Fair Catch

by Leigh Carman

  This time Leo does leave, and I’m left standing on a busy sidewalk in West Hollywood wondering how much of what Leo said is true. Did I dump Van because I assumed he would be angry with me for the pictures? Because I assumed he’d take it out on me that his secret could be exposed to the media?

  I bring up the memories of the Van I know and wonder if I didn’t give him enough credit. Would he have stood by my side and fought Austin with me?

  By the time I get home, I still don’t have any answers. There’s only one person who can give them to me. I stare at the contact on my phone and try to muster the courage to make the call.

  Decision made, I push Send.

  Van

  “IT FEELS good, Walt.”

  The trainer flexes my leg, has me do different stretches, watching and poking and asking a dozen questions. “So no pain or tightness at all?”

  I stand up straight, hands on hips, and give Walt a crooked grin. “Like I’ve told you every week since the season started, I’m fine. My hamstring is fine. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were doing this just to stare at my ass.”

  Walt chuckles, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Interesting. Before I can ask him about it, I see Coach enter the training room.

  “Hey, Coach!” I grab my towel and water bottle and hurry after our permanently scowling boss.

  “Archer,” he grumbles, not slowing his gait one bit. Bobby Bannerman looks and sounds like a pit bull—small, stocky, and gruff. But if you get to know him, you’ll find he’s one of the most loyal, kind men you’ll ever know. The media just can’t stand the fact that he won’t kiss their ass during press conferences. To get back at him, they portray him as mean and flippant.

  “Coach, can I have a minute….” I glance around the crowded training room. “In private.”

  Coach doesn’t slow down, but he does tilt his head in my direction, raising one of those bushy eyebrows. “Sure, Archer. Meet me in my office in ten. I have to give this to Rivers.” He holds up a folder that most likely contains a review of this week’s plays for our quarterback.

  “Okay.” I slow my strides, turning to double back through the training area and locker room to get to Coach Bannerman’s office. My hands begin to shake, and a hollow, acidic ache forms in my stomach. I roll my head, cracking my neck. I can do this.

  Someone’s hand wraps around my arm, gently stopping me.

  “Van, you okay, man?”

  I turn to find Cal holding my arm, a concerned look on his face. “Hey, Cal. Yeah, I’m okay.” I nod mechanically, but Cal isn’t fooled.

  “You look like you’re gonna puke.” When I meet my friend’s eyes, he must see the terror in mine, because he squints and stares at me curiously.

  Coach passes by and snaps out, “Archer, office.”

  Cal’s dark eyes widen as he puts two and two together, realizing what I’m about to do. “Oh. Wow, man. You sure?”

  I nod woodenly again, like a puppet on a string. “Yeah, I gotta do this. I can’t… I just have to, Cal.”

  My friend pats my back and smiles. “Well, good luck, man. Remember, I’m one hundred percent in your corner, Van.”

  “Thanks, Cal.” I follow Coach to his office, the ache in my stomach growing larger and larger with each step I take. By the time I close the door and drop into the enormous leather chair across from Coach’s meticulously kept desk, I honestly think I might actually throw up.

  “Archer, you look a little green. You sick or something?” Coach’s sharp blue gaze narrows as he stares at me. The man misses nothing. It’s one of the things that makes him so fucking amazing at his job.

  “No, Coach, I’m fine. Physically fine, anyway.”

  Now both bushy eyebrows rise over those all-seeing eyes. “Really,” he says drolly. “Then what did you want to talk about?”

  “I… shit.” I lift a hand to rake through my hair, only to realize my hand is trembling to the point that Coach must notice, so I sit on it instead. “I’m gay, Coach. I just… I wanted to tell you.”

  Coach Bannerman leans back in his chair, the squeak of the springs the only sound in the room. His eyes never leave mine as he folds his hands over his belly.

  Here it comes. The disgust. The hate. The shame he’ll make me feel.

  “Is that it, Archer?”

  “What?” I blink rapidly.

  “Is that all you need? Because I have a ton of shit to do to get ready for Sunday. Rivers wants to rewatch some film that we’ve already studied a thousand damn times, I have a meeting with special teams and one with the rookie punter.”

