Page 6 of Sidelining the Safety

Drew hadn’t wanted to leave. If he hadn’t had an important lecture to get to, he would have bailed. He hadn’t told Mac his real worry, either. Drew had to find a place that would take him on as an intern before the new semester started. Failure to do so would put him behind his classmates. Austin’s minor league baseball team, the Rock Round Express, had been his first choice, but they didn’t have a spot for him. Nor did any of the numerous local colleges or universities within a thirty-minute drive of the city.

If Lee could score him a spot—even an interview would be a blessing—with the Troopers’ medical team, he’d drop to his knees and blow the guy in a heartbeat. Don’t be ridiculous, Drew, you’d drop and suck his dick with or without the job.

He hopped in his car and headed southeast toward the University of St. Augustine. Admittance to their physical therapy program had been a tough process, but their graduates were sought after by all the local hospitals and rehab facilities. His preference to specialize in sports injuries annoyed several of his professors, but he loved sports. Just not football. The number of concussions alone freaked him out. Not a weekend went by that he didn’t hear of at least a half-dozen players getting carted off the field and being put through their concussion protocol.

Drew drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he put learning that protocol on his mental checklist, along with learning about the most common injuries for football players. Why hadn’t he thought to reach out to the team beforehand? Because… football. Rich motherfuckers who thought they owned the world. Tossing money around like they could do no wrong.

Lee broke that impression, though. Maybe because he was so young. A rookie, he’d said. But Drew was sure he’d read stories of hotshot, drafted players bankrupting themselves with their newfound wealth. Buying cars and houses, and throwing lavish parties. Maybe they were just stories… He’d have to ask… and he could now. He had Lee’s number.

Jittery warmth hit Drew’s gut. He’d always love Mac, but he couldn’t live his whole life waiting for his best friend. How many hints did he have to drop? How many times did he have to put his arm around Mac, lean into him, dance with him, their bodies rubbing? Fuck, he’d felt Mac’s hard dick against his thigh, his ass, but there always remained a distance between them. They’d tried too young, and Mac was reluctant to try again now that they were older.

Plus, Mac seemed determined to live the single, young gay man’s life of working hard and partying harder. Every time he mentioned a date, Drew withdrew. He knew he did it, but couldn’t stop himself. Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t have a life. He studied his butt off, got excellent grades, had some spending money from his minimum-wage job and whatever his parents sent him. If he spent a little too much time in the gym burning off his frustration on those nights he knew Mac was out on a date, well, it paid off in the way his best friend eyed his ripped body and the way he often grabbed Drew’s arm and felt up his muscles. Hell, yeah. He knew he looked good.

Catching Lee’s gaze sizing him up hadn’t been anything to sneeze at, either. Lee looked amazing in his own right. Those guns of his had Drew’s mouth watering, and though he couldn’t see Lee’s thighs and ass, he bet they were tight. Every athlete he knew or watched had fantastic bodies, even the three-hundred-pound linebackers. He’d love to get his hands on the Trooper’s safety and not necessarily in a medical way.

Lord have mercy, he hoped Lee could score him a position on the team. He didn’t even care if he got paid peanuts at this point. With a secured job, he’d get his advisor off his back about the internship and wouldn’t have to resort to working at a local nursing home. “No offense, Granny,” he snickered under his breath.

Hope securely in hand, Drew parked and hastily made his way inside for his lecture.

CHAPTER 5

LEE

Lee studied his reflection in the mirror. He rubbed a hand across his cheeks and chin, feeling the bristles scratch his palm as he stared at his face. His mom always called him handsome, but Lee never felt like he looked good enough. Plain brown eyes, his nose slightly crooked from having broken it twice. His hands were strong but rough, calloused from years of ball-handling. And not the kind that brought anyone but die-hard football fans pleasure.

He thought about Drew’s flirty grin and Mac’s hooded gaze. Both men were beautiful in a way he wasn’t. Mac was a ball of sunshine, full of energy, a fire that ignited a heat of lust so strong that Lee worried his erection would give him away.

Drew was more subtle, more settled, even though he was knee-deep in his studies. He’d worked his body into an art form that rivaled those Greek statues Lee had seen in museums. Lissome, strong, defined but not bulging. A mash of runner, biker, and some upper body to keep it all balanced.

