Chapter Five

It was the second day of March and a Friday night, which meant the home team’s supporters were out in full force. Jake liked to have the first game of the season be an away game. It took some of the pressure off, for the most part, but there were drawbacks. Like the loss of the home field advantage and the hourlong bus drive to Powder Springs.

The McEachern Indians weren’t in Parkview’s region, but they were fighting like they were. Jake supposed the embarrassing loss they’d suffered at Parkview’s hands last year lit a fire under the other team, and as the 7th inning came around the Indians were ahead 4-3. The dark sky above rumbled threateningly, and Jake watched it from the dugout, wondering if they’d be able to get in the rest of the game.

He swiped his hand across the letters of his uniform, touched his nose, and then tugged at his ear. Swing away, the sign said. The kid nodded, giving his bat a few more practice swings before dropping the blue donut weight to the ground and heading up to the plate. Jake spit out a few sunflower seeds and clapped, calling out a stream of what would have been meaningless phrases that ended in the kid’s name as he shouted encouragement—baseball language that everyone in the dugout clearly understood.

Brandon stood next to third base. It had been a nerve-wracking first game for him with lots of hits and running, scaring him to death in the meantime. But so far he’d done fine, apparently. Jake hadn’t yelled at him anyway. Unlike the first base assistant, who’d gotten a chewing for waving a kid to second for an out. The science teacher listened to the words from the dugout, recalling what at least some of them meant and focused his attention on the batter.

It was a new pitcher on the mound, and he was throwing hard but slightly wild in the drizzling rain. Four pitches later, the cleanup hitter racked up three balls and a strike on his count. Jake called to him and touched his nose, then tugged his ear, then swiped his hand across his letters and touched his chin. Don’t swing, the sign said to the kid.

One more pitch and the kid earned himself a walk. They were on their way to a rally. And then it rained. And rained. And continued to rain until the umpires called the game. Unfortunately, since they were past the 6th inning, the game was considered complete, and the Parkview Panthers were handed a frustrating loss in their first game of the season.

Brandon packed up equipment in the rain along with the college guys, knowing he was getting soaked, but better him than the kids who were gathering their heavy bags and running to the bus. They got the stuff together and stowed in the compartments and then got on board. Brandon pushed past Jake and one of the seniors, who were talking quietly, seeking the seat he’d claimed about halfway back. He flopped, wincing a little at the squish. Note to self: Pack towels and a change of clothes, even when rain isn’t in the forecast.

After a brief discussion, Jake sent the kid to his seat and slid into the driver’s seat. Being given an okay that everyone was on board and seated, Jake closed the door and shook most of the water off as he started the bus. He didn’t say anything to the kids about the loss. They knew they’d been coming back, and they knew they’d played well. That was all that needed to be said, really. Thirty minutes later Jake pulled the cumbersome bus into a Wendy’s parking lot and stood to turn around and peer at the tired, damp kids. “Seniors first,” was all he said in a loud voice before nodding at Brandon to come on up.

Brandon picked up his pack and followed the head coach off the bus, walking into the restaurant where they quietly ordered and took a table toward the back of the room. They kept an eye on the kids filing in, and the two college assistants brought up the rear.

Jake hunched over his tray of fast food and poked a fry into a puddle of ketchup disconsolately. “You did well,” he murmured to Brandon finally. “Were you nervous?”

Tearing open the package of almonds to top his salad, Brandon muttered, “Nervous, he asks. Yeah. Scared to fucking death,” he said under his breath without even looking up from his meal.

Jake smiled and looked down at his food, fighting back the warmth and familiarity that had been building ever since the first day of practice. “Me too,” he admitted simply.

Brandon glanced up, surprise in his eyes that turned to gratitude for Jake putting him at ease. He went back to his salad, topping it with half the dressing before starting to mix it all up, still thinking about how they seemed to get along pretty well after about a month of almost-daily contact. Jake still caught him off guard a lot, though. “Guys did okay, huh?” he said between bites.

“They did really well,” Jake agreed as he looked the kids over. They were still mostly in uniform, still damp and dirty and tired, but they crowded around the tables that were lined together and sat in a big group, talking, joking, laughing. Jake smiled at them fondly and went back to his food.

Sitting back with his salad, Brandon watched the team with interest, seeing them interact and get along, reminiscing about good plays and ranting about missed opportunities. He shivered from being more than damp and set down the mostly empty bowl. Looking down at his pack, he remembered something. “Be back,” he murmured, heading for the bathroom with the bag.

