Playing the Field: Play On

Playing the Field: Play On By J.M. Snyder Sean Mason first sees the sexy new guy at practice. It’s mid-September; the team’s been on the field for a month already, easing back into the game after summer vacation, but this will be the first time rookies take the field. Tryouts were last weekend—Sean skipped them like he always does. He did that s**t his freshman year, kicking soccer balls into goals and showing off his skills in the hopes of being picked for the team. Now he’s a junior, and as long as he wants to keep playing, the coach keeps putting him on the roster. He proves he can play every time he gets out on the field. This year’s new players currently jog around the pitch, seven guys strung out in a loose line as they circle the field. Sean notices them when he exits the locker room with a few of his other teammates, and someone laughs. “Fresh meat,” Thompson says, nodding at the rookies. Through his buzzed blonde hair, his scalp is sunburned, though his pale face is slathered with sunscreen. He’s got a white smear he didn’t quite rub into his skin completely, just under his jaw, and Sean thinks it looks like c*m smudged under his chin. “How many d’ya think will still be here at the end of the season?” “Once Coach Barrett’s through with them?” Sean turns at the sound of Kidman’s reedy voice and grins at his teammate. Short and squat, Kidman’s built like a linebacker and can’t run two feet without purpling in the face. But he’s a damn good goalkeeper. Pushing his dark, lank hair from his face, he frowns at the rookies and asks, “Hell, which ones are going to be stupid enough to come back after their first day?” Sean follows his teammates out onto the pitch. “We were.” “We can’t get away,” Kidman jokes. “The coach sucked us in—” Sean agrees, “He sucks, alright.” The three laugh at that—Coach is a hard-ass, able to reduce the cockiest college boy to tears. Sean knows; he’s seen it happen. Once or twice the old man almost got to him, but Sean just ground his teeth and let the harsh words roll off his back. He’s a good player—he knows it, the team knows it, and the coach damn well better know it after two seasons of yelling at him on the field. They stop at the edge of the pitch while the freshman run past. By the loll of their tongues, the whites of their eyes, and the sweaty hair pushed back from their brows, they’ve been running a while now. Sean tries to remember those days—he’d show up early for practice and be set jogging around the course what, eight laps? Ten? Something like that. The coach is a huge believer in running the body ragged before play even begins. These new kids will learn not to show up so early next time… “Give up now!” Thompson shouts at them. The guy passing before him cringes at the sound of his voice. “Turn around, go home, save yourselves!” That sets Kidman and Sean snickering again. “Ain’t worth it,” Kidman tells the rookies. “Do basketball or football instead. The cheerleaders are hotter.” “At least those sports have cheerleaders,” Thompson adds. That’s when Sean notices the guy bringing up the rear of the pack. Despite his lag time, it’s evident he’s just pacing himself. His shirt is off, tied around his narrow waist, exposing a smooth chest the delicious color of dark mahogany. Sweat glistens like water on thinly-defined muscles bunched in his abdomen and flexing along his arms and legs. Sean’s first thought is damn…that brother is fine. Who needs cheerleaders when you have an ass like that to check out during the game? Only once the rookies are past does Sean realize he didn’t get a good look at the guy’s face. How could he? All that bare skin from neck to waist distracted him. If they were alone on the field, Sean would chase the guy down, knock him to the ground, roll him over and bite at the ruddy n*****s that look like chocolate kisses set in his chest. Sean wants to lick away the guy’s sweat, trail his tongue around muscles that would clench at his touch, rim around the dusky navel before following the faint trail of black curls down to the prize in the rookie’s shorts. Without thinking, he throws a look back over his shoulder after the runners as he follows his teammates onto the pitch. While he’s watching, the guy glances over. High cheekbones, strong nose, dark eyes like black jewels set in his face. A razor-thin line of