shoved back and Dylan landed on the floor. Bo followed him down, straddling him; his fist raised just enough to punch. He was so close Dylan could see the fear and anger in his eyes. Betrayal. This was betrayal, something he’d never seen before. Something he’d never done before. Dylan steeled himself for the blow but it didn’t come.
A drop of moisture on his nose made him open his eyes in time to see Bo swipe at his eyes. “You can undo it? Please, undo it. Go tell them you made a mistake. Tell them that you can’t go.” He lowered his hand and leaned over, his face so close Dylan could see every pore, every single blond growth of stubble. He could see Bo’s fear…and smell it. See and smell and feel, enough to react when he’d sworn he wouldn’t. This was something he had to do and there was nothing left to decide.
“I can’t,” Dylan whispered, swallowing back the thick greasy bile that threatened to climb out his throat. He couldn’t allow Bo’s fear to engulf him. He’d never be able to leave if he did.
“Why? You always wanted football. There are other colleges. There are ways—“
“I want to go,” Dylan said, ignoring the pain in his friend’s voice. He’d never told Bo that football wasn’t his dream. Bo’s dream had always been big enough for them both. Until it wasn’t anymore. Senior year was spectacular but he’d known early on that he wasn’t anything special. He was just an average run of the mill quarterback and the recruiters had too many quarterbacks with so-so arms. They came to see Bo play, Badass Bowen Murphy who could snatch a fly out of thin air and take on the biggest meanest lineman any team could throw at him, that’s what the recruiters wanted. He was big and agile and poetry in motion. “Football is your dream, Bowen. My talents lie elsewhere.”
“You always did like to talk about the future but this isn’t what we talked about. I can’t see you with a gun in your hand.” His voice took on a wheedling childlike tone. One he used when they were six or seven and in trouble. All the time in trouble.
“Not all military jobs end up on the battlefield.” But Dylan knew that Bo knew he lied. If he’d wanted a safe computer job, he would have joined a different branch of the military. He was born to be a Marine like his father, and his grandfather before him. He was born to serve the way they had.
“Promise me you won’t get dead.” Tears clogged Bo’s throat, he made an impatient noise and leaned over until his nose touched Dylan’s. “Promise me you’ll write. Email. Whatever they let you do, every day. And that you don’t get dead.”
“I promise.” Trapped by his friend’s hazel gaze, Dylan gulped down the lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t go away. He’d write every day. He’d Skype. Everything he could. He couldn’t promise that other thing. But he didn’t need to tell Bo that. “I promise. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”
Bo nodded, his jaw clenched and unclenched, he breathed out a quick breath. One that smelled of orange soda. And then Dylan tasted the orange soda, on his lips, his tongue. Shocked, he didn’t realize why his mouth was fused to Bo’s until Bo sat up. His dick hard and straining beneath the wet trunks. The look in his eyes wild, embarrassed—no, ashamed. Shame and fear. So much fear that turned to confusion.
Confusion echoing in his own mind, Dylan caught his arm before Bo could clamber off him. Holding on for all he was worth, he said the words he thought he never could. “Kiss me! Again! Please.”
* * * * *
The buzzing of humiliation and shame was all Bo could hear. The look on Dylan’s face, shock, fear, loathing…not loathing. Why was Dylan looking at him as if he’d lost his damned mind? Because he had. Time to go. Play it off as… as what? Stupidity? The buzzing in his mind intensified the longer Dylan stared at him. His lips moved but Bo didn’t hear a word his friend said, his fingers dug
A drop of moisture on his nose made him open his eyes in time to see Bo swipe at his eyes. “You can undo it? Please, undo it. Go tell them you made a mistake. Tell them that you can’t go.” He lowered his hand and leaned over, his face so close Dylan could see every pore, every single blond growth of stubble. He could see Bo’s fear…and smell it. See and smell and feel, enough to react when he’d sworn he wouldn’t. This was something he had to do and there was nothing left to decide.
“I can’t,” Dylan whispered, swallowing back the thick greasy bile that threatened to climb out his throat. He couldn’t allow Bo’s fear to engulf him. He’d never be able to leave if he did.
“Why? You always wanted football. There are other colleges. There are ways—“
“I want to go,” Dylan said, ignoring the pain in his friend’s voice. He’d never told Bo that football wasn’t his dream. Bo’s dream had always been big enough for them both. Until it wasn’t anymore. Senior year was spectacular but he’d known early on that he wasn’t anything special. He was just an average run of the mill quarterback and the recruiters had too many quarterbacks with so-so arms. They came to see Bo play, Badass Bowen Murphy who could snatch a fly out of thin air and take on the biggest meanest lineman any team could throw at him, that’s what the recruiters wanted. He was big and agile and poetry in motion. “Football is your dream, Bowen. My talents lie elsewhere.”
“You always did like to talk about the future but this isn’t what we talked about. I can’t see you with a gun in your hand.” His voice took on a wheedling childlike tone. One he used when they were six or seven and in trouble. All the time in trouble.
“Not all military jobs end up on the battlefield.” But Dylan knew that Bo knew he lied. If he’d wanted a safe computer job, he would have joined a different branch of the military. He was born to be a Marine like his father, and his grandfather before him. He was born to serve the way they had.
“Promise me you won’t get dead.” Tears clogged Bo’s throat, he made an impatient noise and leaned over until his nose touched Dylan’s. “Promise me you’ll write. Email. Whatever they let you do, every day. And that you don’t get dead.”
“I promise.” Trapped by his friend’s hazel gaze, Dylan gulped down the lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t go away. He’d write every day. He’d Skype. Everything he could. He couldn’t promise that other thing. But he didn’t need to tell Bo that. “I promise. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”
Bo nodded, his jaw clenched and unclenched, he breathed out a quick breath. One that smelled of orange soda. And then Dylan tasted the orange soda, on his lips, his tongue. Shocked, he didn’t realize why his mouth was fused to Bo’s until Bo sat up. His dick hard and straining beneath the wet trunks. The look in his eyes wild, embarrassed—no, ashamed. Shame and fear. So much fear that turned to confusion.
Confusion echoing in his own mind, Dylan caught his arm before Bo could clamber off him. Holding on for all he was worth, he said the words he thought he never could. “Kiss me! Again! Please.”
* * * * *
The buzzing of humiliation and shame was all Bo could hear. The look on Dylan’s face, shock, fear, loathing…not loathing. Why was Dylan looking at him as if he’d lost his damned mind? Because he had. Time to go. Play it off as… as what? Stupidity? The buzzing in his mind intensified the longer Dylan stared at him. His lips moved but Bo didn’t hear a word his friend said, his fingers dug
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