Lee, in comparison, had harder muscles honed by years of weight rooms and training camps. His shoulders were well-rounded, his neck thickened, his pecs solid, and his abs cut. He put in hours a day on the gym treadmill along with running wind sprints and passing routes on the field. Tackling men and dummies, rushing lines, pulling ropes, and high-stepping oversized tires had made his ass into a work of art. Someday, someone would slap it and grab it and admire it, and it wouldn’t be a coach or a teammate, nor a trainer or massage therapist.

And maybe that somebody would kneel at his feet, hold on to his nether cheeks like they were a lifeline as they sucked in his cock, brought him to orgasm, and then let him return the favor. Thoughts of his ex drifted by. Stu had been fun, but very vanilla. They only ever had sex in a bed with the lights dimmed. His ex’s preference for bottoming had been something Lee had dealt with but didn’t prefer.

He wanted it all and wanted to give it all equally, and he wondered which of the two—Mac or Drew—he’d be more compatible with. He imagined Mac on his knees, Lee’s hands fisting his hair as the slender blond went to town on his dick. Stu had hated having his hair pulled.

Lee scoffed. Why the hell had he stayed with such a fussy guy for so long? Oh… right… school, football, and family took up almost every waking moment. Stu was… easy. Uncomplicated. And both of them knew there’d eventually be a termination date on their relationship.

He left the bathroom, gathered his gear, and psyched himself up for the two-minute walk to his car in the brutal July heat. There was something to be said for on-site parking in a covered garage, and paying a little extra to have a spot away from anywhere the sun could reach was a blessing his sad, slightly melted Jersey heart could get behind.

With the air-conditioning blasting, he drove slowly through the downtown traffic toward the stadium and practice facilities. They were due west of his apartment and a long stone’s throw southwest from downtown. There’d been some disagreement between him and his mother over the two-bedroom apartment. It was just him, so why did he need so much space? She kindly thunked him on the head and reminded him how much hotel rooms cost and how nice it would be for him to have a place for her and Auntie when they visited. Otherwise, where would she cook for him?

His stomach overruled any thoughts of his mom potentially cock-blocking him. Her food was that good. She was a chef by trade, though she spent very little time in a commercial kitchen these days. Mostly she experimented and took on the occasional “grazing” side job while co-running a growing catering company. Who knew you could make money creating elaborate charcuterie boards?

His place was and wasn’t close to the field. Crow flies, just a handful of miles, but the traffic made those miles take a while. On a good day, he’d make it in fifteen. Most days, however, it was closer to thirty. Of course, the nice thing about the pros was not having to cook much, because of the onsite cafeteria, or wash his uniform, both incredible time-savers.

Though neither management nor his coaches said, Lee took a page from the Patriots’ playbook of learning everyone’s name, and he most definitely thanked them every time. He could tell they appreciated it, and if he noticed some of the other veteran players nod in approval, he just smiled and silently thanked his mom and Bill Belichick for instilling good values in him.

Once he cleared downtown, the traffic eased, and he cruised easily toward ATEX stadium and the adjacent training facility. He pulled into the staff and players’ garage and parked, eyeing the number of cars and calculating that he was right on time. Not too early and definitely not late. He grabbed his bag containing his cup, toiletries, and a change of clothes, then headed inside.

The wash of cold air flowing over him when he opened the door let him breathe a sigh of relief. Being from New Jersey, he thought he knew hot and humid, but the record-breaking number of 100-degree days Austin was currently experiencing had him wilting like a thirsty flower. When the Texas sun was hot enough to liquify metal, the cool comfort of air conditioning let him release his worries and focus on practice.

A blast of heat hit his back, followed by praise. “Oh, thank the Lord and sweet baby Jesus. Hot enough to fry eggs, my ass. Broil more like. What the fuck was I thinking extending my contract to live in this oven for another three years?”

Lee turned slowly toward the unfamiliar voice. He did not so much as recognize the player as he did the signature Swoosh tank top stretched to bursting by the ripped chest of his MIA line captain. And what a chest it was! Dark brown skin, broad pecs, bulging biceps…

“Like my shirt?”

Lee jerked his chin up, warmth flooding his body, and not the kind of heat he preferred. He stared into the sharp gaze of Aiden Young, the Troopers’ defensive line captain. Young’s cocky smile and pursed lips sending him kissy noises knocked Lee’s libido down fast.

---