt
ime with only one goal apiece, and then one of our defensemen socked in an ugly goal from the blue line that somehow rolled up and over the Huskies goalie. It was not a slick goal, and it would not make any highlight reels, but it got us a win. Now we were heading back home with things all tied up.

  I had my nose buried in a good thriller when Mitch sat down beside me. I gave the young goalie a sideways sort of smile. He smiled back. I stared at him over the top of my glasses, waiting for him to say what it was he wanted to say.

  “Dan said that you’re confused about your sexuality.”

  “He what?”

  “Well, he didn’t come right out and tell me. I kind of overheard him and Coach K. talking when I walked past Coach Kalinski’s office door. Not that I was eavesdropping! But well, you know Coach K., he’s kind of got one volume setting and it’s loud.”

  “Yeah, I know that.” I shut my book with a snap. It was a hardcover, so it made a sharp crack, which felt good. Damn gossiping bitty hens. “Do you men have nothing better to do then sit around like a clutch of old women at a church social? Like, oh I don’t know, studying game film to see where y’all are messing up?”

  “Oh sure, we do that too. But there are only a few of us here who are rainbow people. I used to think I was straight. Like for a long time I only… did it with girls.” He shifted in his seat, his face pink with embarrassment. “But then Shaun kissed me, and it was like POW! and who I was changed forever. I couldn’t not think about him, the kiss, and did that make me gay? It was super confusing for me, because girls were still making me twitchy but not guys, aside from Shaun. It was only Shaun. Like, how weird is that? We’re together now, me and Shaun, and it’s super good and so you should not worry over things, and just kiss whoever makes you happy.”

  I stared at him for the longest time. This kid, who spent all of his time either on the ice or watching cartoons, had just educated a man twice his age. Sure, I’d heard the same speech from Dan—who I was going to throttle for his loose lips—but Mitch’s youthful exuberance certainly sold his speech.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I smiled at him. He got up, flashed me a grin, and then went back to his seat with Sander.

  I no sooner opened my book than someone else was dropping their ass next to me. Did the empty seat with the coat on it not mean the same thing to other people then it did to me? The coat meant that seat was saved. For me. I wasn’t a talker when I was travelling. I liked to read, maybe nap, or listen to some music. If I’d known where my earbuds were I’d have been neck deep in The Allman Brothers.

  “I hear that you’re getting advice from all the knuckleheads on the team,” Victor said. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’ll make it really simple for you. Fuck anyone who looks good to you.”

  With that, he stood up and walked back to sit with Dan.

  “Well, that certainly would make things much simpler,” I muttered and opened my book.

  “Hey, Coach?” Mario said from behind me, reaching over to rap the top of my head with his knuckles. I tossed my book to the seat beside me, rose, turned around, and knelt on my seat so that I could give McGarrity and his kilt a glower.

  “Thank you in advance for your advice. I do know that you’re living with a transsexual woman and that you identify as bisexual. And I am all kinds of thrilled for you and yours, but I am not seeking the story of every player’s search for their sexual self-awareness. I will navigate these murky waters by myself. So, thank you ever so much for all your stories but I’m full up!”

  The whole team stared.

  Mario blinked up at me. “I just wanted some gum.”

  “Oh.” I dug into my pants pocket, pulled out a packet of peppermint gum, tossed it to him, and then sat, my face felt redder than a beet pickle. I hid inside my book for the rest of the ride to Cayuga.

  I glanced to the right. Again. Smiled. Again. Sighed like a schoolgirl. Again. Town caught me every time I snuck a peek, his brown eyes twinkling.

  “You’re the handsomest navigator I’ve ever had,” I told him as I drove my trusty Subaru along back roads that sliced though massive vineyards, our destination the Randy Rooster Winery in beautiful Hector, New York.

  “You say that now, but when I get us lost you’ll be singing a different tune,” he said, his eyes flicking from the map neatly laid out on his lap to the intersection we were approaching. “You’ll want to make a left here.”

  I nodded, slowed to a stop, and let a tractor pulling a wagon filled with people chug past before I made the turn. A stiff wind off Seneca Lake blew through the window, grabbing the map. Town had a small battle with the paper that ended with him the victor.

  “I’m not one to tout technology since I can barely attach a picture to an email, but is there a reason why you fuss with a paper map when we can just use GPS?” I asked as we drove down a long country lane thick with trees and tiny bits of fluff floating in the sunbeams that wiggled through the leaves.

