Page 7 of Sidelining the Safety

“You’re a pretty boy, kid, but I like my babies with back and long hair I can pull.” Young crudely mimed holding a head and fucking. Lee swallowed hard, gaze caught on the noticeable snake pushing out the fabric on the leg of Young’s sweats.

“I hope to God and all his angels that you are not in the closet because you can’t hide for shit.”

Lee slowly shook his head and offered a conciliatory smile. “Nope, but I don’t advertise that I’m out, either. Sorry. I… uh… haven’t said anything or done anything. Nobody’s said anything to me.”

Young advanced and threw an arm around Lee’s shoulders. At six-one, and just over two hundred pounds, Lee wasn’t a small guy, but next to Young, he felt tiny. “Well, Mr. Matters—yes, I know who you are—nobody is gonna say nothing to you. They’ll talk behind your back until you get up the nerve to let them in on your secret. Or, ya know, you just show up to some function with some man candy and let your freak fly. You got options.”

“I see.” Lee smirked.

Young palmed Lee’s neck, pushed him to get him moving, and gave him a shake he felt down to his toes. “That’s the spirit. You met Jacobs, yet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ha!” Young clapped Lee hard on the back as they ambled toward the dressing room. “None of that sir business. Not even Cap or Captain, you hear me? The guys call me Yowie.”

“Yow-ie!” players shouted as they passed on their way to wherever: medical, weight room, video room. Several hugged him, giving him the guy clench and a complicated handshake.

Lee attempted to put a name with every face and came up shy about a third of the time. He kept up until Yowie stopped dead and stared at the player striding with purpose toward him. Lee recognized him easily as the team’s star quarterback, Addison Kelly. He’d heard the veterans refer to him as Addy, but since he’d only showed up a day or two ago, Lee hadn’t had the chance to meet him officially. On Addy’s heels was his number two, Callum Jones, AKA Cal.

“Yowsers, Yowie, nice of you to show your face. Coach is peeved he had to hold your rookies’ hands, man.” Addy slapped and shook Yowie’s hand before pulling him in for a brief hug, then Cal did the same.

“Had to take care of some stuff.” Yowie shrugged, a grimace tightening his features. Then he seemed to remember Lee was there. “You guys meet Matty yet?”

Addy beamed at Lee. “We have not. Addison Kelly, QB. The guys called me Addy.” Lee shook his outstretched hand, then shook Cal’s.

“Callum Jones—Cal. Pleasure.”

“It’s great to meet you. Lee Matters, rookie safety.”

“Rutgers, right?” Addy asked, continuing after Lee nodded, “I’ve seen your game tape. I think you’ll be an excellent addition to the team.”

Oh God. Lee felt his cheeks burning again. Fucking Addison Kelly gave him a compliment. Whoa.

“Damn it, Addy, I think you broke him. You are too damn pretty for your own good.” Yowie clapped Lee on the back again, jarring him out of his infatuated gaze. “Go snog your boyfriend or something, I gotta get changed and whip my line into shape.”

“That would be nice,” Coach Mike said, approaching from the team offices. He grinned at Lee. “Feeling good, Matters?”

“Yes, Coach.” Lee liked his Defensive Coach, Michael Carlson. The guy was a dad through and through. Sure, he bellowed when needed, but just as often, he pulled Lee or another of the rookies aside and explained what they did wrong and what he wanted them to do. He’d had his share of good and bad coaches since he started playing Tiny-Mites at age five. Back then, it was more about skills, camaraderie, and the cuteness factor. By the time he got to Peewee at age nine, coaches started looking for potential, but Dads would be Dads, and without one, Lee sometimes got overlooked.

Things got better when, in seventh grade, he met Jimmy Kay, a pseudo-big-brother slash buddy from the high school team. Jimmy had been a safety, and he taught Lee everything he knew. Lee had soaked it up like a sponge, advanced his skills, and had the private high schools bucking to sign him with scholarship money. Lee just shook his head. He played for two years with Jimmy on the field in high school and again at Rutgers until his mentor dislocated his shoulder midway through his senior year and decided to bow out gracefully from the game. Jimmy had never turned his back on Lee, though, even when he came out to the team, and he never missed a single one of Lee’s games.

He made a mental note to call his friend later that night and fill him in. They’d already made plans to see each other for the three East Coast games the Troopers had scheduled, and Jimmy had an open invitation to visit him in Texas should he get the chance.

“Young,” Coach Mike stared at his defensive starter, “you’re late. Get changed and see medical for clearance. You better not have done anything stupid in the off-season.”

Yowie slapped a hand over his heart. “You wound me, Coach. I have been the picture of piety and innocence.” Lee laughed along with the others. Nobody was that “good.”

He trailed Yowie to the dressing room, where he introduced him to Chris Jacobs, who’d quickly earned the moniker “Jakes” when Coach kept shouting Jacobs and three players turned their heads. When Jakes stood, Lee, standing between them, felt even smaller. His fellow rookie was six-five and looked like he had another twenty or thirty pounds on Yowie. The dyed blond tips of his long dreadlocks and the clipped goatee added a sexy, roguish appearance to his youthful looks. Both men could easily squash him. He took a step back.

“I think Matty might be a little intimidated,” Yowie snorted.

Lee rolled his eyes and popped over to his cubby, where he stripped down to his underwear and pulled on the athletic gear left for him by the staff. As he sat lacing up his cleats, the special team’s coach, Jaxon Ross—Coach J—pushed through the swinging doors.

“Stevens, let’s go. Matters, you’re with me today. I want you fielding for Stevens. Never know when a ball might get kicked your way.”

“Sure thing, Coach.” Lee waved to Yowie and Jakes, then caught up with Garrett Stevens, the team’s punter, in the hall.

CHAPTER 6

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