Six Ways from Sunday (5 page)

“Tell me what?” Bo felt the wall behind his back, it was cold and unmoving. The body in front of him hot and unyielding. His brain finally possibly fizzled out and his dick took over the thinking.

“How much I really missed you. How much you meant to me. How much I wanted to be with you. How much I wanted to suck your dick. How much I loved you. That if we were different we could get married. Maybe have a couple of kids or dogs or something. That I’d die for you.” The words were accompanied by kisses. More sweet kisses, on his nose, his cheeks, his eyelids, finally his lips. “And not because you can catch a football. Or because you’re gorgeous. But because I remember when you couldn’t catch anything, and when you were an awkward ugly kid trying to grow into his hands and feet. I loved you even before you were sex on legs.”

“This week is going to kill me, isn’t it?” Bo whispered against his lover’s mouth, his body trembled under Dylan’s expert hands.

“We have nearly seven years to make up for. And then another year to store up for. So yeah, I’m taking no prisoners.”

“I have things to do today. Or I’ll lose my job.”

“You might want to set an alarm or something. Or we’ll just stay up all night so you don’t forget.” Dylan sucked at his neck, pulling up a hickey Bo wouldn’t be able to explain come morning. But he didn’t care, he returned the favor.

“I’ll take you with me. Show you off. And when I’m finished there, we’ll move you back here. Can’t believe you even checked into a hotel in the first place.”

“And ruin the best surprise in the history of ever. Your face, oh it was priceless, at first you were all big man pissed off, and then you were this big puppy dog. I wanted to kiss you right there on the field. All those cameras. I couldn’t but I wanted to.” Dylan’s hands roamed low over his body and that’s all Bo heard. The part about kissing. And he dragged Dylan in for another long slow kiss. Clothes that were hastily donned were slowly divested. Food forgotten again. So many body parts that needed tasting, so little time.

* * * * *

He stood on the forty yard line holding a football that he’d snagged from an equipment stand. Years flew away and he was a kid again when practice was the only thing he knew. Practice and school. Get up in the morning before the other kids. Be on the field before the sun was even up. Throw hard and fast. Connect with Bo at the other end of the field. Do it again. And again. And again. For years. Bo was fast back then. Really fast. Big boys like him weren’t usually fast. He liked to eat and always carried a bit of a spare tire around his waist, but he could run. And he could jump. And he could eat. He could still eat. But now he worked out all the time or he wouldn’t have the body to make him a world class athlete. His freaking arms had to be registered lethal weapons.

Dylan remembered everything from those years. He had a lot of time to play those days over in his mind. Long lonely nights to get through. He felt old. Sometimes. At twenty-four almost twenty-five. He felt so old. And alone.

Bo was inside somewhere doing secret football things that didn’t include him. The day-after meetings and whatever they did in the big leagues. Most likely taking some serious heat for the picture on the front page of the newspaper this morning. The two of them locked in embrace, tears in Bo’s eyes. Dylan tried so damned hard not to break down when the first tear fell from Bo’s eye. He wanted to. He could see the shimmer in his own eyes splashed right there on the front page. The feel good homecoming story. Football hero and war hero together again.

With Bo winning the Super Bowl with four touchdown runs out of the five scored, last night was his night. And Dylan was there for it. The most perfect night in the history of his life. Being there when Bo did everything Bo said he was going to do. And knowing at least one of those salutes in the end zone was for Dylan. The last one. The one when Bo pointed to the heavens with the ball in his hand. That was his move back in the day.

“Hey, Jarhead, sling me that football.” The shout came from a hallway at the far end of the field and Dylan jumped. He hadn’t expected anyone would mind him being out on the practice field but he wasn’t supposed to be there. Regulations were regulations. Bo and a couple of other men emerged from the shadows. Dylan couldn’t recognize them, not without their uniforms with names emblazoned on their backs. They were just men in sweats or jeans. Not football gods. Dylan didn’t stop to think, he dropped into his stance took two steps back and let the ball fly over the field to the man who’d challenged him to throw it.

Bo ran forward and with the gracefulness of a ballet dancer he put himself in the air and snagged the ball, landing as if no time had ever parted them and this was just another day of practice. He held the ball in one huge hand, grinning from ear to ear as he jogged over the field.

