“No problem,” Jake muttered as he poured out a handful of pills and then picked out two of them. “Small kitchens make for close families,” he said without thinking, the words his mother had loved to say, even though the house was sizable and the kitchen wasn’t that small.

  Straightening, Brandon looked curiously at Jake as he moved to the cutting board for a slice of lime. It was an interesting aphorism. He could see that applying at the house where he’d grown up, the house he still lived in. It sounded loving. He twisted the top off the bottle and shoved the lime down the neck, watching Jake chase the pills with beer. Were it anyone else, Brandon knew he would have said something.

  Jake glanced over his shoulder at the man as he realized what he’d said, and that Brandon was silently watching him. “Hmm?” he asked in what he hoped was an innocent tone as he flushed slowly.

  The attraction Brandon had been trying really hard to bury reared its gorgeous head again, and all he could do was blink and look at Jake – at what must be the real man. Not puffed up, not coaching, not yelling, not joking. Just him with a tired sag to his shoulders, bobbing Adam’s apple, mussed hair, and warmed skin. The science teacher had to close his eyes fully to break the tableau. “Ready?” he asked, voice rough, tipping his bottle toward the other room where he could hear Troy and Jonathan squabbling good-naturedly over American Idol.

  Jake took the opportunity to think seriously about slamming his fingers in a drawer. That would distract him easily enough, right? Right. “Yep,” he muttered as he grabbed the three markers and his beer and headed back out into the other room.

  Brandon followed him, trying really hard not to look at Jake’s ass in the white baseball pants. Really hard. Oh, man. Not the thought to have. He sat on the couch, pushing Troy over and away from the Doritos as Jake went to stand at the whiteboard.

  “C’mon, Bartlett, be a pal,” Troy whined, practically climbing on top of Brandon trying to reach the bag of chips while Jonathan convulsed with laughter, rolling off the couch onto the floor.

  “Troy!” Jake shouted, fed up and tired and hot and dirty after a long day. “Get back on the fucking Ritalin or something!” he barked in annoyance as he uncapped a marker.

  Troy flipped him the bird but moved back to his end of the couch. Brandon grabbed the bag of chips and tossed it against the other teacher’s chest. “Now behave,” he said quietly as Troy stifled a cackle and sat back, a look of childish glee on his face.

  “God,” Jake groaned, the tip of the marker just touching the whiteboard before he withdrew his hand again. “You get your cheese rush, I’m going to change,” he muttered dejectedly as he put the marker down and headed up the stairs, stripping off his shirt as he went and using it to wipe at his chest.

  Annoyed on Jake’s behalf, Brandon reached and bapped Troy on the back of the head. “I thought you were his friend. Can’t you tell how tired he is? Button it up, Troy.”

  “Fuck. If I button it up whenever he’s tired I’d be perpetually buttoned,” Troy muttered, glaring at the biology teacher.

  “Cut him some slack, man,” Jonathan said from his spot on the floor. “Or never mind the kids, he’ll be making our lives hell, too.”

  Troy and Jonathan continued to murmur, and Brandon just watched the stairs, remembering the bared chest and back he’d seen, muscles shifting. He pressed his lips together and took another long drink, despite the fact this was supposed to be his last beer for the night.

  Jake didn’t shower, but just putting on fresh clothes made him feel better as he thumped back down the stairs. He was wearing loose sweats and a worn fraternity T-shirt that fit him like a soft, thin, second skin. Comfort clothes. He brought a T-shirt for each of the others and tossed them in the general direction of the couch as he grabbed up his beer again.

  “Okay,” he huffed, picking up the marker. “Have we settled down?” he asked them in a tired voice as Troy stripped off his Under Armour and slid comfortably into Jake’s T-shirt. Jonathan took the shirt, but merely folded it back up and laid it aside. Apparently the slighter man was either comfortable in his Under Armour or he knew he’d look like a five year old in his dad’s clothes if he wore Jake’s shirt.

  Brandon held up the shirt Jake had thrown at him. ‘Co-ed Naked Wrestling: The Mat Is Where It’s At’. Quaint. He half-smiled and pulled off the jersey as Troy murmured an apology to Jake. Next went the Under Armour, and Brandon was surprised at the cool air that hit his skin. He hadn’t realized he’d been so warm in the uniform. Just cooling off, he sat there holding the T-shirt, listening with half an ear as Troy promised to sit back and try to act at least half his age.