Jake watched the man go with a look of open longing for a brief moment before lowering his head again and poking at his fries. He’d have to do something about this little infatuation he’d developed. Take a trip into the city, maybe, get it out of his system.

Once in the single bathroom, Brandon dropped the bag and pulled off his jersey, then the wet and clammy Under Armour. He turned up the spout on the hot air blower and stood over it with a groan, leaning against the wall for a long moment. When it shut off, he dug into the back pack and pulled out that T-shirt—’Co-Ed Naked Wrestling’. He snorted, looking at it again. If it weren’t for Jake, Brandon would never have worn this thing. He pulled it over his head, happy to be dry. Shrugging back into the damp jersey, he left it unbuttoned and headed back out to the table.

Jake glanced up when Brandon returned, taking a second look as he caught sight of his own T-shirt. A dry one at that. “Ah, you cheater,” Jake grumbled with a small smile. “Just don’t let the kids see you dry, we’ll never get out of here.”

Brandon cracked a grin. “Why do you think I put the jersey back on?” he asked, sitting back down and looking over the guys eating. “How long, you think?”

“Are you kidding?” Jake laughed softly. “They’re not eating. They’re inhaling. Five minutes,” he wagered. “Eh, ten for the Frosties.”

Brandon decided he’d pass on grading papers. He couldn’t believe he was already so wiped out and figured on catching a nap on the bus. That way he’d be good for the drive home and a couple hours of work after. “Mmm. Frosty,” he murmured, considering.

“If you’re gonna do it, do it now,” Jake warned as he gathered his trash up. “No second trips through the line!”

Sighing, Brandon passed. He’d have to skip his run tonight, no point in taking in the empty calories. He packed his trash and headed out to the bus, not far behind Jake.

The head coach slid back into the driver’s seat, telling himself he should at least look busy as he sat there waiting for his team to stagger back out. Whenever Brandon was near him, he found himself feeling guilty for not having work to do. That was definitely a new feeling for him. He watched Brandon mount the steps to the bus out of the corner of his eye and followed his progress discreetly in the large rearview mirror.

Rubbing his eyes, Brandon sat back down, dropping his pack in the seat next to him. He managed to keep his eyes open until Jake had the bus back on the road, but the relative quiet and regular motion soon had him drowsing, head leaning against the cool window. Jake found himself glancing into the rearview more often than he should have in the dark and rain, and finally he forced himself to keep his eyes forward and off Brandon. A half hour later he was pulling the lumbering bus into the school parking lot and honking the horn at the group of parents waiting there.

The boys filed off the bus, saying goodnight to Jake as he stood to the side and gave them each a pat on the head. They had a game the next afternoon, which was a Saturday, and he knew each one of them would be ready for it. Not many teenage boys would have given up their Saturdays. Only the dedicated ones. Once the guys were moving, Brandon sat up, bleary and blinking hard, trying to get his bearings. When the kids were off he stood up, making it a couple steps before turning around and snagging his bag. He rubbed at his eyes as he got to the front of the bus. “Equipment?” he asked quietly.

“I got it,” Jake answered with a shake of his head. “They’re all tired, need to get home,” he declared as he watched the kids scatter to their various rides. He turned to look at Brandon and frowned. “You look wrecked,” he told the man bluntly. “You sure you’re okay to drive all that way home?”

“Yeah,” Brandon answered automatically, though he stopped in place at the bottom of the steps, so out of it he could barely stay on his feet. “Maybe not,” he corrected.

Jake smiled a little and then flushed with cold as he realized what he was going to do. He knew he shouldn’t, but it was rather like watching a 300-pound man hurtling toward you and knowing that if you ditch the ball, he won’t hit you. Jake had never been able to let go of that ball, even though he knew it was going to hurt. “Gimme your keys, you can crash at my place,” the coach ordered with a demanding waggle of his fingers.

Brandon turned exhausted eyes to look at Jake and knew he was in serious trouble when he couldn’t even string together a semi-serious disagreement. Instead of digging out the keys, he just held out the pack. Jake took it and began to go through the smaller pockets carefully until he found the keys. He used the remote to unlock Brandon’s car, which wasn’t far away, and pointed the man to it. “Go get comfy, I’ll just be a minute,” he ordered in his coach’s voice, giving Brandon’s shoulder a little push.

