Horizons (2 page)

“It’s the silver clip,” Clark said, moving Jody’s hand toward the center of the pads. The cubicle seemed smaller all of a sudden as the body heat and electricity between them surged. Jody found the opening and unsnapped it, freeing the pads from their tight harness. He removed them gently, unable to avoid touching the tight muscles of Clark’s smooth shoulders and biceps. They were both holding their breath by the time Jody slipped the pads off.

“Don’t move your arm,” Jody warned, watching Clark bite his lip and frown. “Are you sure you don’t want anything for the pain?”

“I’m doing just fine, Doc. Are you?” Clark asked, shaking Jody up even more with his mischievous smile.

Jody paused and contemplated the question. Was Clark yanking his chain or waiting to see if he’d bite? Who was this guy? Jody took a step back, deciding on caution, despite the attraction that had flared so unexpectedly. “I’m not the patient here, Clark. You are.”

I
LAY
on the gurney, watching the ceiling lights whiz by on our way upstairs to radiology. I couldn’t believe I was in this situation because of one moment of carelessness. Then again, I could. Most of the shit that happened in my life was because I didn’t pay attention. I was so fucked. If my arm was broken, I’d be benched for the rest of the season, and everyone would have a conniption fit, especially my father.

The big plus in all of this was the doc. How’d I luck out and get someone that hot? Most emergency room personnel looked like they’d seen better days. The last thing I expected to see was a stud with shoulders that belonged on a swimmer. They made his blue scrubs look like they were painted on. Throw in a pair of puppy dog eyes and a killer smile, and I knew I was in trouble. He had no right to look like that and expect a guy not to react.

I was pretty shocked that I’d given in to the impulse. I usually kept a tight rein on my emotions, especially when I was at home. Berkeley was too small and the football world too tight-knit for me to risk anything. I just couldn’t stop myself tonight. Something about the doc flipped my switch, and I was pretty sure he felt the same way. Watching him fumble with my pads convinced me I wasn’t too far off the mark.

He’s probably in shock right now, wondering what the hell happened back there. He said he knew nothing about football, so he doesn’t know who I am, but wait ’til he starts to ask questions. Then he’ll think he’s had an out-of-body experience and imagined it all. The idea that Clark Stevens actually flirted with him would be unbelievable.

I squeezed my eyes shut and the dark thoughts took over, opening the side of my personality that I kept locked up tighter than any jail cell on Alcatraz Island. It was a secret that I only let out when the pain became too much, and the longing found me surfing the Net’s many porn sites. This was the me who was completely aroused by the thought of the doc pressing his cock against mine or imagining myself on my knees while he spewed hot cum all over my face and chest. This was the Clark Stevens only I knew. The one who had yet to make any of his man-on-man fantasies come true.

On the field I’d tackle practice sleds until I dropped from exhaustion. It was the only thing that helped keep these thoughts out of my head, so I hit harder and ran faster, turning into a machine, an unstoppable one that had the world of college football sitting up and taking notice. I was voted 2002 player of the year at the Pac-10 conference last year, agents were checking me out, the NFL was salivating over my numbers, and my father couldn’t wait until my senior year rolled around so I’d be eligible for the draft. I was the guy who had the world in the palm of my hand if I didn’t blow it and let this same world know that I was gay.

T
HE
elevator door opened, and Jody watched the orderly wheel the gurney back down the hall. He stopped pushing when Jody came closer to check on his patient. Beads of sweat slid from Clark’s forehead and a grimace of discomfort altered his perfect features.

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Jody asked.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Let me give you something.”

“No codeine, okay? The stuff makes me puke.”

“Good to know,” Jody said, scribbling some notes in Clark’s chart. He asked the nurse to prepare some Demerol, and she returned with a syringe. He rolled Clark over gently, moving his hospital gown up to expose the area.

“Hey, watch out for hidden paparazzi. They’ll pay big money for a booty shot.”

“Sorry,” Jody said quietly. “I should have waited ’til we were back in the cubicle, but I wanted you out of pain as soon as possible.”

“Hey, Doc, I was just kidding.”