  Jake turned around to say something and stopped short, his eyes catching Brandon’s bare chest. He blinked and looked away quickly, staring at the whiteboard for a minute as he tried not to flush. God, this was just getting worse and worse. Without a word he began to write the last names of boys who had tried out for baseball. All sixty of them, from memory. In alphabetical order. By grade.

  The science teacher took a moment to yawn and stretch the kinks out of his back before he pulled on the T-shirt, surprised to find it actually fit well over his frame. It had that well-worn feel of a favorite. He smoothed his hand over the lurid words and stifled a chuckle.

  “We’ve got twenty-two freshmen,” Jonathan said to Jake as he settled on the floor with his back against the couch. “At least five need to go.”

  “Fifteen seniors,” Jake replied with a nod. “God, the juniors are going to be murdered,” he murmured with a wince as he began the next line of names. He stood for a moment, tallying the count. They could take twenty on varsity, no more. And that was really pushing the limit. “Somebody get the book, we’re going to have to look at their birth dates and not their grade levels. And the stats from last year. Christ,” he murmured to himself as he rubbed his neck.

  “This is going to slaughter my team. And yours next year,” Troy said, his voice finally sobering. “Juniors will be ticked if they’re left out this year, and some might bail. Maybe even transfer to Berkmar to get playing time to prep for college.”

  Brandon shifted and nabbed Jake’s bag, dragging it over to his feet and fishing out the book the other coach asked for. He opened it up to the bio pages and glanced up to the head coach. “Want me to just read them off?”

  “Hold on, hold on,” Jake murmured as he shook his head. He rubbed the back of his neck and frowned at the names on the board. “God, this is gonna be okay. We do it purely by skill first run. Narrow it down to twenty each. Then we go from there, okay? I don’t care what grade they are, they deserve varsity if they get it first run. Then we tinker,” he said, turning to look at the other three for confirmation.

  The science teacher shrugged, glancing to Troy and Jonathan as they both nodded. Brandon sat back, putting his feet up on the coffee table and crossing them at the ankles. It was going to be a long night.

  Jake nodded and turned back to the whiteboard, going down the list of names and checking the kids who were definite varsity material. He crossed out the definite freshman cuts, a few kids who just weren’t meant to be playing for one reason or another, and then he stepped back.

  He had fourteen varsity marked, five of whom were juniors. He sighed and glanced back for guidance. Troy shrugged and nodded. “Cutting seniors?” he asked dubiously.

  “Some of them got outplayed,” Jake murmured with a slight frown. “And that little Garner bastard needs to be stuck in a tree until he ripens somewhere,” he added as he crossed out the kid’s name with a vengeance.

  “You might consider cutting Garrett,” Brandon suggested quietly, naming a senior who’d been on varsity last year. Not a stellar player, not a star, but usually solid.

  “Cutting?” Jake asked seriously, not even blinking at the fact that he was asking advice from the science teacher.

  “Yes. He’s at practice everyday, and he plays, but his heart’s not in it. He daydreams when you’re looking the other way. I also heard...” Brandon stopped talking, not sure if they’d want to know information that didn’t have to do with baseball.

  “Go on,” Jake invited with a nod.

  “I heard he asked Rachel Richards to marry him over Christmas break. Rumor is she’s pregnant and he’s over the moon about it.”

  Jake stared at the man for a moment and then groaned, rolling his eyes as he cracked his neck and went back to the whiteboard. “Good luck with that one, kiddo,” he murmured, crossing off the name.

  Brandon shrugged. “Clark might be a problem, too. Not with a girl. With grades. Marty told me in the lounge today he’s looking to drop out and join the Army.”

  “He does like to kill things,” Troy muttered with a little snicker.

  “Yeah, we had to warn him last year not to hold his bat like a gun in batting practice,” Jake muttered as he crossed the name off the list.

  Jonathan had been quiet to this point, and he piped up with a question totally off-topic. “Who gets locker room duty this year? Are we splitting it up?”

