Isolation Play (Dev and Lee) (35 page)

So I tell him what I told Brian, months ago. “You should look to your future.”

Now he gives me a smile. “It’s good to talk to someone who knows.” His ears perk up.

I smile back at him. That reaction’s artificial, too. He’s not as good an actor as Brian. He’s trying to get me to admit something. That means he knows something about me. “You’re happier today. Is it just the article you sold?”

“
It shows?” He chuckles. I hear the soft thump of his tail wagging against the booth. “No, apart from just being in the company of a lovely vixen again, it’s the article I’m hoping to sell. See, when I heard Miski talking about his boyfriend for a year and a half, I thought maybe it was someone he knew in college.”

My fur prickles. I will it to stay down, to not show on the back of my neck. “You think so?”

“
I do now.” He rests both paws on the table, leaning forward. “So I did some checkin’ around at Forester. Coach pointed me to the guys Miski hung out with. Took a while to track ’em down, but y’know, I got nothin’ else to do.”

His eyes are shining now. I can see why he made a good reporter. It’s not putting me any more at ease. “Did you find anything?”

“
I think I did.” He tilts his head. “Does the name Randall Johannsen sound familiar?”

It doesn’t, immediately. Then it clicks. “Randy? Dev’s college roommate?”

He nods. “You know him?”

“
I met him, once or twice. You think
he’s
the boyfriend?” I pretend to mull it over. It’s a last-ditch attempt to mislead him. “They were roommates, so I guess...”

He holds up a paw. “Not quite. Mister Johannsen is a factory worker in Crescent Bay, a little north of Aventira. Married, one kid. But I talked to him for about an hour this weekend.”

He wasn’t fooled. Nobody talking to Randy could think he was gay, really. “How is Randy, anyway?”

Kinnel’s dusty-brown muzzle creases with a smile. “He remembers you, too. Only he didn’t think your last name was White. And he kept talking about how...well-proportioned you were.” His smile widens. “Sent me a pic he had of you and Miski. Not to be rude, but...it looks like you might’ve been exaggeratin’ your figure just a bit, back then.”

My throat’s dry. I didn’t think Randy would’ve kept that picture. I tried so hard to stay off camera, but with cell phones and digital cameras, you just can’t.

“
Nice pic, though,” Hal says. “You look real happy, pretty dress. Miski looks happy too, but all Mister Johannsen remembered was your bosom. Football players, huh? Hate it when people turn out to be stereotypes.”

The way he says the last word, looking at me, leaves no doubt in my mind. He’s playing with me, and he’s happy because he knows something about me. It wouldn’t have taken him long to find out there was no ‘Lee White’ at Forester. I make the decision quickly, dropping into my normal voice. “Like the gay guy who cross-dresses?”

The swift fox’s eyes widen. He searches my face. I stay expressionless. “Actually,” he says, slowly, “from what I hear, most gay guys aren’t cross-dressers. I’d’a guessed who I was dealin’ with sooner if they were.”

“
I didn’t expect you to do research into Dev’s past.”

“
I’m a good reporter.” He taps the tabletop. “I was pissed at first. Didn’t want to talk to you again, thought about sending a nasty note.” He holds up a paw. “I mean, I thought you were a gal I could talk to, who’d been through the same things. Started writing a note, actually, but as I was writin’ it, I thought, hey, ain’t so different really, is it? You didn’t get dumped, but he’s not paradin’ you out in public.”

“
It’s my decision.” He raises his eyebrows. I lower mine. “I just...don’t want the media attention.”

“
Ah. So much for tellin’ your story.” He rubs the side of his muzzle. “I could write it up all anonymous. ‘Miski’s boyfriend shuns spotlight.’”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

“
Come on,” he says. “I’m as good at writin’ as research. Trust me, there’ll be nothin’ to come back to you.”

“
Not right now.” I sigh. “There’s a lot of stuff going on.”

His eyes flick down. I realize I’m rubbing the cast. “Still hurt?”

I stop. “It comes and goes.”

He grins, then looks to the side as a couple skunks pause near our table. The taller one gestures to the next booth and asks us, “’Scuse me, you mind if we sit here?”

“
Go ahead.” Kinnel waves them on. “Nice of them to ask,” he says as they sit.

Skunk smell tickles my nose. “Considerate.” I keep my voice very low. The smell’s not so bad, and we foxes aren’t exactly subtly scented.

“
How did you meet?”

I shake my head again. “That’s...not a good story. Even anonymous.”

“
Well, hell.” He exhales, ears flattening. “So all I can write is that Miski’s boyfriend is a fox he met in college who goes around in drag?”

I reach back to smooth down the fur on the back of my neck. “I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t,” I say, putting on my female voice again. “As a favor to a lady?”

“
You’re no lady.” He glares at me. I nod my head back to the skunks at the booth behind me, and he lowers his voice. “I did all that research.”

“
I can’t stop you,” I say. “But I’d really prefer you didn’t.”

“
All right, then.” He pauses, then starts to slide out of the booth. “Pleasure meeting ya. Keep me in mind when you’re ready to do more.”

“
Wait.” He stops, ears flicking back at me. “Don’t you want a quote from Dev about the upcoming game?”

He considers that, dusky-furred muzzle tilted slightly to one side. “If somethin’ interesting happens in the game, let me know.”

Before he can go again, I say, “You could talk to me about Cimarine.”

“
Doesn’t seem fair,” he says slowly, “if you ain’t gonna reciprocate.”

“
I didn’t say I wouldn’t. Just that you can’t print it.” When he doesn’t respond, I press. “So that’s all I was? A story?”

“
I got bills to pay.” His ears flick. “Don’t reckon I owe you anything at all.”

“
Got lots of other friends, have you?” I sit back.