The science teacher didn’t even think about objecting. He had no idea how far gone he was. He just wished he’d stayed asleep on the bus. He collapsed into the passenger’s seat and closed the door, immediately leaning against it. It was almost as if his body knew he’d gotten to Friday night and was crashing regardless of what he wanted.

Jake watched Brandon get into the car and then turned back to the pile of equipment the kids had left by the side of the bus. He took his time lugging everything to the dugout, not wanting to irritate any of the various aches and pains he knew would show up when he got home. He locked the door when he was done, moved the bus into its parking space, and walked slowly to Brandon’s car. His stomach flipped nervously, but he told himself to stay calm. He was being childish and idiotic, and this had to stop soon. He couldn’t keep crushing on the man like he was without something giving. Probably his sanity.

He got into the car quietly. Brandon appeared to be asleep already, breathing silently, face looking hollow under dim lights that exaggerated the dark shadows under his eyes. He didn’t move when the car door shut. Jake sat looking at him for a moment, taking in his features. He wished he had some way to relate to the man, but he could never think of anything that would do more than embarrass him. With a soft sigh Jake started the car and drove out of the parking lot, heading for his house and leaving his own truck behind.

When the car stopped and the engine shut off, the sudden lack of soothing movement made Brandon stir, who dragged his eyes open to look out the rain-glazed window. “Wha’?” he mumbled, trying to sit up.

“We’re home,” Jake told him as he dragged himself out of the car and reached back in to snag Brandon’s bag for him. “You need any of this stuff?”

Brandon climbed out of the car into the light rain and looked up at Jake’s house, just now wondering if this was such a great idea. “No,” he answered, shutting the door and thinking about sagging against it.

“Inside then,” Jake ordered as he came around the back of the car and gently took Brandon’s elbow. “Shower, dry clothes, and bed,” he coaxed with a small smile.

Unwilling to move for a minute, Brandon watched the moment freeze in a snapshot ... Jake standing next to him in the broken moonlight, the rain falling around them both, a soft expression on Jake’s face, an even softer look in his eyes. Then the moment broke, time started moving again, and Brandon let Jake guide him into the house.

“Go up the stairs, down the hall and to the door at the end, that’s my room. You can use the shower in there; there’s shampoo, towels,” Jake instructed, setting the bag down by the door, wishing for his own sake that the other bathroom was ready for guests. “And, uh, I’ll get you some clothes while you’re in there.”

Brandon was already moving when he realized he hadn’t said anything. He turned, opening his mouth to speak, and was surprised by Jake right behind him. Jake stumbled against him, grabbing him by the arms to keep his balance. “Oh, sorry. I mean, thank you. Yeah. You know, for...” Brandon waved his hand a little.

“Don’t mention it,” Jake murmured in reply to the stuttered ramble. His fingers dug into Brandon’s arms slowly as his body tensed at the unexpected contact.

Brandon lifted his eyes to look at Jake, trying to tell himself he didn’t feel a tingle where they touched. They just stood there for several heartbeats when Brandon realized Jake must be waiting for him to move. He dropped his eyes quickly. “Ah. I’ll hit the shower.” He started to shuffle forward again.

Jake let him go as if he had been burnt, standing there holding his hands out with his fingers splayed as Brandon moved away from him. “I’ll get your clothes.”

Brandon nodded and followed the directions to the bathroom, where he pushed the door shut and sat down hard on the commode, bone weary. Five hours of sleep a night at best was not going to cut it, he could tell already. He dragged his hands over his face, then leaned and turned on the shower before stripping down, hanging the damp clothes on the empty towel bar, and leaving his shoes on the rug. He pushed aside the shower curtain and climbed in, groaning as the hot water hit cool, clammy skin.

In the hall, Jake stood unmoving. What in God’s name was he doing? What was he expecting to come of this potential disaster? He could already see that he was going to have to either start distancing himself from Brandon, which was nearly impossible until the season was over, or just—no. He couldn’t act on it. That was unthinkable. Wasn’t it? He shook his head and forced himself to move. First he went into the guest bedroom, his old room, and made certain there were fresh sheets on the bed. Then he went into his own room and began to go through his closet slowly, looking for something suitable for the other man to wear. Jake listened to the water running as he laid out a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Giving the man boxers was ... was it inappropriate? He would have given Troy or Jonathan some to sleep in. He sighed and fished out a pair of boxers and threw them onto the bed with the other clothes, then sat on the bench at the end of the bed and began to untie his shoes, moving sluggishly as the day caught up to him.