  “Just like last year,” Jake answered with a nod. “Troy, who do you want?” he asked suddenly as he examined the lists. Troy shuffled over to the board, and for about five minutes the two men stood side by side, shoulders touching comfortably as they played a morbid sort of tic-tac-toe with the names.

  Jonathan craned his neck and grinned at Brandon. “Want another beer?” he offered quietly.

  Brandon shook his head. “Two’s my limit when driving. And really, I should eat something since I skipped dinner,” he added. “Anything to eat besides Troy’s Doritos?”

  “Hey Coach, how about some pizza?” Jonathan asked with a pat to Brandon’s knee.

  Jake turned around to look at them and blinked stupidly at the two of them as he stared. He nodded as he forced himself to get over the fact that he was actually jealous of Jonathan. God! Jonathan was as straight as they came, he knew that for a fact, and so was Brandon as far as he knew. What the hell was wrong with him? “Money’s in the drawer,” he muttered distractedly with a wave of his hand.

  Jonathan clambered to his feet and took a moment to lean over Brandon and whisper, “He lets you stay the night if you drink too much. It’s gonna be a long one,” he murmured in the other teacher’s ear before standing up and adding, “Any toppings requests?”

  “Meat!” was the demand from Troy, who then went right back to the whiteboard. Brandon shook his head. He’d eat about anything and pick off what he didn’t want. When Jonathan lurched, about to lose his balance, Brandon reached out and shoved his ass up. “If you’re calling Morelli’s, just tell them to get it here fast if they want to see Parkview go to State,” he said. “The owner’s an alum.”

  “Yeah yeah yeah,” Jonathan huffed with wave of his hand as he went to the kitchen for the phone. “No free grabs,” he added with a smirk. Brandon waved him off with a roll of his eyes.

  Jake growled a little and leaned back to watch Jonathan with a frown. “Put green peppers on that,” he added, trying to tell himself that Brandon grabbing Jonathan’s ass had nothing to do with him. “And mushrooms!” he added as Troy tried not to laugh beside him. “Ooh! And onions!” he added as Troy began to shake uncontrollably. “Shut up.”

  “What put that look on your face?” Troy asked between insane giggles, chancing a swipe from the head coach.

  “What look?” Jake asked defensively.

  “That somebody-kicked-my-puppy-and-I’m-pissed-off-about-it look,” Troy tried to describe. “Christ. I don’t think I’ve seen that on you before. C’mon, what’s the problem?”

  Brandon listened from the couch, looking from man to man before settling on Jake, trying to see what Troy was describing. Jake looked fine to him.

  “Shut up,” Jake grumbled as he crossed another name off the list. Troy just fell over onto the couch, laughing.

  “How many Coronas have you had, man?” Brandon asked, nearly agog.

  “Just the one,” Troy snickered as he pointed at Jake. “But I know that look. I remember that look now,” he crooned as Jake turned around to glare at him. “You’ve found a girl,” Troy accused in a sing-song voice. “Oh oh! Did she turn you down? Is that why you’ve been spitting nails all day?” he asked with glee.

  Brandon’s brows shot up. Christ. It was like they were back in high school, and once again, he was relegated to the silent watcher. Jake’s face darkened like a thundercloud, and Brandon started to wonder if he might ought to go join Jonathan in the kitchen, so there’d be no witnesses.

  “Your mom always turns me down,” Jake finally answered with a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he turned back to the whiteboard. He easily caught the empty beer bottle that was tossed at him and snickered when Jonathan came back into the room with his arms spread wide, asking what the hell he’d missed. As Troy collapsed back on the couch, Brandon wondered what Jake hadn’t said. There’d been a little too long of a pause before his snappy comeback, not that Troy noticed. Apparently the blond was quite the lightweight; a few beers and he was gone. Brandon scooted to make room for Jonathan on the couch between himself and Troy, not even noticing when Jonathan put a hand on his shoulder to balance himself as he threaded between the couch and coffee table.

  After seeing Jonathan touch Brandon again, Jake’s shoulders tensed further, and he began to wonder if he wasn’t just imagining it all. “All right,” he practically growled, sighing and rolling his neck to ease the tension. “We have thirteen cuts to make,” he announced as he counted. “Who has the book?” he asked, flopping down on the coffee table. Brandon lifted the binder and waved it in the air. “Look through there and see if any of those kids were born after September,” Jake ordered, pointing at the names he had circled.

