Uncovered (Dev and Lee Book 4) (21 page)

“That’s a little far-fetched.”

“Scouts can be fired for messing up one pick. That’s what they say, anyway. I never knew anyone it happened to.” He finishes off his sandwich.

We get up and walk out onto the street, waving good-bye to the owner. The conversation is getting close to talking about our relationship again, which I don’t want to do and I’m sure he doesn’t either, so there’s silence while I search for football-related things to talk about. “Oh, I’m going to be filming another commercial Wednesday for Ultimate Fit.” I shake my head. “It’s in the contract we signed.”

“You signed it,” he points out. “Ogleby just negotiated it.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “He really isn’t that great of an agent, is he?”

“Fisher’s agent sounded pretty good.”

“After the season,” I say. “I will look at other agents, I promise.”

He half-turns toward me as we cross the street. “I’m not angling for the job.”

“I know.” I grin down at him. “You want that job in Yerba.”

His ears flick again, and he doesn’t return my grin. “Would you be okay with that? I mean, if you stay here, and I go there? We’d be apart again, for most of the year.”

“Sure.” I realize I may have said that a little hastily. “I mean, I like living with you. And I hope maybe you’d keep some of your stuff here. I mean, you could still consider this your ‘home’ and you’d just have a place in Yerba, too. But I’m not seeing you all that much during the season, and in the off-season I could come stay with you maybe.”

“I’d be traveling a lot.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He looks down at the ground, paws still stuffed in his pockets, thinking. “I guess maybe living together is something for the future.”

“And the occasional now.” I wrap an arm over his shoulder, a comradely hug.

He leans into it. His tail brushes the back of my legs. “And the occasional now,” he repeats.

It feels nice. The sun comes out and the breeze is cool, I have my arm around my fox, and all around me there are Firebirds flags flapping from car windows and hanging in storefronts, Firebirds shirts on people and Firebirds logos hanging in office windows. The city is really coming alive and I am part of that, I helped make it happen. It’s not that I feel like the celebration is all for me; it’s more like I feel that it’s my family throwing a big party. It brings a big smile to my muzzle and an extra spring to my step.

Chapter 9 - Slipping (Lee)

This might be the longest two weeks of my life. I really want Dev to be able to concentrate on football, so I’m trying to avoid talking about anything that might be distracting, like about gay rights. The problem is that everything I have to talk about is distracting—well, no. The real problem is me, that this tangle of shit I’m working my way through makes me edgy, makes every little conversation we have a threat to erupt into an argument. I can see Dev’s puzzlement at it, because he’s not doing anything wrong, and I want him to understand all the things that are going on with me, and at the same time I can’t lay all of that on him because it’s the last thing he needs.

There’s the interview with Jocko. And I can’t tell Dev that I’m worried this guy might be biased because I’m gay, for fear of starting another argument (see above)—especially since it might be nothing. I could just be on a hair trigger because of the fight in Boliat, seeing homophobia in every hesitation when there might be a hundred other explanations. So I kind of half made up the thing about the NDA, because it’s about our relationship but not the gayness part of it, and I managed to avoid an argument. And it was a half-truth, not an outright lie.

That doesn’t mean I feel any better about it. I’d like to be able to say, “I’m worried that this one guy will blackball me just because I’m gay,” without worrying that he’ll immediately ask whether I think he should be more open, or think I’m judging him for not doing more activist work. But I really think that in this case, it won’t matter that much; it avoids an argument without really misinforming him.

Anyway, Peter wouldn’t send me into this interview if he didn’t think I have a chance to ace it. So I’m just going to have to do the best I can.

And the NDA wasn’t an outright lie; Peter and I talked about Dev signing an agreement like that, and he said he wasn’t sure how that would play with the Firebirds—or whatever Dev’s team ends up being next year. He hinted again that things would be a lot simpler if Dev came to play for Yerba, but didn’t give me any clue whether that’s something that’s actually being discussed or if it’s just his ideal scenario.

If you look at the sports websites, Dev’s name comes up less often in connection with being gay, and more often as someone the Firebirds should try to sign in the offseason before the last year of his rookie contract. Promising young linebacker, good skills, good team presence. The gay thing is only mentioned to make the case for Dev to stay rather than hold out and test the market elsewhere: this team knows him and has accepted him, so why would he go to another team and have to start over, risk maybe some yahoo on the defense making trouble for him?

No, the best situation for him is to stay in Chevali, and if they win the championship, it’s pretty much assured that they will try to lock him up for a long time. This is the year to do it, because he’s only played three-quarters of a season, so the team can lower the total amount they pay him. A savvy agent could get around that, test the market and see what the going rate is for a good young linebacker. I don’t think that’s in Ogleby’s skill set.