  “Wait.” My mind is spinning in a million different directions. “Are you saying you don’t care that I’m gay, or are you dismissing me because you don’t want to be around me? I’m confused, Coach.”

  Bobby Bannerman, pit bull of the NFL, a man who can make a seasoned sports reporter or a three-hundred-pound lineman shit his pants with one evil glare, leans over his desk and smiles. “Archer, you think you’re the first player to tell me he’s gay?”

  “Well, I—”

  Actually, it never occurred to me.

  “You’re not. Not by a long shot, kid.” He chuckles, and his expression softens. “I’ve been coaching pro football for almost thirty years, sixteen of those as head coach. If it exists, I’ve seen it. Hell, kid, think about it.” Bobby pauses a moment for his words to sink in. “There are almost seventeen hundred players in the league. Add in another five or six hundred coaches, plus trainers, staff, etc. They say 1-2 percent of the human population identifies as something other than heterosexual. Logically, that means there are several hundred LGBT people working for the NFL.”

  “But how… I mean….” I scrunch my nose and rub my temples. “So you’re saying you honestly don’t care?”

  Coach laughs, a rare sight. “Kid, I couldn’t give two shits about anything but your ability to play football and your attitude. Everything else is what it is.”

  It’s such a typical Bobby Bannerman answer, I can’t help but laugh with him.

  “Besides.” Coach lowers his voice and leans over his desk a little farther. “My daughter is marrying her girlfriend once the season is over. So that would make me a little hypocritical to care who you are attracted to, don’t you think?”

  My mouth drops open at his admission. “How does no one know this?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t give a fuck who knows.”

  Again, the perfect Bobby Bannerman answer. He just doesn’t care what anyone thinks about him personally, and he doesn’t worry about anything but his team, his players’ well-being, and our performance on the field.

  “Okay, then. Thanks, Coach.” I stand to take my leave.

  “Archer.”

  I turn to find Coach next to me, extending his hand. Tears burn at the back of my eyes as I look down at a man I respect even more now than I did a few minutes ago. I swallow thickly and take his hand. Coach pulls me into a hug, slapping me on the back the best he can, considering how much shorter than me he is.

  “You’re a good guy and an asset to the team.” He keeps steady eye contact as he speaks. “Nothing, and I mean nothing, would make me bench you or get rid of you, and trust me when I say that Jack….” I cringe when Coach mentions our intimidating team owner, Jack Feinman. “Well, Jack wouldn’t care either.”

  “I-I don’t know what to say, Coach.” Gratitude nearly overwhelms me. “I didn’t expect you to—”

  “To understand? You expected disgust? Anger? Hatred?”

  I nod, my face on fire with chagrin.

  “I get why you would feel that way. Just remember, Archer, 1-2 percent of the population. That means statistically, you’re likely not the only gay guy on the team, and I’m definitely not the only straight guy with gay relatives. Okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say, my voice husky with emotion.

  “See you on the field tomorrow bright and early, Archer.” Coach scoops up a pile of folders and follows me out of his office.
r />   “Tomorrow,” I repeat. Bobby Bannerman winks and heads in the opposite direction as I return to the locker room to change and head home.

  When I get to my locker, almost everyone is gone, including Cal. I showered before Walt pulled me aside to check my hamstring, so I grab my bag and am out the door in five minutes. My body feels a thousand times lighter having told Coach I’m gay. I sit in my car for a few minutes, replaying the conversation in my head.

  Right as I start the ignition, my phone rings. The console of my SUV lights up with the caller ID, and I suck in a breath. My heart pounds, and my skin tingles from head to toe.

  Is it possible that this day could get even better?

  Only one way to find out. I fumble the phone as I reach to answer the call but manage to get my fingers under control long enough to push Connect.

  “Hello?”

  Chapter 12

  Toby

  “GO INSIDE, coward. Get out of the car, walk to the door, and knock.”

