“Ladies and gentlemen. And Rodney,” Brandon had to call to one kid staring out the window. The student jerked his head around while the others tittered. “Today we’re going to learn about anatomy.”

  There were giggles and whistles in response to this news. The only kids in the rowdy class being quiet were the several girls who were batting their eyelashes at Brandon and the two kids who had been at baseball tryouts and knew Brandon as a coach.

  “All right. Did anyone read the assigned pages? There were only five,” he reminded them. “Raise your hands if you did.”

  A few hands raised, a few throats were cleared. “I looked at the pictures!” one kid offered cheekily.

  Brandon waved Cheeky up to the front. “What’s your name? Larry Wallace? Okay.” He looked back at the few hands and chose one of the quiet girls. “Come on up, Melissa. The purpose of this exercise is to identify parts of the body by their proper name.”

  Melissa blushed mightily as she was called to the front of the class, but she shuffled up obediently and stood there as Larry grinned at the rest of the class, drinking up being the center of attention. Brandon noted the reactions of his two ‘volunteers’. “The rule of the exercise is to touch the piece of anatomy with one finger.”

  There was a ripple of giggles and Melissa blushed harder. “Are you sure, Mr. Bartlett?” she asked in a slightly squeaky voice.

  Brandon squeezed her shoulder supportively. “If you break the rule, Larry,” the teacher emphasized to get the kid’s attention, “meaning, if you cop a feel, you get to choose between two results.”

  “Get slapped or keep going. Like that’s anything new,” Larry responded with a snicker.

  “You either get to explain your actions to Melissa’s father or Coach Campbell,” the teacher answered.

  Larry’s smile fell, and his shoulders slumped as the rest of the class snickered. Brandon continued. “Of course the same applies to Melissa. I can just see her explaining why she grabbed Mrs. Wallace’s baby boy’s butt, right? Right. So. Are you two comfortable demonstrating the exercise or shall I ask for different volunteers?”

  Both kids nodded dubiously and glared at each other in mutual silent warning. Brandon barely restrained his chuckle. “Oh. And did I mention we’re keeping score?” he asked innocently.

  Both kids squeaked again and another ripple of snickers went through the room.

  An hour later, loud cheers echoed down the hallway, despite the closed classroom door. They would stop, then erupt. Stop, then erupt again. Then there’d be booing. Then cheers again. And then chanting: “Ry-an, Ry-an, Ry-an, Ry-an” and “Go Nelly, Go Nelly, Go Nelly, Go Nelly!”

  The door jerked open suddenly, and Jake stuck his head into the room, glancing around with narrowed eyes at the kids and Brandon. The desks had all been pushed to the sides of the room, making space in the middle for the guy and girl who faced off. The other students, divided by gender, grouped on opposite sides, cheering on their ‘champions’ while Rodney kept score on the whiteboard. Brandon sat on the edge of the desk, one foot on the floor, the other swinging as he pitched out words, anatomy book in hand, glasses mostly slid down his nose.

  “Okay. Girls 4, Boys 2. Ryan: Deltoid,” Brandon challenged. Nobody had heard the door open over the cheering. Ryan considered carefully, looking over the girl’s body, then reached out with one finger and prodded the front of her shoulder. The girls groaned and the guys cheered as Brandon said, “Correct,” and Rodney added a tick mark next to Ryan’s name.

  Jake raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. “Is there fun being had in here?” he asked pointedly.

  Brandon looked up with a smile while some of the students called out greetings to the other coach. “Girls 4, Boys 3. Nelly: Humerus,” the science teacher said. The girl wilted, but the others cheered her on. After a moment she shrugged, stuck out one finger and touched Ryan right on the tip of the nose.

  Jake raised the other eyebrow and met Brandon’s eyes briefly, seeing that he obviously had this under control. He’d have to apologize for interrupting later. “Carry on then,” he laughed softly as he pulled back out of the doorway.

  Right before the announcements came on, there was much happy female shrieking and male groaning. When the bell rang, the students left, most bouncing and saying “bye” to Mr. Bartlett as they went, commenting on the “instructional” exercise. Once they were gone, he chuckled and started pushing the desks back into line.