So I’m thinking about all that and then I had to bite back my initial reaction when he said he’s filming a commercial, because I know he’s been declining interviews from gay rights groups and he won’t film a PSA until after the season—and I’m starting to get creeping little doubts wondering whether he’ll even do it then. It wasn’t even a new reaction. It’s the same reaction I had to the Strongwell commercial, to him doing all these other interviews, and every time it feels like I’m struggling against a load of bricks that Dev—that life keeps heaping onto me.

The part about the phone call at the sandwich shop that
was
an outright lie is that it wasn’t from Peter at all. I talked to him on Monday after Dev had left for home. The call at the sandwich shop was from a lawyer in Crystal City who works with the group Fair and Legal, responding to an e-mail about my
amicus curiae
to the Vince King case. I’d inquired on Sunday after Hal told me his lawyer friends recommended I find someone passionate about “cases like that.” This lawyer, an ermine, asked me about my statement in quick, sharp questions, then gave me some general advice for making it more to the point and told me to send it to her while she looked up the case details.

Her brisk, efficient manner ended up making me feel more distanced from it. She did say she was sorry I’d had to go through that with my family, but beyond that it was all very clinical and detached, except at the end where she gave me some little mini-pep talk about standing up to bullies. It sparked a little of the fire I had when I first heard about King, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how much of this still happens all over. I had an urge to call Brian, because he was so passionate about the case too; not to prove to him that I’m really doing something, but just to have someone else to say “Good job” to me. But of course, I can’t call Brian anymore.

It would be really nice to have some reassurance or encouragement from Dev, but I promised not to say anything, and I already had to tell him about the fight in Boliat. So I keep quiet when we go out that day, walking beside him through the glare of the sun and the crowds, and I remind myself that I’m doing something, I’m staying active, and I’m keeping him out of it. This is our bargain, and I should be happy that it’s working out.

The other thing I can’t tell him is that every time a biggish guy lets his eyes linger on us for more than a second, I get tense. I see the rabbit in the wife-beater, the smirking wolf with the beer bottle, and I feel the paw on my tail again. I’m with Dev, I tell myself. I’m out in public. Nobody’s going to start anything. But the words only penetrate so deep.

“Can you imagine what this place will be like if we win the championship?” Dev asks as we pass a storefront thick with Firebirds banners.

“When,” I say absently.

“Crystal City’s good. McCrae’s only been sacked what, five times this year?” His paws gesture and then hang in the air as though waiting for a phantom quarterback in front of him to make a move.

“I haven’t been keeping track.”

He goes quiet and I feel bad right away. We’re passing a theater, so I say on impulse, “Want to catch a movie?” It’ll let me lose myself in someone else’s story and not risk depressing Dev because I’m being quiet.

“Sure. What do you want to see?”

“Oh, any of those,” I say without looking at the marquee, and I don’t listen to the name he says when he buys our tickets.

The movie is a cacophony of explosions and blaring horns starring a leopard who won’t take no for an answer and a leopardess who plays by her own rules. Or something. I’m just happy to be able to turn my mind off and sit next to my tiger for a couple hours. We walk around a little more after the movie, because Dev wants to enjoy the feel of the town with all the Firebirds gear, and I’m able to enjoy it a little more with my mind cleared by the movie.

We end up hungry and near an Italian place for dinner, and again Dev is recognized. This time he refuses to let the owner pay for the meal (on my urging), but he does allow the owner to give us a bottle of wine. The people in the restaurant are more restrained when it comes to bothering Dev for autographs, but once we’re outside, he spends a good fifteen minutes signing shirts, napkins, and old ticket stubs for people.

I like watching him do that and it gets my head back into a good mindset. I can write up my statement tomorrow, I figure—Dev’s going to have to work sometime during the day. We go home, beat up on each other in football video games, and crawl into bed together enthusiastically enough to get ourselves all hot, bothered, and sticky before falling asleep.

And when Hal calls the next morning about lunch, we’re still in bed, and Dev is a little frisky, teasing me as I try to talk on the phone. “Where are we—ah!—going?” I try to push Dev’s paw away from my sheath, but that’s a fight I’m never going to win.

“I was gonna say, we don’t have to do lunch today. I’m sure you guys are busy with stuff.”

“No, we-ee! We want to.” Dev has moved his paw down my leg, holding me still while he brushes his muzzle over my stomach. “How about Between the Sheets?”

“Sounds delicious,” Dev purrs, licking his lips and then the tip of my shaft.