“I know,” he replied absently. Jody walked alongside the gurney and placed the X-rays on the view box while Clark was transferred to the bed.

“Well, is it broken?” Clark asked.

Jody nodded. “I’m afraid so. There’s a hairline fracture on the ulna, but it should heal with no problem. We need to cast it from here to here.” He drew an imaginary line on Clark’s left arm, causing goose bumps to break out all over. Jody noticed but said nothing.

“I guess I’m out for the season.”

“When does the season end?”

“You really don’t know squat about football, do you?”

Jody shook his head. “Not a clue.”

“This is the first week of November, Doc. We’re about to go into the playoffs, and the only balls I’ll be running with are my own, after the coaches get done castrating me.”

“That’s a bit drastic, isn’t it? You’ll be as good as new once you’ve healed.”

“Shit. Tell that to my dad. He’s going to think my career is over.”

“It could be if you’re a left-handed quarterback.”

“I’m not,” Clark replied without elaborating. “How long will I be in a cast?”

“Maybe four to six weeks.”

“Game over,” Clark muttered. He was a little woozy from the pain medication kicking in, so he closed his eyes, which was just as well. Jody didn’t think he could stand looking at those aqua eyes for one more minute without bending down and kissing each eyelid gently.

The phone rang, and Jody picked it up immediately. “Dr. Williams.” He listened to the voice on the other end and responded, “Yes, I’m your son’s attending physician. He has a minor fracture on his forearm, and we’re casting it right now.” Jody remained silent as the voice on the other end of the line did all the talking. Finally, he said, “No, Clark cannot come to the phone, but I’ll have him call you as soon as he’s able. You’re welcome.” Jody put the phone down; Clark gazed at him with glassy eyes.

“Who was that?” he slurred.

“Your father.”

“Of course it was.”

“He sounded really concerned and wants you to call him as soon as possible.”

“I’m sure,” Clark sighed and closed his eyes again. “And if I don’t call him, he’ll call me.”

“Don’t you two get along?”

“As long as we do things his way, we get along just fine.”

“I see.”

“It’s all good,” Clark replied before passing out.

W
HEN
I woke up, the doc was staring at me with concern. His eyes were the color of warm caramel, and the shadows on his jawline made him look dangerously sexy. I was flying high on the drugs, and my guard was down, so I reached out for his hand, comforted when he gave me a reassuring squeeze. I left my hand in his.

“How do you feel?” he asked, in a voice that felt like a caress.

“Like I’m drunk.”

“Are you in pain?”

“No.”

“Good. We cast your arm while you were out of it.”

I was surprised that it was all over. I lifted it and viewed the white cast. It seemed to belong to someone else; I was so physically removed from it. “Looks like you did a good job, Doc.”

“You’re fine, Clark. I’ll sign the discharge papers, and you can go as soon as your coach gets here. He was in the cafeteria last I heard.”

“Will I see you again?” I asked, pulling him back beside me and holding onto his hand. I couldn’t seem to let him go or keep the eager tone out of my voice. It sounded pretty needy to my ear, and I hoped he didn’t hear it that way.

“It’s possible.”

“Any restrictions?”

“Keep it dry, avoid bumping it, and don’t stick any sharp objects down there trying to relieve an itch. You can do more damage than good.”

“Gotcha.”

I
DREAMED
about Jody that night. It was a recurring dream, only in the past, the faces had been hazy and unfamiliar. This time the body that made me toss and turn had the doc’s face. The fantasy became much more intense and I woke up to a raging boner, which I took care of in seconds as I imagined his mouth moving up and down my cock.

I lay in bed and wondered where the hell this came from. It was one thing to act on the spur of the moment, like I’d done earlier today, but to actually dream about the man was something else. Being raised in a primarily male household left little room to indulge in these fucked-up thoughts. If anyone in my family found out I was harboring fantasies about my doctor, or any man, for that matter, I’d be thrown out in a second. Even my mother wouldn’t be able to save me.

