I was already running toward them, but I was on the opposite side of the field. DeWan and Rex were right near where the guys were abusing Sean. Oh great. Just what he needed. Those two.
I picked up speed, but DeWan grabbed Sean as one of the other guys shoved him hard.
My fists clenched, I ran full-out, ready to fight them all!
But as I got close, I heard DeWan growling, “Did you put hands on my teammate on purpose, motherfucker? Because if you did, you’re gonna need a team of surgeons to remove that football from up your ass.”
DeWan wasn’t the biggest guy in the house, but he was big enough, and when he was pissed, everything about him read mean.
The largest of the strangers, the one Sean had run into, said, “Hey, he ran into me.”
Rex pulled Sean behind him and said, “Right, while he was making a heroic effort to catch a ball. All you had to do was move out of the way. Right?” He took a step closer. “Right?”
The guy frowned, but he backed up. “I guess so.”
I moved up beside DeWan. “And if you want to call somebody around here fag, why don’t you start on me?”
The three guys looked at each other. One of them held up his hands. “We didn’t mean anything by it. Figure of speech, man.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of people who don’t like how you figure.” I walked to Sean and put my arm around him.
Sean took a step toward the biggest man. “I apologize for running into you. I’m a little distracted today.”
The guy glanced at DeWan and me, then said, “Sure, kid. Apology accepted. Sorry we got a little carried away.” He took one more uneasy look around and said, “Come on, guys. Let’s go.”
As we watched, they walked away in a group.
Sean turned to DeWan with his serious expression. “Thank you for your defense. I was under the impression that you didn’t want me on the team due to my relationship with Bubba.”
I almost laughed. That was Sean all over. Look the tiger in the face.
DeWan said, “I’m not gonna lie, it was a fucking shock. But hell, who am I to criticize how a man butters his bread? As for you being on the team—none of us was excited about that, yo, but we gotta do what we gotta do. Dean’s rules. And I can see you’re workin’ it hard and getting better. Yeah, not so much today, but we all have shit days.” He looked after the retreating backs of the group of guys. “As for those guys. I might call you a Poin and a nerd—” He grinned. “—but no one else better.”
Sean stared at his feet, then looked up. “I apologize for being so useless today. I must confess, the disapproval I sensed from some of the team made me worry for Bubba. I know he values your good opinion. It occupied my mind, and I’m not good at multitasking. Or being a boyfriend.”
So that was the reason. I gave him a one-armed hug as I said, “Aw. Remember when I said practice makes perfect?” I gave him a flirty wink. “And by the way, you guys. Sean’s catch gave us a first down.”
It felt good to laugh.
Chapter Fifteen
Sean
It was snowing. Big, fat, fluffy flakes glided down from the sky as I made my way across the street to the ALA house. DeWan opened the door when I knocked.
He looked me up and down. “Hey, Sean.” He half turned and hollered up the stairs. “Bubba! Sean’s here. Store’s open, yo!” I grinned as he left me at the door and wandered back into the living room. There was a whole story behind his quip.
It had only been a week since Bubba announced we were a couple to his house—and to the entire campus. But it had been the best, and most surprising, week of my life. My inclination was to keep my head down, go to my classes, and ignore the stares and murmurs that followed me. For the first time in my life, I was the subject of gossip. I can’t say I enjoyed it, though having Bubba as my boyfriend was certainly worth any hardship.
Bubba’s approach was the opposite of mine. He’d sometimes meet me after a class, walk me to lunch, or just want to hang out for an hour or so between classes in the student union. He’d pop my bookbag over his meaty shoulder, casually sling an arm around my neck, and we’d talk as we walked, his voice loud and bright.
If anyone dared give us cootie glances, one flat cold stare from Bubba would make them scurry on past.
One day, when we were in the student union studying between classes, Bubba went to grab us some Cokes. A pretty female student came up to me, her face red.
“I know for a fact that Bubba Merkofsky is not a fag.”
“He’s bisexual,” I said, turning a page. I felt heat creep up my neck and wished she’d go away. Other people were staring.
She folded her arms over her chest and gave me a smug look. “I fucked him, you know.”
“Congratulations,” I said calmly. “Lucky you, getting your shopping done before the store closed.”
It so happened that Bubba was coming back when I said that, as evidenced by his booming laugh. He laughed for the rest of the hour, even tearing up at one point, curling up on the seat, and putting his fingers over his eyes to hold back the mirth. He told his housemates about it that night, and ever since then, when I show up at the ALA house, someone announces that I’m there to “do my shopping,” or tells Bubba they hope the “store’s open,” or “don’t forget to clean the till” or some other questionably hilarious variant thereof.
I didn’t mind. It was nice to be thought clever enough to quote. No one but Bubba had ever found me particularly witty before. And the good-natured teasing was better than being snubbed or hated on.
Bubba came jogging down the stairs. My jaw dropped.
He paused on the lower landing and looked at me worriedly, tugging on one tight sleeve of his black wool turtleneck sweater. “Does this look stupid? It does, doesn’t it? The only fancy thing I have is this sweater, but it’s two years old, and I’ve put on a couple of inches.”
It was true, the sweater was tight. It outlined his pecs, biceps, and even hinted at his abs. The seams were strained, but who would notice that when there were all those muscles to distract one’s eye? I’d never seen him dressed up before, and the sweater, along with gray dress pants, made me internally drool.
“You look very handsome,” I said.
He looked down at himself. “And it’s okay for the theater?”
“Absolutely.”
He surveyed me up and down then, taking in my clothes. But I had my parka zipped up to my chin. Seeing how conventional he looked, and how striking, made me even more nervous about what I was wearing. But it was too late now. Perhaps I could keep my coat on.
“So,” I said, forcing good cheer. “Are you ready for our evening to begin?”
He smiled, grabbed his coat, and we left.
We made our way through a curtain of snow to the SMT parking lot. “I hope the roads don’t get too bad,” I said.
“If they do, I’ll drive,” said Bubba. “I’m real good at driving in the snow.”
I imagined he was. He was good at anything that required physical skill. Whereas I was the opposite.
I’d gotten tickets to see Angels in America at the Overture Center for the Arts in downtown Madison. The show was traveling through from Broadway. The tickets hadn’t been cheap, but since I wasn’t paying for my room anymore, thanks to volunteering for flag football, I decided to splurge. I wanted everything to be perfect tonight. It was my first real official date ever in my life, and I was going to do it right. I’d asked Bubba to go in a formal fashion, obtained theater tickets, and even borrowed Dobbs’s car for the occasion. My parents figured I didn’t need a car since they imagined I’d never leave campus. That was true of the old Sean, but it wasn’t true any longer.