Sugar and Ice - RJ Scott Page 0,36

know the man well at all. And what did that say about me? My mother would be shamed. Papa, I think, would understand, as he had had sown many wild oats before settling down with Mama.

“Dude, please, you are taxing my creative vibe with your negative energy output,” Colorado grumbled, looking up from the acoustic guitar he’d been plucking. “Just go talk to him.”

“I have no idea—”

“Oh, yeah, right, we’re repressing our inner queer. Whatever.” He waved a hand, the gaudy thumb ring catching the sun’s reflection. “Just take all your broody, angst-filled, Final Fantasy junk to some other seat. I’m a grown man, I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Management disagrees.”

That made him chuckle. “Yeah, well, you can’t have management without man.”

I stared at him across the card table. “Obviously.”

“No, Iceman, man as in ‘The Man’, you know?” When I said nothing he tossed his shaggy hair from his face, his attention leaving me to focus solely on the guitar.

The song was a slow one, his voice craggy and smoky, working with the lyrics perfectly. The chatter on the plane fell off as the men all sat back to enjoy Penn’s newest song. He sang of braying dogs, winter moons, and the pines that scraped the window as he held his man close. What would it be like to be so open about one’s sexuality? I so envied Colorado that. The man was blatant in his admiration of both sexes, happy to tell whoever would listen that he was not one to be jammed into boxes, proudly wearing the pansexual colors whenever possible. I threw a glance to the back, attention skimming over Ryker and Alex, then touching on Henry. All three men were involved with other men, Ryker planning to wed his man soon.

My gaze landed on Tate, who had lifted his sad eyes from his phone to watch Colorado play his power ballad. Our eyes met and held. Did I dare go to him? What would people think? Would Coach berate me for abandoning my duties to console my…teammate/lover/possibly more.

“Dude, just go to him,” Colorado whispered during a break in the lyrics. I blinked. He gave his head a small jerk in Tate’s direction.

I rose almost as if I had no control over my legs. Like a puppet I stood and walked stiff-legged down the aisle, not looking left or right until I got to the back row. Tate’s gaze had never left mine as I’d closed the distance.

“May I sit?” I asked cautiously. It felt quite similar. I could feel the men on the plane watching me. The weight of their curiosity sat on my shoulders like cement blocks. My stomach flipped, my palms damp.

“Sure,” Tate replied in a soft, surprised manner. I dropped beside him, not across from him as a friend would. Or would a friend sit beside him? Was I being too gay? “You look like I feel.”

My gaze flew from the card table to Tate. “I feel as if you should not ride home alone.”

“I didn’t do it. What she said…I would never hurt anyone. Ever. She’s upset and she has every right to be. I just… I want you to know that. The guys are all funny now, like they want to believe me but they have doubts. I can’t… ” He tore his sight from mine to stare at the clouds below us. “I can’t have you thinking I’m that kind of man.”

Damn this world and the ones who used others for their own game. If we’d been home I could’ve reached out and touched him, held him in my arms, eased the pain that poured off him. I peered up the aisle, searching for what I should say or do next, and met the languid gaze of Colorado Penn. He gave me a peace sign, laughed at the song request that Ryker had called out, and then began playing ‘Jet Airliner’ by Steve Miller. It was one of the songs that was always requested during a flight, closely followed by Coach asking for anything by the Eagles. As the men sang about hearts called backwards I placed my hand atop Tate’s as it rested on his knee. His eyes flew from the clouds to my face, seeking something. I squeezed his fingers, just once, and lightly, but left my hand there.

“Thanks,” he whispered, the lines around his mouth lessening a little. That was how we made the rest of the flight, my hand on his. Most of the men couldn’t see