  “My father demanded that I know how to read a map. His reasoning being that phones go dead, or you lose service.” He folded the map and held it to his thigh. A thigh that was bared a few inches above the knee. I did love shorts on a man.

  “Makes sense,” I steered us into a soft bend and saw the sign along the road announcing we were a half-mile from the winery.

  “It does. He’s practical like that. Also, I wanted to impress you with my astute navigational skills, so I busted out the map.”

  I smiled and gave him a quick peek. “Consider me highly impressed.” He bowed his head in thanks and then shoved the map back into the glovebox. “Course you don’t have to work too hard to impress me. I’m already smitten.”

  His lips curved into a sweet, sinful smile. “The feeling is quite mutual.”

  I felt flushed, despite the beautiful weather we’d been blessed with—bright sun, low humidity, fat cotton ball clouds.

  “I best mind the road,” I tossed out, then chuckled, to hopefully break the sensual fog that had filled my head. Town reached over to pat my leg. His hand stayed on my knee until we were parked and had shared a giddy kiss.

  I did a complete spin after exiting the car. Seneca Lake, another one of the Finger Lakes, sat just a mile or so away, the rolling hills that buffeted the water rich and green. There were grape vines as far as the eye could see. The winery itself was beautiful. Big, welcoming buildings including a tasting room and a store where one could buy all the Randy Rooster wine one wished. I planned to go home with several bottles.

  Hand-in-hand, we followed the small signs directing us to the store. A young woman in a red apron with the big white rooster emblem on it greeted us. We bought our tour tickets, which included a wine tasting at the end. The store shelves were filled with wine, glasses, trinkets, and souvenirs. Town had to pull me out so that we could catch the next tour wagon. Joining several older couples and a small bus group, we sat side-by-side in the open wagon, smiling at each other, fingers meshed, as the tractor came to life and pulled off, the wagon rumbling along in its wake.

  The ride lasted over an hour and took us through some of the vineyards, as well as by the lake. Our tour guide was a perky young man who filled us in on how the Finger Lakes—named such because the eleven lakes ran nearly parallel and resembled long fingers—had been formed by glaciers carving out old stream valleys. I learned that Cayuga and Seneca Lake had bottoms well below sea level. Then the guide went on to explain how the deep lakes in the region are part of a microclimate, and that most wineries are on hilly terrain near lakes which provide good drainage, favorable sun exposure, and reduced risk of frost. The views were breathtaking. Town and I held hands the entire time. I felt light as air, bubbly, and slightly tipsy even though we’d not even gotten to the wine tasting yet. The tractor dropped us off outside the Randy Rooster store where other people were waiting to climb into the refurbished hay wagon. Our guide led us inside the store, and then down into the wine cellars, showing us shiny new vats as well as old oaken barrels that held aging dry
reds and chardonnays.

  After the cellar tour, we were taken back upstairs and out to the tasting barn. The walls had been knocked out, and the roof replaced with old timbers. Half barrels filled with flowers were beside every thick old post holding up the roof. Long folding tables and chairs awaited us. Town and I sat with two older couples, who smiled warmly at us and chatted away as our tiny little cups of wine were filled with the various flavors of the white wines Randy Rooster offered. Then we were presented with the reds. After each taste, we took a sip of water. Town and I much preferred the sweeter reds to the tart whites. Crackers and cheese were placed on the tables, and we were given order forms to fill in, if we so desired, as we nibbled. We decided to place one order and he could just buy me dinner on the way home.

  “Get a bottle of the cherry.” Town leaned over my shoulder to supervise my box-checking. “Oh, and grab me one of the blackberry. Did you like the peach?”

  “I think so. I’ll get a peach and a blueberry. I better stock in some white, though, Betty enjoys a nice Riesling.” I went along ticking boxes, enjoying Town’s warm body pressed to my side.

  “Is your ex-wife coming to visit?”

  I glanced from the wine list to my date. He wasn’t upset, by the looks, just curious.

  “I think so.” I laid down the pencil we’d been provided with and placed a hand on the order form, lest the wind off the lake blow it away. “I may have made the mistake of telling Betty about us.” His eyebrows flew up. “I know, I was just…well, I was over the moon after our dinner last Sunday and she called and, hell, it just gushed out of me. I hope you’re not too mad.”

  He gave me a light kiss on the nose. “I’m not mad. I’m thrilled that I made you gush.”

  “You do. Every time I think about you I gush. That sounded dirty…” Town chortled. “Anyway, she told the kids and now they all want to meet you. I was waiting for the confirmation call that they’d booked flights before I told you. No need to get your tail in a kink if they didn’t show.”