  Brandon started looking through the pages. “Ellis. Walker.” Several more pages. “That Stithton kid. That’s it.”

  “JV, all three of ‘em,” Jake declared immediately, leaning back to snag his beer. “The rest… shit, this is the part that just sucks,” he groaned as he curled back into a sitting position and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Troy sighed, once again muted by the tough choices they had to make. Ten more kids had to go. “I nominate Miller and Rodriguez to go,” he said quietly.

  “Reasons?” Jake requested hopefully. Reasons meant easy decisions.

  “They’re single position players, with only one strong point. All the others have multiple skills,” Troy answered. “Increases varsity flexibility.”

  Jake mused over that point for a moment before nodding regretfully. “We’ll have to make sure they know to come back next year and try again,” he noted as he got up slowly and headed back to the whiteboard to cross them off. “Any problems with grades on any of these kids?” he asked.

  Brandon checked the names still up there. Eight more had to go. “Gregory was just referred to tutoring because he’s dropped below a C average in Chemistry,” he offered.

  “Actually, cut Manero and Slodamesh. If I catch those sons of bitches smoking in the bathroom again I’m gonna whip their asses,” Troy said. “They know well enough it’s against team rules.”

  “Ooh,” Jake responded excitedly. “Fulk and Gilliam were busted for drinking over the winter,” he told them, knowing he’d meant to write that down. He crossed off the five names they’d mentioned and then cocked his head at the last two. “What do you think, Troy, can you take a crew of nineteen?” he asked.

  “What the hell. If they get tired of riding the bench, they can be the JV cheerleaders,” the blond-haired coach drawled, earning a chorus of groans.

  “Oh Jesus,” Jake murmured as he remembered the other cheerleaders they’d have to deal with. Sometimes he thought his life would be so much simpler if he’d just married that woman and made her miserable. “Okay,” he said after a moment of staring. “We have our teams,” he announced in a slightly surprised voice. It had happened so quickly. As if in celebration, the doorbell rang.

  “Ooh, I got it,” Jonathan cried excitedly, practically climbing over Brandon to get off the couch.

  Brandon grunted and gasped as he was for all intents and purposes kneed. “Goddamn, Jonathan, be careful!” he hissed, smacking the back of the younger man’s thigh as Jonathan trotted to the hall that led to the front door. He rolled his eyes and shifted, glaring at Troy, who was snickering. “Watch it, limey boy,” Brandon growled.

  “What?” Troy asked in confusion, and the look on his face was enough to have Jake smirking as he walked out of the room back toward the kitchen for plates.

  Sighing, Brandon leaned his head back onto the edge of the couch, pretty much sprawling out. He was tired enough to not care much for propriety at this point. And since it was certain that Troy wouldn’t even know propriety if it walked up and bit him on the ass, why should Brandon care? If it pissed Jake off, he wouldn’t hesitate to say something. “Blech,” he finally muttered, looking at the ceiling, thinking about the next day.

  “We’ll post the teams on the main boards,” Jake responded to Brandon’s expression of distaste, taking it as a declaration of his thoughts on the cuts. “They’ll announce that they’re up in the morning report and we don’t have to watch the kids be crushed. Coward’s way out,” he admitted as Jonathan came back in with two large pizzas. Jake laid out a stack of plates and handed everyone a fresh beer.

  Brandon eyed the beer, really tempted. But if he stayed here tonight – not that it was really that much longer, it was pushing 9 p.m. now – he’d have to get up that much earlier to drive home, change clothes, and drive back into town for tutoring before school. He sighed and set the bottle on the coffee table and pulled a few pieces of pizza onto his plate, sitting back and munching, listening to Troy and Jonathan chatter about plans for their teams.

  Jake flopped onto the ground in front of the coffee table, grabbing a piece of pizza out of the box and eating without bothering with the plates. “You done drinking, man?” he asked Brandon with a glance at the untouched beer. “I’ve got four bedrooms and couches to spare,” he joked, half serious. Sometimes Troy slept on the floor just to feel like he was roughing it.