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with names emblazoned on their backs. They were just men in sweats or jeans. Not football gods. Dylan didn’t stop to think, he dropped into his stance took two steps back and let the ball fly over the field to the man who’d challenged him to throw it.
    Bo ran forward and with the gracefulness of a ballet dancer he put himself in the air and snagged the ball, landing as if no time had ever parted them and this was just another day of practice. He held the ball in one huge hand, grinning from ear to ear as he jogged over the field.
    “Wow, it’s like you do that for a living or something.” Dylan felt stupid if Bo hadn’t made a run for it, the throw would have fallen way short.
    “What was that, sixty yards or so?” Bo came to a stop not far from him and tossed the ball back into his hands. “If I hadn’t jumped for it, it would have gone another ten maybe fifteen yards.” There was awe in his voice. “Do it again. Once is just a fluke.”
    Dylan glanced over to where the other players stood watching. More emerged from the hallway into the indoor practice field. “No, man, it was just a fluke. It would have fallen short.”
    “Bullshit, you’ve still got an arm. Let’s see it. Just like we used to do. Last play of the state championship. Do it.” Bo ordered and took off at a full run. Dylan watched the denim encased muscles in his legs work to move him that fast. He realized Bo was running the exact play he’d run for that game, and again without thinking he stepped back and arced the ball through the air. Bo made it to the end zone and zigged to the right, turning just in time for the ball to drop into his hands. No muss, no fuss. Bo screaming in the end zone made him blush. Marines don’t blush and that’s just all there was to it.
    “Don’t make me come down there and hurt you, Bowen, I will. And it won’t be pretty.” He shouted over the ruckus his lover made. But that just called even more attention to them.
    “You’d have to catch me first. And that is not something you could ever do. Stick to throwing long bombs.” Bo, holding the football in one hand, taunted him with it, pointing as if this was just another practice and it was just them fooling around.
    Maybe Dylan couldn’t catch him, at least not back in the day, but Bo didn’t know him now. Dylan took off at a dead run. He usually did this loaded down with a good fifty pounds, more often closer to seventy or eighty. Chasing Bo down wouldn’t be a problem anymore. He was across the field before Bo had a chance to think of an escape, and with ease he lifted the bigger man off his feet and put him on the ground.
    Crowing. “Oo-fucking-rah.”
    Bo just stared up at him before the grin spread over his face. “That was amazing. You’re still not as fast as me, but damned close, only because my legs are longer maybe. What the fuck do they feed you in the Marines?”
    “Humiliation and motivation to get our fat asses up that hill. Twenty miles, with enough weaponry and supplies, in the heat and the rain. While you princesses have it easy.” Dylan climbed to his feet and held his hand out to help Bo up. He didn’t expect him to take it, he didn’t expect him to grin that shit-eater grin of his that said he was up to no good either. And he sure as fuck didn’t expect to be thrown over Bo’s shoulder and run across the field like he weighed nothing.
    “You were saying, Princess?” Bo dropped him on his feet back in the middle of the field. He wasn’t even winded. “Might not be a fucking Marine but I ain’t no lightweight.”
    A whistle blew from somewhere off to the side. Bo jumped and for a moment his face went panicky. Last time Dylan had seen that look on his face was the morning his mother had walked in on them, naked and kissing and maybe a couple of other interesting things going on too but he couldn’t be sure just how long she’d been there. This time Dylan was absolutely one hundred percent sure that they’d done