  Through the open door more shouting could be heard and laughter echoed off the tiles. “If God wanted you to hang from the rafters he’d have given you tails, you damn monkeys!” Jake shouted. The smile in his voice was obvious as more laughter met his words. P.E. teachers were likely the only ones in the school system who could cuss at a kid and not get in trouble. A moment later, Jake was standing in the open doorway and leaning against the frame with a small smile.

  Having heard the now more familiar Campbell-bellow, Brandon glanced up as he shifted the desks back into place. “Hey,” he greeted.

  “Hey,” Jake returned with a small smile. “Sorry about barging in earlier,” he offered. “Usually in these parts when there’s yelling it means the teacher’s been hung from the ceiling by his toes.”

  “Not by his tail?” Brandon joked. “They’re good kids. I’m glad they enjoyed the game. Helps make them more at ease with me, at least.” He straightened up and stretched before shoving his glasses back up his nose. “How was your day?” he asked politely, looking at Jake curiously.

  “There’s a reason we’re not allowed to torture kids anymore,” Jake groused seriously. “I gotta run, got bus duty today,” he practically growled. “See you in a bit.”

  Left behind, Brandon reflected on how much he’d laughed the last three days. He just couldn’t help it, especially with Jake’s insane sense of humor. With a sigh he sat at the desk and pulled out his folders, settling in to do some – hopefully most of – his grading. He had an hour before he had to be on the field.

  So fifty minutes later he was in the visitors’ locker room, stripped down and just into the white baseball pants when he started stretching. He wanted to be ready to run the suicides, and it was easier to do it here than out at the field. Jake had said they’d be narrowing the team down today. He distracted himself from the slow stretches by mentally reviewing his notes on the players.

  Jake was doing his last survey of the locker rooms before classes were let out to clear them of anyone that shouldn’t be in them, and he pushed through the door with catlike silence and crept into the rooms. He peered around the first rows of lockers and into the showers and found no one, then stepped through into the other bank of lockers to find Brandon there, half dressed and stretching out his long legs slowly. Jesus.

  The coach stopped short and blinked, a rush of lust assaulting him before he could stamp it down. He swallowed heavily and watched for a moment longer before retreating quietly, licking his lips nervously as he pressed against the cinderblock wall near the sinks. Wow. He knew he should creep back out of the rooms before Brandon sensed someone around, but he couldn’t seem to force himself to move. He couldn’t remember ever being hit that hard by the desire to pounce on someone before. Just like that, right out of the blue. Was that what that niggling feeling had been the last few days? Unrealized lust? Christ.

  Sighing quietly, Brandon slowly bent over at the waist, grasping the backs of his thighs, eyes closed. After holding the position he straightened and stretched both arms up into the air, groaning when his neck popped. He yawned involuntarily and grunted, shaking his head to try to ward off the doze as he held the stretch.

  Jake shook his head and told himself to move. Walking in on the man innocently was one thing, but standing there and listening while he considered the shape of his ass was bordering on territory that would have him feeling dirty. Yeah, he definitely felt dirty. He crept out into the other side of the room, flushing hotly even though he was the only person who would ever know what he was thinking. He pushed at the locker room door. “Bed check!” he shouted, his usual bellow somewhat ineffective as it came out slightly croaked.

  Brandon’s eyes flew open, and he turned in place, then moved to stick his head around the corner of the lockers. “Bed check?” he echoed. “Are we in the Army now, Sergeant?” He tilted his head, noticing that Jake looked out of sorts.

  “Any kids in here?” Jake asked the man without responding to the tease, already knowing the answer. His voice was tight and clipped. The last thing he needed was an attraction to another teacher. Another teacher who knew him from before he’d grown up. Not to mention that he really didn’t want to be outed at any point because he was ogling the man, thank you very much. So he overcompensated, his black eyes hard and his body tense.

  Feeling an unexplained wave of coldness, Brandon shook his head and dropped the attitude. “No,” he said shortly before leaving Jake’s view to finish getting dressed. He just didn’t know how to deal with Jake. He yelled at the kids, but took care of them. He could be friendly, and he could be cold. He could explain or he could browbeat. He could do a hell of a lot, Brandon admitted silently. “Just not predictably,” he muttered under his breath as he pulled the Under Armour over his head.