“Wow, it’s like you do that for a living or something.” Dylan felt stupid if Bo hadn’t made a run for it, the throw would have fallen way short.

“What was that, sixty yards or so?” Bo came to a stop not far from him and tossed the ball back into his hands. “If I hadn’t jumped for it, it would have gone another ten maybe fifteen yards.” There was awe in his voice. “Do it again. Once is just a fluke.”

Dylan glanced over to where the other players stood watching. More emerged from the hallway into the indoor practice field. “No, man, it was just a fluke. It would have fallen short.”

“Bullshit, you’ve still got an arm. Let’s see it. Just like we used to do. Last play of the state championship. Do it.” Bo ordered and took off at a full run. Dylan watched the denim encased muscles in his legs work to move him that fast. He realized Bo was running the exact play he’d run for that game, and again without thinking he stepped back and arced the ball through the air. Bo made it to the end zone and zigged to the right, turning just in time for the ball to drop into his hands. No muss, no fuss. Bo screaming in the end zone made him blush. Marines don’t blush and that’s just all there was to it.

“Don’t make me come down there and hurt you, Bowen, I will. And it won’t be pretty.” He shouted over the ruckus his lover made. But that just called even more attention to them.

“You’d have to catch me first. And that is not something you could ever do. Stick to throwing long bombs.” Bo, holding the football in one hand, taunted him with it, pointing as if this was just another practice and it was just them fooling around.

Maybe Dylan couldn’t catch him, at least not back in the day, but Bo didn’t know him now. Dylan took off at a dead run. He usually did this loaded down with a good fifty pounds, more often closer to seventy or eighty. Chasing Bo down wouldn’t be a problem anymore. He was across the field before Bo had a chance to think of an escape, and with ease he lifted the bigger man off his feet and put him on the ground.

Crowing. “Oo-fucking-rah.”

Bo just stared up at him before the grin spread over his face. “That was amazing. You’re still not as fast as me, but damned close, only because my legs are longer maybe. What the fuck do they feed you in the Marines?”

“Humiliation and motivation to get our fat asses up that hill. Twenty miles, with enough weaponry and supplies, in the heat and the rain. While you princesses have it easy.” Dylan climbed to his feet and held his hand out to help Bo up. He didn’t expect him to take it, he didn’t expect him to grin that shit-eater grin of his that said he was up to no good either. And he sure as fuck didn’t expect to be thrown over Bo’s shoulder and run across the field like he weighed nothing.

“You were saying, Princess?” Bo dropped him on his feet back in the middle of the field. He wasn’t even winded. “Might not be a fucking Marine but I ain’t no lightweight.”

A whistle blew from somewhere off to the side. Bo jumped and for a moment his face went panicky. Last time Dylan had seen that look on his face was the morning his mother had walked in on them, naked and kissing and maybe a couple of other interesting things going on too but he couldn’t be sure just how long she’d been there. This time Dylan was absolutely one hundred percent sure that they’d done nothing to make anyone think they were more than they said they were.

“Bocephus! Who’s your friend?” The voice sounded more like one of the drill sergeants back at base than any coach Dylan remembered. Looked like one too, had the bearing and the haircut and the take no prisoners mean ass stare.

Dylan pulled himself to attention. “Staff Sergeant Dylan Sunday, Sir.” He didn’t salute. But only because he knew Bo would never let him forget it if he had. The grin that broke out on the man’s face said he’d scored some serious points.

“Sempre Fi.” The coach took the ball from Bo’s hands. “That’s quite an arm you got there, son, where did you play?”

“Big Bend High School, Florida, Sir. Same place this knucklehead matriculated from.” Dylan wondered just how much trouble he’d caused Bo when the ball ended up back in his hands.

“No, son, I mean what college did you attend? But I’m going to guess you and that glorious arm didn’t get picked up back in Florida.”

“No, sir, I’m on my second enlistment. Went in straight out of high school.” This was something he didn’t go around telling but somehow he knew this guy would understand.

“Sometimes that’s the way it is. Some give some. Let me see that play again. ‘Cephus, get your ass downfield, fast as your legs can get you there.” Dylan let the unfinished and some give all run through his head for a moment before shaking it off.