Staying in the shower a little longer than his usual one-minute wash down, Brandon leaned on one arm to brace himself before he realized he was in danger of falling asleep standing up, still thinking about Jake in the rain. Brandon bit his lip. Dear God, this had to stop or he was going to be horribly obsessed. He shut off the water and grabbed a towel, rubbing it harshly over his skin until he felt as dry as he could get, besides his hair being damp. Luckily, it was an extra-large bath towel—all the easier to wrap around Jake’s extra-large frame, that evil little voice crowed—and Brandon banged his forehead a couple times against the wall before folding the towel around his hips and opening the door halfway, looking out into the bedroom.

Jake stood at the end of his bed, stripping off his soaked Under Armour with a little difficulty as his shoulder began to act up because of the cold and wet. He tossed the shirt to the ground in disgust when he finally got it over his head, and ran his hands through his short hair before realizing that the door had opened. “Hey,” he said in surprise, as if he hadn’t quite expected Brandon to come back out. “I, uh, didn’t know what you liked to sleep in, so... “Jake blushed a little, gathered up the entire bundle from the bed and walked it over to Brandon, averting his eyes as he handed him the clothing.

Brandon took the clothes, murmuring a thanks under his breath. He saw how Jake was holding his arm and shoulder as still as possible. “I’ll pull these on and grab the wet stuff and get out of your way,” Brandon said, hoping a hot shower would help the other man before he was in more pain.

“No hurry,” Jake told the man softly as he turned away. He hesitated there, unsure of what to do for a moment. Finally he headed out of the bedroom, still in his soaking wet gray away-game pants, and he dragged down the hall, thumped down the stairs, and trudged into the kitchen in search of his pills.

Brandon watched Jake walk away, and he was far too tired to make himself look away from the other man’s ass in those tight pants. Instead he closed his eyes and turned around. Back in the bathroom, he dropped the towel and pulled on the boxers and T-shirt, considering the jogging pants. Now pretty warm, he left them folded on the sink. He gathered all the wet stuff and his shoes and headed down the hall toward the stairs, figuring he could get a bag or something to put it all in.

Jake stood at the counter with his eyes closed, pill bottle in one hand, edge of the granite counter top gripped in the other. He could deal with sharp pains and injuries. It was this throbbing and aching shit that wore him down. He heard the soft pad of feet behind him and opened his eyes, placing the bottle back in the cabinet where it belonged and closing the door carefully. “Find everything you need?” Jake asked in what he hoped was a normal voice.

“Yeah,” Brandon answered softly, seeing the strain in Jake’s body and hearing it echoed in his voice. “I was going to grab a bag for these. Should I pick any room to crash in? Don’t want to be in your way. I’m sure you’re at least as wiped as I am.”

“Yeah, I made up the bed in my old room for you,” Jake answered as he turned around slowly and grabbed the half-empty Gatorade bottle on the counter. One of the boys had left it on the bus, but Jake had never been picky. He popped the pills and washed them down with a gulp of the sharp lemon-flavored drink and then shivered all over. “I’ve got some grocery bags,” he offered as he shivered again and his jaw tried to lock.

“Okay,” Brandon said, wincing in sympathy. “Jake, is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, hurting just looking at him.

“Help?” Jake asked in confusion, momentarily distracted by the very thin material of Brandon’s borrowed clothing. Jake wondered if he himself looked as good in his clothing as Brandon did.

Knowing exactly where the muscles ran, Brandon lifted his hand to slide his thumb along the knotted shoulder. “You’re hurting and protecting your shoulder, but it’s still seizing up,” he said evenly.

Jake tensed involuntarily and quivered at the touch. “Yeah, it, uh, it aches sometimes,” he mumbled, trying to decide where to let his eyes settle. “I have to remind myself not to favor it,” he added as he desperately tried to think of something to say.

“You’ve got some liniment, right? Go get in the shower, and I’ll rub it in so you can get some rest,” Brandon offered before he could think better of it. He knew, intellectually, what had to have happened to Jake’s shoulder for it to act like that, how the muscles and ligaments could be stretched and abused, torn and pinched. He knew how all the layers of muscle overlapped, what would hurt where the most, what would cause the worst of the knotting. It was simple anatomy.

Jake frowned worriedly at him but nodded obediently in the end. The truth was that he would do anything if it offered relief for the parts of him that hurt like they did. Brandon nodded and dropped his hand. “Go on, then,” the science teacher urged. He could find the bag himself or drape the clothes over the bar in the meantime.

