CONNOR RUSHED into the locker room, already unzipping his duffel bag. The student council meeting had run behind schedule, making him late for practice. Coach Petrewski didn’t mind his athletes being involved in other activities, but he did expect that if it came to a scheduling conflict, baseball would take precedence. Connor whipped around a bay of lockers and collided with someone. As they fell to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, Connor twisted his body so he hit the floor first. A sharp elbow knocked into his cheek, and he hit his head against the tiled floor.
“Ow! Man, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He shook his head to clear his vision, and he got a look at the person he’d run into. Ice-blue eyes rimmed with thick black eyeliner stared down at him.
“Crap!” Connor tried to jerk into a sitting position but Graham’s lanky body draped awkwardly over his. He stopped moving and stared at the other boy. Every cell in his body vibrated. It was like something out of a chick flick. Time stood still, and he expected music to swell at any minute, a violin concerto to signify that this was a Moment. A capital-M moment.
He swallowed hard and tried to moisten his dry mouth.
Graham didn’t speak, apparently caught in the same spell.
He didn’t know how long they lay there looking at each other, neither moving. It could have been seconds, minutes, or days. What he did know was, no matter how terrified the thought made him, Connor didn’t want the moment to end.
The swishing sound of the locker room door opening was a cold splash of reality.
Graham scrambled off Connor, trying to roll away. The space in the alcove of lockers, with the long bench in the middle, was not designed for two full-grown boys, sprawled on the floor. As he rolled to the side, Graham braced his weight with his arms but immediately fell forward as Connor’s duffel bag, which was under his hand, slid over the glossy tile. Graham’s head hit the thick leg of the changing bench. He winced. “Shit.”
“Are you all right?”
“Woo-hoo! Look at that. If it isn’t Guyliner and the Golden Boy. I think we’ve interrupted something.” Roy rocked on the balls of his feet. “You must have been desperate to go at it in the locker room. Getting off at school? I never figured you for a PDA kind of guy, Fitzpatrick.”
Perfect. Just effing perfect. Clint and Roy leaned against a tiled wall. Both wore workout clothes and were flushed and sweaty. Football season may have been over, but they’d obviously been making use of the weight room.
“I so don’t need this right now.” Glaring at Roy, Graham levered himself to his feet and held out his hand to help Connor up. “I’m not in the mood for your shit.”
Connor couldn’t speak. He took the offered hand and pulled himself up. When he finally made it to his feet, he crossed his arms over his chest. He’d never thought he could be hot and cold at the same time. Embarrassed heat burned his skin while icy dread shriveled the pit of his stomach.
“You hear that, Clint? Guyliner is acting all tough. I didn’t think you were the type to let your girlfriend fight for you, Goldie. That’s not—what’s the word?—chivalrous. That’s what the girls say about you, you know. Such a nice guy. Such a sweetheart. I wonder what all those girls would think if they heard you were in here rolling around with this freak? I bet they’d figure out real soon that nice guy is actually code for queer.”
“At least he’s not a douche,” Graham retorted. “I’ve only been here a week, and even I’ve heard about how the girls refuse to have anything to do with your bigoted ass.”
Roy didn’t take his attention from Connor. “Please, I can get with any chick I want. Unlike you, at least I know how to show a girl a good time. You two spend more time together in the library than anywhere else. In fact, I don’t think anyone’s ever caught you two getting it on in your car or anything. I bet the only reason Allyson dates you is because her daddy makes her. Anything to keep the baseball players happy, right?”
“I bet you’re right.” Clint scrunched his face as though thinking hard about something. “You know, that would make Allyson a whor—”
Connor’s temper snapped. He lunged forward and swung Clint into the lockers with a clang. Clint tried to step away, but he couldn’t escape Connor’s strong grip. “You will not talk about Allyson that way. I don’t care what you have to say to me or about me, but you will not, I repeat, you will not ever say another word about her. In fact, if you’re smart, you’ll pretend she doesn’t exist.”
Graham patted Connor’s shoulder. Like his voice, the touch managed to cool his anger. “Don’t do this. They’re not worth it.”
The distinctive squeak of rubber soles on tile cut through the tense tableau. “What’s going on here?”
Connor swore under his breath. Of all the people who could have walked in on this fiasco, Coach Baxter was the worst. He’d been the football coach at Green Valley High since before Connor’s father’s day, and the man practically put Green Valley’s athletes on the college scouts’ radar single-handedly. Connor couldn’t afford to get on the guy’s bad side.
Baxter narrowed his eyes at the hand Connor still had pressed to Clint. Connor released his hold and stepped back, knocking into Graham.
“I asked a question.” Impatience added bite to Baxter’s bark. He fisted his hands on his polyester-covered hips.
The smile on Roy’s face was so bright it could probably be seen from the moon. “Clint and I had to break these two up. I don’t know what started it, but they were fighting about something. Then Connor attacked Clint.”
“It wasn’t a fight. It was an accident, and I didn’t attack anyone,” Connor burst out.
Baxter grunted and pointed at Connor and Graham. “In my office. Now. You two,” he said, nodding at Roy and Clint, “get out of here.”
As he and Clint left the locker room, Roy sent another beaming smile at Connor.
At Connor’s wary look, Graham shrugged and followed Baxter. Graham cradled his wrist and tested the use of his fingers. “It’s okay,” he said, noting Connor’s concern. “I twisted it a bit when we landed. It’s not broken or sprained or anything.”
“Will it cause you problems at practice?”
“Nah, I’m a soccer player. No hands.”
“You’re a goalie. I may not know a lot about soccer, but I’m pretty sure that goalies get to use their hands.”