  My little speech to myself as I sit in the driveway of Van’s house does little to assuage my fears. The house is a pleasant surprise. Gone is the glittering, palatial monstrosity. Van’s new place is an adorable cottage in the hills, with rosebushes in the front yard and large hedges to keep the house invisible from the street.

  I must sit longer than I realize, because a tap on my window startles me so much that I yelp and grab my chest over my heart.

  Van’s beautiful face is staring through the glass, his brilliant green eyes reflecting concern. Pulling myself together, I grab the envelope off the passenger seat and climb out of the car. Van stands next to me, clearly feeling equally awkward. He shoves his hands in his pockets and ducks his head, looking everywhere but at me as a soft breeze ruffles his short hair.

  “Toby. You look good.”

  “You too,” I respond. Van’s cheeks fill with color at my compliment.

  “Come on in.” He instinctually goes to take my hand, then snatches his back when he realizes his mistake. Sadness fills my heart when I see what I’ve done to this once confident man, reducing him to a self-conscious wreck. Determined to right my wrongs, I reach out and take his hand, threading our fingers together.

  Surprised, Van stumbles a bit on the paved walkway but squeezes my hand and smiles when he regains his footing. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the warmth of his skin, the calluses that scratch against my own soft palms, the way his larger hand surrounds mine. Van leads me inside and down a hall to an open room at the back of the house.

  “Van, this is beautiful.” He releases my hand so I can take in the view. I drop the envelope on a nearby table and step over to the windows. The back of the house is almost all glass, revealing a large patio and swimming pool, but it’s what lies beyond that steals my breath. “You can see everything.” All of Los Angeles is sprawled out before us. “I bet at night it’s amazing.”

  “It would be more amazing if I had someone to share it with,” Van says, stepping behind me. I can feel the heat coming off his body before he presses his chest to my back. Van ducks his head to whisper in my ear. “I missed you. So fucking much.” His arms slide around my midsection, and I put my hands over his, linking our fingers again.

  “I missed you too.”

  Van tightens his hold, and I melt against him, letting my head fall back to rest on his wide chest.

  Van’s hot breath gusts against my neck right before wet lips brush against the sensitive flesh. He sucks my skin into his mouth, then sinks his teeth in just enough to send a jolt of electricity straight to my cock. I release one of Van’s hands to lift my arm and hook it around his neck, arching my back to press my ass against him.

  “God, Toby,” Van says against my skin. He inhales deeply and groans. “You smell so fucking good and taste even better.” Van proves his point by dragging his hot velvet tongue up and down the length of my neck before suckling on my earlobe.

  “Oh God.”

  I bring my other arm up until both of my hands are behind Van’s neck while he licks and sucks on my throat and neck. Van’s hands begin to wander. He slides them down my chest and abs while his sensual assault continues on my skin. When Van reaches the junction of my neck and shoulder, he pulls the flesh between his lips, sucking so hard I know I’ll have a mark. It feels so good I press my hips back again and moan. When I feel his thick erection against my ass, I moan, unable to think clearly. This isn’t why I came here, but damn if he hasn’t reduced me to a desperate, needy mess with only a few touches.

  “Fuck, Toby. I need you. Tell me I can have you.” Van slips one hand under my shirt, bringing it up to circle and pinch a sensitive nipple. I cry out and thrust my ass back forcefully, grinding against that gloriously hard length. Van wraps his other hand around my throat, tight enough to be possessive but gentle enough to be comforting instead of frightening. Van brushes his thumb across the pulse point below my jaw.

  The fact that this big, gorgeous man is literally begging to be with me has me writhing and panting on the outside and my heart filling with tender affection on the inside.

  “Yes,” I whisper hoarsely, coming apart as Van works my nipples one at a time and continues biting and sucking on my skin, his big hand still circling my throat.

  The second the word leaves my lips, Van grabs the hem of my shirt, tugs it off, and tosses it aside. He spins me around to face him, and I watch, mesmerized, as he reaches behind his neck and yanks off his own shirt. I swallow at the stunning sight of his perfectly sculpted body. My eyes lock onto the copper discs on his wide pecs, and my mouth waters. I lunge forward, latching onto one and laving it with my tongue.