Bo didn’t ask a question; he didn’t make a sound. He simply dropped his shoulders, bent his knees and took off like a flash. When he was at the thirty yard line Dylan pulled the ball up, stepped back and threw with all his might. The ball spiraled up and over the green turf, and then just when it looked like Dylan had overshot his target, Bo zigged again and was in the right place at the right time to meet the ball. Those glorious muscles of his bunched and moved as he jumped to get his hands on it, and then he landed and started back to the coach.

“Bet that gimmick won you a couple of games.” The coach said holding the ball as he signaled to the sidelines and three guys ran out.

“State championship.” Bo slapped Dylan on the back. "Best and I mean BEST quarterback I’ve ever worked with.”

“Don’t let Brody hear you say that,” the coach answered with a malicious grin and started calling off plays, he handed the ball to the center and moved back while Dylan stood there trying to decide how much longer he was going to let this farce go on. Obviously a lot longer. He assumed the position behind the center, and when the ball snapped, he watched as the two receivers took off down the field running intricate patterns meant to confuse the defense. He took his time and picked his receiver then sent the ball barreling down the field. Not a high arc but a straight out bullet to land in the other receiver’s hands. Knocking him backward from the force.

“Oh fuck me, that hurt.” The guy rubbed his chest where there should have been pads. A huge grin on his face. “Yeah, baby. Damn.”

The coach just stood there looking angry. Hand on one hip, the other in front of his mouth.

“There’s not much to do in the desert. Work out and kill people. Football is still football no matter the turf,” he explained while the two receivers made their way back. Bo’s grin fading as he came closer.

By now they’d attracted a serious audience. Suits as well as players moved around or sat in the small set of stands. The coach standing beside him didn’t say a thing; he called in one of the secondary quarterbacks and put Dylan in Bo’s place.

“Sit it out, ‘Cephus, let me see what your buddy can do without you egging him on.” And Bo went over to the sidelines without saying one word. But then this was his coach, he would just have to blindly follow orders. Figures,
now
Bo followed orders.

“Uh, sir, I uh, really this is not necessary. I’m not sure what’s going on but—“

“Just shut up and run, ask questions later,” he said in the drill sergeant voice and Dylan did exactly what he was told despite his own rank and years away from basic. So he ran, and when the quarterback called the play he ran instinctively, ending up in the end zone before the other receiver, the ball in his hands and he’d had to jump to get it.

Whistles from the sidelines broke the quiet. The clapping started with Bo and spread through the crowd. What the hell was that fool doing anyway? Showing off. The answer came to him. Hurricane Bowen was a force of nature. Always had been and always would be. And he was just being himself.

“Damn, ‘Cephus, your boyfriend throws better, runs faster, and jumps higher than you do. What’s he like in bed, and I might just marry him?” Someone shouted from one on the sidelines. Dylan knew it was bullshit. But the comment still made Dylan flush, mostly with anger.

“Shut up, Pisshead, I’m getting his name tattooed on my ass because he just owned me.” Bo pushed the other guy, only a little, but the other guy was not as big as Bo so he teetered a bit before he caught himself. There was laughing and slapping and shoving.

“Yeah, well, we get a diamond ring because of you so we’ll keep it a secret. Big fucking Super Bowl ring. And ‘Cephus has a Recon boyfriend.” The guy made a zipping motion across his lips before he shoved Bo back. Bo gazed across the field and smiled. Everything here was good. Bo was good.

The coach had made his way down the field to where Dylan stood alone, trying not to let the ribbing get his hackles up. “They’re just messing with him. The newspaper picture was already a major source of embarrassment to him in the locker room. Being caught with tears was not something his ego could stand. I did some checking and found out you weren’t supposed to be in that ceremony last night.”

“I wanted to be here for him. And I wanted him to know I was here and not some anonymous face up in the cheap seats.” Dylan didn’t like having to explain himself. “I haven’t seen him since he left for college his freshman year. Hell, this is the first time I’ve been stateside in nearly two years. Always missed connections. I’m home when he’s in the middle of play offs or training camp or finals. It’s been a hell of a long time. Missed him so damned much.” He realized he’d said more than he should have and shut his mouth.