He tilts his muzzle, a grin spreading across it. “Hurt your feelings? Maybe you’re more of a lady than I thought.”

The skunks behind us have gone quiet; though I’m pretty sure our voices are too low to make out words, the iciness of this exchange is unmistakable in tone. “Fine.” I curl my tail up into my lap. “Go.”

Somewhat to my surprise, he does.

I’m a little apprehensive, walking into the complex for Monday’s practice, waiting to hear what the guys are going to say about Lee. Not too worried, really. I just don’t know what to expect.

It looks like the offense is already out for their practice. Only the defense is in the locker room, plus Charm. Which is a little weird, because usually the kickers hang out in the video room when the rest of us are practicing, but he’s clearly waiting for me. “Hey, Gramps,” he yells as I walk in, and everybody turns. It’s also a little weird that they’re all there already. I mean, I’m half an hour early, but everyone else got here ahead of me. I kick myself mentally, remind myself to get to practice an hour early, tomorrow.

A bunch of them are wearing white Ultimate Fit gear. There’s a box in front of my locker that’s been torn open already, shirts and shorts scattered nearby. “Thanks for the gear,” Vonni says, running a paw down his shirt. “Feels good.”

“
No problem.” I catch sight of Colin and Zillo on the other side of the room, bare-chested, holding their jerseys. “Help yourselves.”

“
Way ahead of you.” Charm grins, decked out in the shirt and shorts and carrying two more pieces over his arm. The guys who aren’t pulling on uniforms are dressed, their jerseys hanging loose off them. No pads today; we won’t do a full-contact practice until Friday before game day.

Even Gerrard is wearing one of the undershirts, his jersey slung over his arm. He jerks his head to my locker. “Get dressed and let’s get going.”

The rest of the guys drift a little closer as I walk over to the locker. Something’s up. I have that rookie feeling when everyone’s in on a joke that’s about to drop on me like a bucket of water over a frat house door. And when I get to my locker, the joke becomes clear.

My uniform is nowhere to be seen. Inside is an Ultimate Fit shirt, Ultimate Fit shorts—and a cheerleader’s outfit. I stare at it, not realizing right away what it is. Giggles and chuckles ripple around me, and then I remember the day over a year ago when all the rookies on the Dragons had to dress up in full suits for a practice.

The room breaks into laughter when I hold up the skirt. I catch Gerrard’s eye, but I don’t really need his confirmation, the smile and the gruff, “Let’s get on the field.” I know I’m going to be practicing in the skirt today. It’s like being a rookie all over again. In fact, the rookies are enjoying it even more than the rest of the guys. Especially the one we made carry our pads around all during the preseason.

But the guys all around are grinning at me, and not maliciously. Rookie hazing is an initiation to the team, a “gotta pay your dues” kind of thing. This, here, is kind of a “welcome back.” I guess it’s payback for all the media attention. It means the team is comfortable enough to joke around with me, that being gay is no big deal, not to the guys that matter. And it means I’m going to knock the hell out of anyone who gets in my way today, pads or no pads.

I’m just pulling on the skirt when Coach and Steez come out of his office, along with the other defensive coaches. Coach doesn’t crack a grin when he sees me. “Officially,” he says, “I see twenty-five guys in uniform. Closed practice today, no media. We got a lot to work on, so let’s get to it. Let’s get out there and cheer our asses off.”

Everyone cracks up. I grin and say, “Hey, where’s my pom-poms?”

Steez pokes me right in the Firebirds logo. I realize I’ve never seen the old cougar laugh before. “Head in the game, Miski! Head not in pom-poms.” For the rest of the practice, anytime one of the guys screws up, we yell, “Head out of pom-poms” at him.

Steez and Coach are setting up a bunch of new plays that have me coming up to the line more while Pike collapses the pocket. So I need to know not only how to work with Gerrard and Carson, knowing where they’ll be, knowing what my responsibilities are in a coverage situation, but I also have to know what Pike’s doing on any given play. Pike’s got power, which will allow us to do some different things, but he’s only in his third year. With Fisher, it was easy. He handled his man, he slid over to help with coverage when needed, and I didn’t have to think.

I keep the cheerleader outfit on until I shower, letting the guys get pictures before I take it off. Coach wanders by and says, “Don’t give those to the papers,” and everyone promises. I get Charm to take one on my phone so I can send it to Lee later. He’ll get a kick out of it.

After the shower, I try to talk to a couple of the guys about Lee. “Nice guy,” Vonni says, but he won’t say anything else. Carson I don’t even bother trying to get to talk.

Gerrard just shrugs and says, “Worry about your assignments.” He taps the new playbook pages in my book. “You got plenty to keep busy with.”

Even though we had a good practice, the new formations and plays aren’t second nature yet. I can’t waste time focusing on this other crap. Everyone’s cool, and we all have work to do.

I could move on to worrying about my family, but that worry has subsided to a dull ache in the background, like my toe injury from the commercial. Besides, Gateway is going to be on the field on Sunday and I need to do a lot of things to be ready for them. When I talk to Lee, he reminds me to focus on the game, because the family isn’t going to sort itself out in a week anyway. I tell him I know that and he says he knows I know.

To change the subject, I ask him how the talk with the reporter went, and he gives a little laugh and says he was full of surprises. “So is there going to be a story about my ex-girlfriend out on the blogs?” I ask him, annoyed that he’s being vague about it.

“
No,” he says. “Nor about your boyfriend, either.”

“
Wait, what? You told him...”

“
He already knew. He called Randy.”

My throat closes up for a good fifteen seconds of terror. Lee’s saying something else about how Kinnel’s got a sharp nose, but I interrupt him in the middle of whatever it is when the terror gives way to fury. “So what the fuck? You just told this reporter that you’re my boyfriend, and you expect him not to report it?”