I’d lost my virginity when I was thirteen, most probably because I was already almost six feet tall and looked like I was eighteen. It was hurried and over in about four minutes. After that there was an endless stream of women who passed through my life. I made it a point to sleep with as many of them as possible hoping this would keep the other feelings at bay.

Unfortunately, not one of them made me sit up and pay attention for longer than a few weeks. They didn’t stir my blood or play any part in my ongoing fantasies. I developed a reputation as a player, the ultimate challenge, the one who refused to commit.

As I got older, the women continued to throw themselves at me, and I did my best to live up to everyone’s expectations. However, no amount of dating seemed to keep the other feelings away. I still looked at certain men longer than I should have, still imagined what it would be like to have a man go down on me. These thoughts continued to plague me on a daily basis, and now the doc seemed to be the main attraction in this ongoing slide show in my head. Imagining him naked and begging was enough to get me off in mere seconds.

My sporadic visits to the ER were unnecessary, but I made them nonetheless, just to see the guy. He could have told me to fuck off, after all; he wasn’t my attending physician any longer, but he always showed up and did a cursory exam to see how I was doing. I went out of my way to wear shirts that were difficult to remove so he’d have to help me. It was a stupid and dangerous game, one that would never see fruition, but I couldn’t help myself. I was flirting with disaster but unwilling to stop. His every touch sent electrical shockwaves directly to my dick.

What kept me going was the certainty that he wanted me as well. He and I had become quite adept at touching each other unnecessarily. I could tell by the way his hands trembled by the end of each visit and his breathing would shift and become a little ragged. The last time he all but threw me out, urging me away in a voice raspy with suppressed feeling.

It was during one of my checkups that I decided to ask him out for dinner. I did it on the pretense of gratitude for a job well done. In actuality, I was throwing caution to the wind, and giving in to the impulse once again.

“You don’t need to take me to dinner, Clark. I didn’t do anything special.”

“Maybe not, but I’d like to anyway. Come on; let me buy you a meal.”

“Clark, you don’t have to.” The doc seemed very reluctant, probably in light of all that was going on with us during my follow-up visits, but I persisted, and he finally agreed.

We drove to Skates on the Bay in his black BMW. You could have eaten off the floor, which said a lot about the man. I wondered if he was this anal about everything else in his life.

“Tell me something about you,” I asked, after we got settled and the waiter brought our drinks. He was having a frozen margarita, and I had my usual Corona.

“There’s nothing much to tell. I’m just a simple Midwesterner living out his dream in the Bay Area.” His smile came easily, along with that small dimple that I noticed on the first night we met.

“Are you some kind of genius?”

“Why do you say that?”

“You went to Stanford, didn’t you?”

“You don’t have to be a genius to go there. I just got lucky.”

“Oh, come on. You were probably on the fucking honor roll in your school.”

He laughed, but I was comfortable with it, knowing he was laughing with me and not at me. It was the end of the day, and the shadow on his face was thick, giving him that dangerous look that I found so appealing. His hair fell over his forehead, and he raked it back with his long fingers in an unconscious move. I tried to imagine what that hair would feel like fanned out all over my chest. I was embarrassed by my own thoughts, so I pulled a piece of bread out of the basket and tore it apart.

“I was a good student,” he said, breaking through my train of thought. “Do you come from a big family?”

“Oh, yeah,” I replied, “There’s a bunch of us. I’m the runt of a five-son litter.”

“No kidding.”

“Yup. I’m the baby of the family, subject to all the indignities of being the youngest.”

“Such as?”

“My brothers bullied me constantly, so I learned how to fight at an early age. I also got quite good at running away from them.”

“Like Forrest Gump.”

I laughed at his comment, a picture of Tom Hanks running across the football field vivid in my brain.

A waiter arrived to take our order. “My name is Brad. What can I get you guys?”

I rattled off my usual: steak, medium rare, and a baked potato, loaded. Jody ordered some kind of fish.

“Hey,” the waiter said, sticking the pencil behind his ear and getting really animated. “Aren’t you Clark Stevens?”

I nodded.

“Dude, I’m a huge fan!”

“Thanks a lot.”

“I’ve been watching you ever since you started at Cal. Your numbers are outstanding, man.”