Jake licked his lips and set the Gatorade down, stepping to the side and around Brandon as he headed for the bedroom and the shower. “Bags are in the pantry,” he called over his shoulder as he undid his belt. “Actually, just leave ‘em on the counter, we’ll throw them in the wash,” he added. “Game tomorrow.”

Nodding, Brandon laid the pile next to the sink, taking a long minute to peer out the window at the rain. He let his mind wander as he heard the water come on upstairs. Game tomorrow. Late afternoon home game, which meant he wouldn’t have to be in too much of a hurry the next morning. He needed a good rest, and he was going to have to take one.

Jake stepped into the still steamy shower and groaned softly as the scalding water hit his skin. Just one night with Brandon down the hall. He could do that without spazzing out, right?

Right.

He showered quickly, letting the hot water warm his cold body and loosen tight muscles. When he’d gotten all the benefit the shower could offer, he turned off the water and hesitated briefly before getting out and patting himself down with a soft towel. He pressed his lips tightly together and then hissed a curse as he realized that he’d forgotten to grab any extra clothing before getting into the shower. Wrapping the oversize towel around his hips, he stepped out of the steamy room hesitantly.

Brandon was still mentally wandering when the water shut off. He took a few steps toward the stairs, but stopped and went back to the fridge to dig through it for something decent for Jake to drink. Beer. Beer. Coke. Beer. Ah ha! Gatorade. He snagged a couple of bottles and started down the hall.

Jake rummaged through one of his drawers for some more boxers and another T-shirt as he clutched at his towel. He felt his shoulders tensing back up as soon as he heard Brandon approaching. Fuck, he was going to have to shake this. It was getting ridiculous.

Stopping on the threshold, Brandon shook the bottles. “I brought Gatorade. It’ll help with the muscle spasms,” he said, though he knew full well how inane it sounded. But he was too busy trying to keep his eyes off the large amount of lightly furred, muscled skin that filled his vision.

“Urgh,” Jake responded, accepting a bottle. “The horse liniment is in the drawer there,” he murmured as he twisted off the top and pointed to the bedside table closest to them.

Brandon sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out the drawer. As soon as he looked, he knew he was on thin ice. A small rounded bottle of lubricant rolled on top of a stack of magazines that just happened to be face down, so Brandon couldn’t read the titles without deliberately looking. There was an accordion of unopened condoms, a large tube of Thermaflex, a television remote of some kind, a dog-eared James Patterson mystery. Nothing all that shocking. Brandon pulled out the Thermaflex, revealing a couple of photographs, one half over the other, and he chanced a glance. The first was Jake and another man with their arms around each other, looking like they were yelling at the camera. The surroundings looked like they were smack in the middle of a Mardi Gras parade. The other photo was black and white, artistic—and provocative. Brandon pushed the drawer shut after a few-seconds delay.

Jake stiffened as he remembered the various items he kept in that drawer, too late to stop Brandon from going into it. He watched the man’s reaction carefully. There wasn’t really anything in there that would scream ‘Coach Likes Dick,’ but you just never knew with the smart ones. They thought differently than most of Jake’s acquaintances. They thought in terms of the bigger picture. He stood watching Brandon expectantly.

Shaking the bottle, the science teacher looked up and gestured for Jake to sit down in front of him. While he could read whatever he wanted into those photos, there was really nothing at all damning about them. Not even close. He could hope, but that would only lead to things that just really shouldn’t happen. Like getting even more obsessed. He squeezed some liniment onto his fingers. “Right shoulder, correct?” he asked evenly.

“Yes,” Jake answered softly as he sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at Brandon expectantly. He was actually glad for the towel. Somehow it felt more like something to hide behind than clothing.

Brandon spread the liniment lightly along the line of Jake’s shoulder. “Is the damage in the scalene, the trapezius or the deltoid?” he asked before starting to rub in the gel.

“It wasn’t muscle so much as tendons and ligaments,” the coach said. “I had bone spurs from overuse. By the time anyone realized I wasn’t just complaining when I said I hurt, it was too late to do much more than clean it out and send me on my way,” he rambled as Brandon’s hands moved over his skin. “But mostly it hurts right along here,” he added in answer to the question as he traced the line of the pain along the front of his shoulder with his finger.