hair traces his jaw and circles his full mouth. He has large lips, the color of garnet, which Sean can almost feel pillowed against his own. The hint of a smile pulls those lips taut. Sean’s just about to smile back—so he’s not the only one who likes what he sees—when he walks straight into Kidman. That’s what the rookie is grinning at, has to be. Just his luck; here he is trying to look fly and he comes off whack. As Sean takes a step back, Kidman elbows him in the stomach. “Get off me.” Sean pushes back, cheeks heating with embarrassment. “Why’d you stop?” “Girls.” Coach Barrett’s hard voice silences them. He stands like a monolith before the trio of players, feet planted apart, arms crossed, clipboard in one hand and whistle in the other. The three huddle together, each hoping he isn’t singled out. Sean ducks behind Kidman but it doesn’t work—he’s taller than his friend, so the coach picks on him. “Where’s everyone else, Mason?” With a wave back at the sports complex on the edge of the field, Sean asks, “Locker room?” “What’s going on in there?” the coach wants to know. “Circle jerk? You guys come first?” Beside Sean, Thompson whispers, “Yeah. We finished early.” Sean knees the back of Thompson’s leg. He wobbles, catches his balance, then turns to punch Sean in the arm. The coach, only seeing the last part of the exchange, slaps Thompson with the clipboard. “Ten laps,” he snaps. “But he—” “Twelve.” Thompson sighs. “Coach—” “Keeping talking,” the coach warns. “You’re up to fifteen.” Throwing Sean a hateful look, Thompson jogs to the edge of the pitch. Sean grins but his victory is short-lived. “What are you two waiting for?” the coach asks. “A golden ticket? I want eight from both of you. Now.” With a sigh, Kidman starts, “Coach, my asthma…” At the stern look Barrett throws his way, Kidman trails off. Jogging after Thompson, he mutters, “I’m going to die out here.” “If you’re lucky,” the coach shoots back. “You too, Mason. Start hoofing it.” Sean glances around, trying to find…there. That hot black guy’s just skirted the goal and now follows the rest of the team along the stretch of field heading for the centerline. Sean starts to jog, gauging the distance separating them, and picks up speed the last few feet to break through the ranks and fall into step beside the guy. Matching his strides, Sean flashes him a wide smile. “You’re new here. I’m Sean.” The guy nods. “Cordero.” His hair is braided into tight rows across his scalp, each ending with a small flip at the nape of his neck. This close, his skin has a reddish sheen to it, polished, and Sean stumbles because he can’t stop staring. Perfectly white teeth flash at him in a quick grin. “Careful there, holmes. You’re real slick today.” “Yeah, well.” Sean can’t think of anything else to say about that, so he changes the topic. “You’re a freshman?” Cordero’s eyes narrow and he makes an irritated noise out of the corner of his mouth. “Psh. I been here three years.” Sean’s interest piques. Freshmen aren’t usually his style—too damn young and immature. But a junior, now, like himself… “I ain’t see you ’round.” “Maybe you ain’t been looking,” Cordero offers. They run behind the next goal, the two of them slowing to distance themselves from the other runners. “Please,” Sean says, throwing a glance around to make sure none of his teammates can overhear. “Why d’you think I went to school in the first place? I’m in the D and A program.” Cordero grins, like he knows Sean’s joking. “What the hell’s that?” “d**k and ass.” Sean throws him a wink, heart thudding in his chest. The ball is Cordero’s to play. Around the opposite end of the goal, into a straight run. Cordero shakes his head, his grin widening. “Damn, man. I got to sign up for that one. I’m sure I’ve racked up enough credits already.” Sean laughs, then jumps when the coach shouts in his ear. The bastard’s so close. “Cut the gossip, ladies! If you can chat, you can pick up the pace!” Tamping down his grin, Cordero speeds ahead and Sean hurries to catch up. When he draws alongside Cordero again, Sean looks back to make sure the coach is out of earshot, then mutters from the corner of his mouth, “Jesus.” Cordero glances behind them before answering. “He always such a nut buster?” That earns him another laugh. Sean likes this guy. “Oh, no. He’s just gone easy on you rookies. Most times he’s worse.”