  “What?” Jake called as he turned and headed for the door. He felt almost physically ill, and he was desperately trying to think of some sort of joke to break the tense mood he’d created. But he could think of nothing. Goddammit!

  “I’ll see you out on the field,” Brandon called out, feeling really off-balance. He had to figure out a way to relate to Jake or he just might lose his mind. Or worse. He dropped his head into his hands, trying to shake the odd warm flush that filled him every time he saw the man. He just couldn’t afford this kind of reaction right now.

  “Yeah,” Jake agreed woodenly, making his escape as quickly as possible. He needed some ice water or something. He needed to deal with this and fast.

  Chapter 4

  “Does anyone else wanna bitch about being tired?” Jake practically screamed as the unfortunate kid in question started on the first of his five laps around the field. His tone was different today than it had been before. Jake always shouted. But shouting and angry were two different things, and Jake was rarely angry. Today he was, though, and the kids could tell. Dark was soon approaching, but no one dared hope it meant the end of practice was coming. Even Troy was frowning at the man and watching the kids closely. He seemed to want to step in, but apparently even Troy knew enough to be afraid of Jake when he was in a mood. He also knew that no matter how angry he was, Jake would never let the kids come to harm.

  Brandon stood nearby, nearly wincing, though more at Jake’s language than the tone. But the angry note was a little distressing. Brandon knew Jake wouldn’t have the reputation of an excellent coach if he truly abused the kids. Still, in Brandon’s own quiet opinion, the kids needed to be running more. They needed to build up their endurance. Some of them wouldn’t last a mile before dropping.

  Finally Jake dismissed the kids in disgust, waving them off the field without even a word as he turned away from them. There had been misplayed grounders, dropped balls, swings that were a mile off target, not to mention the complainers who always got on his nerves. It was days like this when he questioned whether he was in the right place. The other coaches just waited quietly, knowing not to poke the growling tiger. Even Troy kept his mouth shut, which surprised Brandon.

  Jake grunted at the other men and shook his head. “Beer,” he snarled at them as he passed them by. Shrugging, Brandon led the way, following Jake. They were supposed to go to the head coach’s house tonight, and he figured that was still on despite Jake’s wretched mood. “You guys want a ride? I can drop you back here after,” he offered to Troy and Jonathan.

  “I’ll take you up on that,” Jonathan grinned as Troy shook his head.

  “Thanks, but I’m good,” Troy answered as he watched Jake stalk ahead of them. “Jake drove today, so....” He trailed off and cleared his throat as Jake stalked up to an old Chevy truck and chucked his equipment bag into the back, an action he usually undertook with great care. “Actually, yeah. Shotgun,” Troy said to them, and Jonathan scowled at him as they continued on to Brandon’s car.

  Brandon snorted and unlocked the car doors so they could climb in. “Don’t sit on the limes,” he warned Troy, who was about to flop into the passenger’s seat. There was also a six-pack of bottled Corona in the floorboard.

  “Is that legal?” Troy asked as he slid into the seat and plucked the beers off the floorboard. “Damn! Jake told me I couldn’t bring alcohol onto the campus,” he sulked, pulling the door closed.

  In the back seat Jonathan laughed and reached up to pat Troy’s head. “That’s ’cause you were trying to bring it for lunch, man.”

  “Fuck you,” Troy sneered, hugging the beers to him. “Fuck you all,” he declared as Jake’s truck pulled up beside them.

  “I’ll meet you boys there,” Jake said to them as he stuck his head out the window of the truck. “I’ve got to run by the store and pick up a few cases, y’all go on ahead.”

  “You might pick me up another pack of Corona, Troy seems to have gotten attached to mine,” Brandon said drolly, glancing to the blond man now crooning to the clear bottles.

  Jake peered past Brandon to look at Troy and then rolled his eyes. “Corona?” he asked, just to make certain.

  Brandon nodded. “Yeah.” He tried reaching over to get the six-pack from Troy, but got his hand slapped. “Bastard!” he barked at Troy, though he smiled while Jonathan just cackled in the back seat.

