Peaches 'N Cream

16. Frontin'

JOSEPH SHUFFLED BACK, CREAM-COLORED CLEATS DIGGING INTO THE DIRT OF THE EARTH AS HE RELEASED THE FOOTBALL WITH MORE FORCE THAN HE'D INTENDED.

He watched it spiral into the dull blue sky and then slam into his captain's hands and, by extension, his chest. Michael stumbled backward a little, cutting his eyes in his direction and furrowing his brows.

"What the hell is going on with you today, man!?" He tucked the ball under his arm. "You been throwing this bitch hard as hell for the last hour!"

The blond wiped away the sweat accumulating on his forehead and waved the other boy off, walking over to the metal bench to grab his duffel. He was the one that asked Mike to come out and toss the ball around in the first place to blow off some steam.

He just wanted to know why he was doing more talking than throwing. Unzipping the black bag and snatching the water bottle out, he drank half and then took a seat. Resting his forearms on his knees and hanging his head between his thighs.

Joseph screwed his eyes shut and let out a harsh breath; it felt like he was losing Jericho all over again. He's done almost everything just to get close to him, so why? Thinking back to the cell phone conversation he overheard made him angrier every time.

Whoever this guy was has had some sort of history with him. Was he an ex? A friend? If that was the case, why was he talking down to him like some kid? He didn't even have a name for this asshole, none of it made any sense, and the anonymity was driving him crazy.

Focusing on the positives of that situation and breathing exercises were the only things keeping his anger from boiling over. Jericho in his arms; body warm despite the unreasonably cold temperature inside of the school. The faintest scent of vanilla on his soft skin.

The hair climbing his nape in tight coils and his gold herringbone chain circling the brown-haired boy's neck, sitting pretty like there was no other place for it. He inhaled, held, exhaled his breath for five seconds, and then raised his head so his eyes could re-adjust to the sunlight again.

"You look smitten as hell right now for a dude who was throwing like he wanted to kill somebody not even a minute ago; why you got that goofy-ass smile on yo face now anyway?"

Joseph scowled almost instantaneously and flipped him the bird, running a hand down his sweaty face and then stuffing his water back into his bag. "Jericho," he leaned back onto the bench and stretched an arm across the back of it, squinting his eyes to look up at the other. "It's always him, isn't it?"

Michael's lips formed a straight line. "How long you been feening for ol' boy?" He untied his durag and ran his free hand down his dyed, olive green waves. "Two, three years now?" Folding it up and stuffing it into his backpack.

"Feenin'?" Joseph shook his head and let out a short laugh, "Mike, I love him. I think I have for some time now. You already know that's my baby, even though he drives me up the fuckin' wall."

He mumbled that last part and stood back up, turning around to pack his penny, practice jersey, cleats, and other equipment into his bag, and pulled out his slides. He peeled his socks off and slipped them on quickly, facing the green-haired boy again when he didn't respond to his previous statement.

"What?"

He asked this while pulling his duffel bag over his shoulder and fishing his car keys out. Head cocked and his eyes, narrowed and dark.

"Nothing," Michael sighed, "but man, you don't tell him about the shit going down with your brother, he's going to get roped into that. You know damn well what happened to that lil' white girl last time. You can't take the fall for his ass again, had everybody thinking you were some creeper for weeks."