Page 25 of Simply Perfection
“Blue, forty-three … hike, hike!”
Matt took off through the three hole and downfield. His arms pumped, his toes tunneled into the ground for traction, and his quads burned with the blast of speed. Somebody was behind him. Matt felt their energy racing toward him as if that person were a freight train. Matt refused to stop, though. Each step brought him closer to his goal. One more step and he spun around. He saw Ryan chasing him down. Matt had only seconds to spare. The throw was high. He leapt up; the leather slid into his fingertips and he cradled the ball to his chest.
Ryan’s arms latched themselves around Matt’s hips. He tried to twist his body in the air so he wouldn’t land on his head. Hehad no desire for his skull to meet the hard, frost-covered earth. They landed with a thud, and every muscle in Matt’s arms tensed to contain the football.
“Yes!” Matt shouted. “Take that, Ashton!”
Matt jumped up and raised both arms over his head so his teammates could celebrate the victory.
“Touchdown!” Ethan screamed, running toward Matt.
Ethan’s lean body, tackled Matt, and he fell back to the ground, laughing. “Nice throw. Wanted to make me work for it a little bit, huh?”
“Wasn’t my fault,” Ethan pouted. He sat up and straddled Matt’s hips. “Rick came at me as if he were ‘The Fridge’.”
Rick ran up to the group and snorted. “Yes, as if I looked like a three hundred and eighty pound defensive lineman. Face it, Harrison, you’re a princess who didn’t want to ruin your manicure.”
“Hey!” Ryan exclaimed. “That’s my husband, not to mention your best friend, you’re ragging on. I can vouch that he is no woman, either in temperament or anatomy.” Ryan turned to Ethan, still straddling Matt’s hips. “And you!” He reached under Ethan’s arms and lifted him free. “No grinding, unless it’s on me.” Ryan buried his hand in the back of Ethan’s hair and slammed their lips together.
Despite the melting frost beneath his body, Matt lay back with his arms behind his head, laughing. Since he joined this rag-tag group of couples over the summer for weekend games, they never failed to make Matt laugh himself sick. It was a shame that Logan and Clay weren’t here, but Clay was still in the hospital and Logan refused to be more than a couple of feet from his side.
Matt had spoken with Logan on the phone several times. After Logan’s flashback the day of Clay’s shooting, Matt needed to make sure that his patient and friend was stable. Logan told him his energy focused on Clay’s recovery and promised to call Mattif he slid into crisis after things calmed down. Regardless, Matt made Logan schedule an appointment for Monday and assured him that they would not release Clay until later in the week.
They’d made a significant improvement in Logan’s PTSD in the last year and a half, but Matt cautioned Logan that the disease would not simply go away. If anything, periods of stress could trigger an increase in symptoms, and Matt wanted to stay on top of Logan’s care.
“Matt! Did Ryan belt ye too 'ard? Scramble yer brains? Get aff de cold groun', ye dope.” Conor held out his hand.
Matt took Conor’s hand and launched himself off the ground. When the cold air hit his back, Matt realized that maybe lying in frost wasn’t such a brilliant idea. Mostly because the frost had melted beneath his body, and now his shirt was damp and stuck to his back. He looked around the group of friends. Steam evaporated from their bodies.
“I think it may have actually gotten colder since we started.”
They all nodded. Ryan had his arms around Ethan. Rick and Conor were wrapped around each other, and suddenly Matt longed to have Niall or Trevor there with him. He didn’t know if either of them was the athletic type, but it would have been nice to share somebody’s warmth.
“Yo Doc!”
Matt turned his head to see a young recruit from Clay’s district jogging their way from downfield.
“Nice game, Anderson.”
“Thanks, Doc. You’re a hell of a runner. Kinda thought with your size and all … I mean, not that you’re out of shape at all—far from it.” His eyes traveled down the length of Matt’s body. “Your body’s amazing. I wish I could touch—look, I mean look like that.”
Matt watched as Anderson’s cheeks, already flushed from the cold air, turned brighter. He felt flattered and took pity on the kid—fresh out of the academy according to Clay. “Thank you.”
The young man continued to stand there. He appeared to have something further to say, but kept looking around at the rest of the gang, who sadistically refused to move an inch. Matt sighed and shook his head.
“Come on.” He pointed to a patch of grass several feet away, and he and Anderson walked over. A glance over his shoulder, and Matt saw every neck craned in their direction.
“Don’t mind them. They have nothing better to do than gossip. You look like you have something on your mind. Did you have something you wanted to ask me, maybe as a psychiatrist? I work quite a bit with the department, and your rookie year can be—”
“No! Nothing like that. I was … well, I was wondering if … maybe you’d like to grab a bite with me?”
The kid sounded so hopeful, and Matt gave him props for having the guts to ask.
“I appreciate the offer. You’re a good looking man, Anderson. And the fact that you’re attracted to an old desk jockey like me is flattering, but I’m seeing somebody.”
“Hey, no sweat. I figured it didn’t hurt to ask. If things don’t work out, call me.”
Anderson took off running, and Matt felt a little bad. The kid’s false bravado at the end seemed to cover up his disappointment. Matt hoped he bounced back quickly because the kid really did have something special to offer a man.