  “Jesus!” Van shouts. “Oh God, so good, Toby, baby.” He holds my head in place. His touch is gentle, sifting his thick fingers through my hair reverently as I suck the tiny nub between my teeth and tug. “Fuck!”

  Van’s entire body jerks, and he pulls me off his chest, holding my head as his mouth crashes down on mine. The kiss is desperate and filthy as he thrusts his tongue into my mouth and grinds against me until my entire body is on fire. Van maneuvers us until I’m pressed against the wall, cold glass at my back and his burning hot flesh searing my front. The familiar taste of Van assaults my senses, sending waves of sparks down my spine. When he rips his mouth away from mine, I cry at the loss.

  “Bedroom,” he rasps.

  I stare at those swollen red lips and lift my gaze to his eyes. They’re dark with lust, glazed and hooded. Unable to speak, I nod. Van wastes no time, grabbing my hand and hauling me down a hall and up a flight of stairs. I struggle to keep up, partly because I’m shorter, but also because my brain has short-circuited from his sensual assault.

  I never saw Van’s bedroom at the other house, but I can’t imagine it was as cozy as this one. Van doesn’t give me a chance to get more than an initial glance. He gathers me in his arms, bringing us together, and all I can see is him. Van’s hands slide down to my ass, and he squeezes, palming each globe as he lowers his mouth to mine once more.

  Van

  I CAN’T believe I have Toby in my arms again. His taste, his scent, the feel of his tight, slender body—everything I thought I’d never have again is right here in front of me. God, I love his ass. His perfect round ass. It fits in my hands as if it were meant to be there, my thumbs skimming over the dimples at the base of his spine. I knead the two sides, squeezing and pulling the cheeks apart while grinding Toby’s groin against mine.

  His entire body shudders, and his head drops back, exposing the creamy skin of his throat. The primal side of my brain is screaming for me to mark him again, bite that gorgeous skin, and let the world know he’s taken. That he’s mine. A promise to protect and care for him. Unable to control my animalistic urges, I lower my mouth and gently lick a path up one of the taut tendons of his neck. Toby groans, his hips bucking forward, causing our hard cocks to slide together.

  “Fuck,” I hiss against his skin.

  Toby clutches at my shoulders, fingers digging in, a
nd begs, “Please, Van. Take me.”

  His breathy pleading snaps the last thread of control I’d been hanging on to. I sink my teeth into that tendon and suck it into my mouth. All the while, Toby is begging and writhing and crying for more.

  When I tear my mouth away, I see the angry purple mark left behind and feel like roaring with satisfaction. “You’re mine,” I growl, backing him up to the edge of the bed. I ghost a hand up his chest to rest around his throat, my thumb and fingers on the pulse points at either side. I love that I can span his entire throat with one hand. It makes me feel powerful and protective.

  Toby’s eyes widen a fraction, then fall halfway closed, hazy and lust-filled. “Yes. Yours,” he whispers.

  Both of us hungry and desperate, we crash together, mouths and hands everywhere. I flick open his jeans, roughly shoving down his pants and briefs. Toby scrabbles to do the same to me, but I push him back on the bed. He lands with a bounce, and I grab the bottom of his pants and yank them off his feet before he can get his bearings. My own are shed in half a second.

  I take in the beautiful sight of Toby in my bed, something I’ve imagined but never thought would happen since I fucked everything up. When I bring my gaze up to meet his, the powerful emotions we share steal my breath. I drop to my knees next to the bed and grab his hips, dragging him until his ass is nearly hanging off the mattress.

  “What are you—?”

  Toby’s question is cut off when I put a hand on each one of his thighs and push them back, spreading him open and dropping my head to lick a long, wet swath from his asshole to his balls and back. I flick my tongue over the small, wrinkled rosette, and the needy sounds he makes nearly have me coming without even touching my own dick.

  “Oh God. Fuck, Van. Holy….” Toby props himself on his elbows, and our gazes lock. His face is flushed, his full lips parted, and I’d be willing to bet he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing when he pulls that full red bottom lip between his teeth and lets out a long, slow hiss.