I squirm, as Hal says, “Thing is, I’m not sure I’m in the mood.”

“How about if we play some soft music and bring wine?” I squirm more as Dev takes me between his lips.

“Nah, I mean…” He sighs. “Pol and I broke up. Last night.”

“Oh, jeez.” I try to push Dev off me, but my squirming just takes me deeper into his muzzle. I lie back and try not to pant into the phone. “Sorry,” I say, as Dev licks along my shaft. “What happened?”

“The usual. Not going the same places, not quite right, the matchup just wasn’t there. Look, you don’t want to hear about this right now.”

He’s right, but not for the reason he thinks. Dev’s got a paw under my balls now and is rubbing as he sucks, which he’s really getting into. His ears are aimed back and I know he’s listening and wants to know what I’ll do if he can make me come while I’m on the phone. And I don’t know how to mute this new phone easily.

“So te-ell me over lunch.” I grit my teeth as my body shivers and tries to force out more pleasure-induced sounds from my throat. “Dev really wants to see you.”

That makes Dev stop. He makes a questioning, “Mrrr?” noise which vibrates all along my shaft and makes my leg kick—the one he’s not putting his weight on holding down.

“Maybe tomorrow?”

“He can’t do tomorrow,” I say, and then Dev goes back to sucking me off, sliding his muzzle up and down, and I have to clamp my mouth shut, exhaling hard through my nose. I think Hal’s waiting for me to go on, so I try to get the words out evenly. It’s like balancing on a narrow beam. “He has. To shoot. A commercial.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I snap out, and just then Dev catches my tip and a little whine escapes me.

There’s a pause. “You’re in bed, aint’cha?”

“Maybe-ee.” I’m having a lot more difficulty controlling my panting.

“Oo-kay. All right, Between the Sheets at noon. Now get off the phone before I have to listen to something I ain’t exactly in the mood to listen to right now.”

“Sorry!” I yell at the phone. “Thanks!” and I stab at the end button and drop the phone over the side of the bed, finally able to arch my back and let the tension out of my throat in a long moan.

Of course, Dev takes his mouth off me then.

“Wh-what…” I stare down at him, dazed.

He grins with a disingenuous smile. “You’re not on the phone anymore. Not as much fun.”

“Oh God. Do you want me to call your Dad, then? So I can come in his ear?”

He twists up his muzzle. “Oh, ew.”

The sensations are starting to subside, the urgency with them. I’m still panting, though. “Well, if you don’t want to finish…”

“I guess I can.” He traces a finger up my shaft. “You were a pretty good fox.”

I give him a smile and big hopeful eyes, and he laughs. “Okay, okay.” He bends back down and his warmth surrounds my shaft. I close my eyes.

After I come, of course I have to suck him off too, though I insist on doing it in the shower because, well, we haven’t showered since last night. It’s kinda fun kneeling on the tile floor with him driving into my muzzle, when I can reach up and feel the cords of muscles in the backs of his legs and his rear, when he can curl his tail around my wrist, when the warmth of the water and steam surrounds and relaxes us, when he can let out a long, loud groan as he spurts warm onto my tongue.

I swallow and wash his length and my muzzle, and then stand and put my arms around him, and he squeezes me. “You’re the best fox,” he murmurs.

It’s a nice thought. I hope I’m worthy of it.

*

When we get to Between the Sheets, Hal is leaning on a table in a booth staring off into space. It takes Dev’s bulk to get his attention. “Hi,” the swift fox says, and scrambles to his feet, extending a dusky brown paw. “Good to see you again.”

Dev shakes, and Hal turns to me. I take his paw and reach around to give him a hug. “Sorry,” I say. “There’ll be someone else.”

Half of his muzzle smiles, a quirky yeah-right expression. “I know that up here,” he says, tapping his ears. “Still hurts everywhere else.”

“Yeah, sorry to hear it,” Dev says. He starts to sit down, and I tug on his shirt.

“We order up there.” I point. “Then bring it back.”

So we get our sandwiches, and Dev laughs at some of the silly names. Here, amusingly, he’s not recognized, and nobody offers to pay for his food, which makes him a little bit sulky, but he gets over that quickly when I elbow him in the side and say, “What’s the matter, famous football player not getting every meal paid for?”

“I’m not that kind of player,” he says, and leaves them a twenty-dollar tip. The sheep behind the counter doesn’t even notice.

“So what happened with Pol?” I ask as we sit down, Dev beside me, Hal across from us.

Hal’s ears go down and he shrugs quickly. “Not every relationship works out, right?”