“We do, but really, it’s no big deal. It’ll be fine in a few minutes. Just need to shake out the tingles.”
“Fitzpatrick, Parker, stop yammering and get your pansy asses in here.”
Graham cocked an eyebrow. Connor tried desperately to not notice how the gesture showed off the outlined blue eye below the brow.
“Move it!”
“I’d love to tell you that he’s not as nasty as he seems, but I’d be lying.” Connor led the way to Baxter’s office.
“Think we’re in trouble?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
“Sit down.” From his desk chair, Baxter watched with a serious expression as they sat. Baxter let the silence build, let the full weight of his disapproval hang in the air. Only pride kept Connor from sinking down under the pressure. “I expected better from you, Fitzpatrick.”
“But, sir—”
“You’re both aware that fighting is an immediate suspension, right?”
“What? No. That is, we weren’t fighting.” Connor sat forward in his chair.
“That’s not what happened at all,” Graham spoke at the same time.
“Really? Why are you bleeding, Parker?”
“It was an accident.” Connor couldn’t keep the pleading out of his voice. “We just ran into each other.”
“And was it an accident that had you holding Clint against the wall? Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes. I’ve been doing this for more than thirty years. There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t heard before. I’ve got to believe what I see with my own eyes. Now, I should contact the vice principal—”
“No! Please.” Interrupting Baxter was not a smart idea. At least it wasn’t something that Connor would normally do, but calling the vice principal meant suspension, and the threat of that was more than enough to make him panic. A suspension for fighting would destroy the record he’d been working so hard on.
“What did you say?” Baxter narrowed his eyes and leaned forward across the desk.
“Sorry,” Connor blurted out, “but we weren’t fighting. Graham, tell him.”
“Shut it. I said I should call the vice principal, not that I would. If I call him, I have to fill out paperwork and you two will get suspended. If you get suspended, you’re off the teams, and I’m sure none of us wants that to happen.”
Connor sat back in the seat, afraid to hope.
“Because this is a first offense, Fitzpatrick, and since you’re new, Parker, here’s what we’re going to do. For the next several Saturdays you two will come in and clean, organize, and paint the equipment storage shed.”
“But—”
“Did you have something to add, Fitzpatrick?”
Did he? “Uh, I work on Saturdays, sir.”
“I expect at least two hours every Saturday until the job is done. I don’t care whether you do it at four in the morning or four in the afternoon. It will be up to you two to agree to the schedule. On Fridays before you leave you will stop in and let me know when you’ll be in and to pick up the key. You will bring the key back on Monday morning. Is that clear?”
Connor closed his eyes. This was so unfair. “Yes, sir.”
“Fine,” said Graham coolly.
“Well? Don’t you have places to be? From now on, keep your problems out of school. And Parker? Get that crap off your face. This isn’t a beauty pageant for Christ’s sake.”
Connor and Graham jumped up and hauled ass to the locker room. Connor marched to the bench where his duffel bag lay discarded. He stared down at it for a moment, counting to ten and taking deep breaths in an effort to push back the temper that was building inside. With a suddenness that even surprised him, he kicked out, sending the bag flying into the corner locker.
“Hey, wow. You okay?”
Connor whirled around. The sight of Graham standing there, hands in his pockets, like nothing of any interest had happened, ticked him off even more. “Why are you so calm? You and I both know we weren’t fighting, and thanks to those asshats we nearly got suspended. Now we have to spend God only knows how many hours working on the equipment storage shed. In case you haven’t seen it, it’s more of a barn than a shed. It’s going to take weeks. Months. My dad’s going to kill me.”
Graham shrugged. “You know Coach Baxter better than me. Do you think he would have changed his mind?”
“We could have fought it. Explained to the vice principal.”
“Maybe.” Graham wiped at his bloody mouth. “I’d rather not cause a big deal about it, especially since we can’t prove anything one way or the other. I’ve been the center of attention for shit like this, and it’s not something I want to repeat, even if it is on a much smaller scale.”
Connor blinked. Graham’s last sentence distracted him completely from his irritation. He didn’t have a chance to ask about it, though.
Cleats clicked on tile, echoing through the locker room. “Connor?” Marc peeked around a bank of lockers. “Get a move on. Petrewski’s about to lose his shit. If you don’t get out there soon, he’ll have you running suicide drills for the rest of the night.”
“I’m coming.” Connor scooped up his bag. “I’ve got to get changed.”
“What’s the holdup?” Marc looked at Graham. “New guy, right? You’re in my English class, I think. Marc Delgado.”
“Graham Parker.” Graham nodded at Marc.
Connor stared at Graham. There was more he wanted to say, to ask, but this clearly wasn’t the time. He sighed, pulling out his uniform pants. “I’d better get moving or Coach is going to rip me a new one.”
“Yeah, I’m running late too. I’ve got to meet Mr. Martin at four to take a placement test for math. Apparently they don’t know exactly where to put me.”
Graham was probably right about the uselessness of going against Baxter. “I guess I’ll see you on Saturday.” Connor ignored the questioning look Marc gave him. “That reminds me. Can I get your number?” He cleared his throat, hoping the blush he felt creeping up his neck wasn’t visible. Why was this so damned awkward? “We’ll need to work out our schedules. For the detention,” he added quickly, pulling out his phone.
Graham recited his number. “Call or text, whichever. Let me know what works best for you.”
“You’d better hurry. I’ll let Petrewski know you’re on your way.” Marc jogged past the lockers and out the door.
“I’m coming,” Connor hollered after him. When he turned back to his duffel bag, Graham was gone.