Brandon rubbed lightly at first, slowly strengthening the grip of his fingers until the liniment was starting to soak in. He traced his finger along the same line. “This is the coracoacromial ligament. It holds together the coracoid process, the acromion—” He slid his finger along Jake’s collarbone, “and the head of the humerus,” he completed, rubbing in the rest of the liniment on the ball of Jake’s shoulder. “I’m sure it was very painful.”

“It was,” Jake murmured as the names just flowed through his ears. He concentrated instead on the warm hands on him, the familiar scent of his own shampoo and soap on a man he was entirely unfamiliar with. He turned his head to the side and closed his eyes as the liniment began to make them water. His skin grew warm under Brandon’s hands as he continued to press against the shoulder muscles, rubbing, then smoothing, rubbing, then smoothing, working to push the lactic acid out of the area so the muscles could calm and rest.

The motion was repetitive, and Brandon was caught by the heat radiating off the man next to him. Jake had closed his eyes so Brandon took the opportunity to study his features closely. The muscles of his jaw were jumping as he ground his teeth, but his face was otherwise calm and almost tranquil.

Jake had obviously done this many times over the years, let himself be doctored. He shivered violently as the cool air licked at the liniment on his skin. Brandon lifted one hand under the man’s jaw, sliding his fingers along the back of his jawbone to rub at the juncture. “Relax,” he urged, trying to stop the uncomfortable-looking grinding. “You relax one place, tense up another,” he muttered, trying not to let the concern be too evident in his voice. “How do you get any sleep?”

Jake smiled crookedly and opened his eyes. “The pills and alcohol help,” he answered in a rumbling murmur.

The odd moment of tension lightening, Brandon shook his head. “You ought to get yourself a masseuse and a hot tub,” he suggested, rubbing at the last of the liniment and wishing it hadn’t been absorbed so quickly.

“Hell, do you work weekends?” Jake asked with a small smile as he cut his gaze to meet Brandon’s eyes. They were an odd mix of green and blue—almost a sea green—that Jake wasn’t sure he’d ever noticed, and he forgot what else he was going to say as he looked at the man.

The corners of Brandon’s eyes crinkled in amusement as he thought about what he would want to do with Jake’s body spread out in front of him. Fuck . Figuratively, hell. Literally. Down, boy . He’s never going to be interested. “I’m sure something can be arranged,” Brandon answered without censoring his thoughts. He swallowed and scrambled. “After all, not too many guys with a degree in anatomy and physiology running around, are there?”

Jake raised an eyebrow and smirked. “What do you expect in return?” he teased. “I barbecue pretty well,” he offered.

Brandon grinned, a bright light snapping in his eyes. “Barbecue. Sounds great,” he answered. “Sleep space works, too,” he said, thinking of tonight and the guest room Jake had mentioned, not anything else.

Jake’s eyes widened slightly, and he cocked his head, wishing the man meant what it sounded like he’d meant. “Are you suggesting I’d whore myself out for some pain relief?” he asked jokingly. “You’d be right.” He laughed softly.

Although Brandon felt a strike of panic, it faded as he realized Jake was kidding. He smiled, lips twitching as he sifted through any number of responses to such a loaded comment. “I don’t know if anything I have can match that offer,” he finally replied, letting his hands drop to his thighs, the liniment and his excuse to touch gone.

Jake looked up at him with unreadable dark eyes, smiling tightly. “Thanks,” he whispered, unable to make his voice work.

The tension in his gut and chest was suddenly unavoidable and unbearable and Brandon had to move or he was going to do something really, really ill-advised. So he nodded and stood up. “Good night,” he murmured, putting the liniment tube back into the drawer before turning to the door.

“Night,” Jake practically croaked as he sat with his head down, refusing to watch Brandon walk away for fear of tackling him.

Brandon padded down the hall, finding the room with the bed turned down, and he disappeared inside, the light from Jake’s room giving him enough illumination to see. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, his racing heart holding off exhaustion for now. Oh God . It was too late. He was hooked and it could only end badly if Jake ever got even a hint. The teasing, it had been driven by something in Jake’s voice, something visceral that Brandon could almost see, could almost identify, but not quite. A deepening friendship, maybe? Trust building between two coworkers? Two men figuring out how to get along instead of butting heads? Or, as his body wanted him to think as he lay back and squirmed, two men feeling each other out for something more? Brandon rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head.

Jake sat there in his towel for another moment and finally released a long, steady stream of breath. He got up and walked over to turn off the light, then let his towel drop to the floor and crawled into bed, nude and smelling of liniment.