Page 36 of Hush

“Watch her for us while we play.” Mike took Etta Mae’s leash and tossed it to Aaron, then pulled Tom out to the others. He did quick introductions. Kris smirked, Jon—short, but muscular like Mike—squinted, and Billy—tall and slender with delicate features—nodded to Tom.

“He’s on our team,” Kris said, grabbing Tom’s arm and pulling him close.

“Oh, come on. It’s already three to one!”

“Deal with it, Captain America. He’s ours.” Kris flounced away, dragging Tom with him.

Kris, Jon, and Billy force-fed him the rules of the game—like flag football: no touching, no tackling, no running with the disc, and block all throws like you’re a tentacle monster—and their strategy. It was simple. Hem Mike into his end zone and make his life hell. Mike’s end zone was the rough patch of grass between the lime-green cooler and the end of Carlos and Aaron’s blanket.

“You’re about Mike’s size…” Kris eyed him up and down. There was something else in that look, something that made Tom fidget. “You should go play man on man D.” Kris winked slowly after he spoke, grinning, and Billy and Jon snorted.

Cheeks burning, Tom trotted down the grass, heading for Mike.

“They decide to be merciful and let you play on my team?”

I’m so on your team. We are the exact same team. I’m captain of your cheerleading squad—“I’m supposed to block you.”

Mike grinned. “Good luck.”

He never knew Mike was such a squirmy bastard. He was practically a dancer, wiggling and hopping on his tiptoes, flinging the frisbee over Tom’s head, around his waist, spinning away from his blocks. Tom kept his distance, politely keeping to the rules of no contact, but Mike stepped into blocks, throwing him off balance. He could smell Mike’s skin, his sweat, the sun on his hair. Could practically taste his laughter, the joy rolling off Mike every time he hurled the disc into their end zone.

Since Mike was a team of one, all he had to do was throw the frisbee into their end zone to get a point. He had a worryingly high number of points.

Kris was the de facto captain of their team. He called a huddle, and they all leaned in in a circle, hands on their knees, asses sticking out. “All right, Tom, you go long. Youarea catcher, right?” They were on the offense again after another of Mike’s scores.

He flushed at Kris’s pointed words, breathing hard. He nodded.

“Mike will get all up in your business to try and intercept. Just shove your ass in his crotch. Works every time.” Kris winked as Tom’s jaw dropped.

They spread out, and then play began. Tom took off, jogging down the field into Mike’s end zone. Mike darted his way, watching him, watching Kris with the frisbee, watching him again.

Kris flung the disc, yellow plastic soaring into the air. Billy and Jon ran down the grass behind him, backups in case he fumbled. But the frisbee was coming right for Tom, and so was Mike.

Mike leaped, reaching for the frisbee over Tom’s head. Tom jumped too, twisting, pushing his body into Mike’s, and he ended up right in the circle of Mike’s arms, wrapped up in his hold, his hip and leg brushing against Mike’s, their crotches almost-but-not-quite coming into contact.

Flailing, Mike forgot the frisbee as shock broke over his face. His arms pinwheeled and he tried to twist away. Their legs tangled, and then their arms, and the ground came up fast.

At the last moment, Mike wrapped Tom up and twisted, taking the impact. They kept rolling, Mike’s spin propelling them along the grass until Mike ended up on top of Tom, practically straddling him. He pushed back, palms flat on the lawn, sunglasses missing somewhere in the crash, and stared down, worried panic making his eyes go wide. “You okay?”

Tom laughed and laughed. He wanted to reach for Mike, wrap his hands around Mike’s jaw, stroke his thumbs over his stubbled cheeks, and pull him down for a kiss. “I’m great.”

Mike smiled.

And then Etta Mae bowled Mike over, tackling him and pouncing on Tom, licking him ferociously as she checked him everywhere for bruises and bumps. Aaron came running after, shouting and trying to catch her trailing leash. Etta Mae turned to Mike and licked him too, slobbering all over his face. Kris howled from the end of the lawn, falling over as tears poured from his eyes, and Billy and Jon both just shook their heads.

The game wound down after that, and they ended up on Aaron and Carlos’s blanket together, now in the shade in the late afternoon. Bags of chips, a container of guacamole, and bottles of lite beer went around. Etta Mae begged for chips with her big brown eyes, and wheedled Aaron and Kris out of a half dozen. The guys started talking about their friends, people they knew from their expanded circle, and Tom caught names and references to clubs, an art museum, and the volleyball league Mike had mentioned.

Mike lounged by Tom, leaning back on his elbows, ankles crossed. Tom sat cross-legged, Etta Mae flounced across his lap, fast asleep as he massaged her ears.

“I’m glad you stayed.” Mike grinned up at Tom. His sunglasses rested on top of his head, perched on his ball cap. “Even though I thought I killed you.”

“I’m tough.” Tom winked. “But you’re fast. Jeez, you were hard to block.”

“Well, I might have been showing off a bit.”

“Hey!” Kris snapped his fingers. “Are we going out for dinner and drinks, or what?”

“Yeah.” Mike rolled up and checked his watch. “Yeah, happy hour starts soon.”