  Jake watched with a smile as Brandon asserted himself and slowly realized that the feeling from the locker room was returning. “Don’t let him into the limes, you’ll be scarred for life,” he warned, his voice slightly strained as he tried to fight back the sudden attraction. He gassed the truck before he could stare any more and drove quickly out of the parking lot.

  Muttering and mock-glaring at Troy, Brandon turned on the car. “My luck. I bring beer, and you filch it,” he said under his breath.

  Jonathan hung over the seat, still laughing. “Wait ’til you see what Troy can do with a lime.”

  “That’s, yeah, that is pretty impressive,” Troy chuckled evilly. “Hey, what crawled up Jake’s ass and died, huh?”

  “Shit, I thought maybe he needed some fiber or something,” Jonathan said.

  Brandon choked back a laugh. “I don’t know. He was fine after last block,” he said. “I noticed tonight he sounded a little more...”

  “Mad.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I haven’t seen him that mad since –” Troy stopped suddenly and simply stared out the window, shaking his head as if muttering to himself. “Must have had a bad day,” he finished finally without moving.

  Jonathan prodded Troy’s shoulder. “Since what? Is this something we should expect to see more of?”

  “I don’t know,” Troy answered reluctantly. “I mean, I dunno what set him off, is all. Last time I saw an extended pissy fit like today was when he found out that his shoulder couldn’t be operated on.”

  Brandon’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as Jonathan launched into a rant on how ten years ago players got pushed too hard and how many careers had been ruined because of it. Jake’s shoulder? Along with his ankle and a blown out knee? What the hell had he gone through to compete? Brandon realized he just had no concept of how much Jake must love to play. He drove, deep in thought, while the other two men ranted.

  When he pulled into Jake’s driveway, Troy was still clutching the Corona. “I’m not getting those back, am I?” Brandon said flatly.

  “Nope,” Troy answered with a big grin as he got out of the car.

  “You’re not getting all the limes,” Brandon retorted.

  “You won’t want ’em when I’m done with them anyway,” Troy twittered as he strutted up the walk to the front door like he lived in the place. He fished out the spare key from a hidden spot over the door and unlocked the door, inviting them in with a cheeky grin.

  Jonathan laughed and bounded up the steps. “C’mon, Brandon. If you want one of those limes you need to get it as soon as possible,” he said, making Brandon grab his pack and run up the stairs and into the house.

  Jake pulled into the drive not long after and sat there glaring at his front door. “Get a hold of yourself, you fuck,” he muttered as he sat with his wrists resting on the steering wheel. He had dealt with this before, an attraction to someone he shouldn’t be attracted to. He could do it again. With a grumpy snort he got out of the truck, slamming the door loudly so Troy would know to get out of his stuff, and grabbed the several cases of beers he had bought and lugged them up to the front door.

  Having heard the car door slam, Brandon loped to the front door and opened the screen for Jake. “Watch out for Troy, he’s on a tear,” Brandon warned just as the blond came sliding into the hardwood hallway in his sock feet, singing into his stolen Corona bottle like it was a microphone.

  “Oh Jesus,” Jake groaned as Troy turned, shook his ass at them, and strutted off. “You let him into the limes, didn’t you?” he muttered at Brandon, smiling slightly and heading into the kitchen with his load. “Sit down!” he shouted at Troy in his loudest, most authoritative voice. Troy plopped down on the couch obediently and sulked at him. “Before we get too trashed, we do need to divvy up the teams,” Jake reminded him.

  Troy huffed, and Jonathan chuckled as he flopped down next to the man with a bag of Doritos. Brandon just shook his head and watched in fascination. Jake growled softly and went to the sunroom to retrieve the rolling whiteboard he kept out there. He pushed it back into the living room, settling it in front of the television, and then he stalked to the kitchen to dig out the markers. On his way he grabbed a cold beer and opened the cabinet where he kept his many little bottles of pills.

  Brandon had come around the other door into the kitchen, planning to get a second Corona and lime, and he paused in the doorway when he nearly ran into Jake standing at the cabinet. “Sorry,” he murmured, moving past the other man to the fridge.