About A Man, A Jersey, and a Tight End
Written by AM Riley
210 pages / 65000 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-317-8, 1-60370-317-9
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc
'A Man, a Jersey and a Tight End' picks up where AM Riley's High Ball, 'Goldilocks and His Three Bears' left off, with Brian and his housemates and lovers sorting out the rules of their unusual relationship. Paul and Scott are away for long periods of time, their work putting stress in the relationship.
Add in Brian's curiosity and need, where he fears the growth will send him farther from his men, and things to start to reach their breaking point. Jim feels the strain of holding the household together and Scott, being Scott, can always find a way to throw a wrench in things. Can the Goldilocks boys find a way to keep their unique family together?
Sample
The ruffled, white kitchen curtains were immaculate. The counters and floors gleamed. The bearded, hairy man standing with his furred arms buried elbow deep in sink suds, a cell phone propped between ear and shoulder, lifted a dish from the water and into the drainer.
“Ten days now,” he said into the phone. “If you don’t count showers because, according to our Brian, ‘soap will jinx it.’”
He nodded as his caller spoke, reaching across to part the curtains and peer into the backyard. “I know. Well, I wanted to talk to you first, seeing as you’ll be back soon.” He nodded agreement. “Yeah. Yeah, you too, Paul.”
He disconnected the phone, wiped his hands on the dishtowel with “Mother’s Kitchen” embroidered across its hem, removed his apron and walked to the back door. “Brian!” he called. “Will you come here please?”
***
“No,” said Brian. “I won’t take it off.” He stood in the middle of the backyard, arms crossed, chin up and a saucy smile on his face. He seemed quite pleased with himself. The ‘it’ in question was an oversized, official NFL football jersey. The number emblazoned on it was ‘56’ and a signature in black Sharpie across the name ‘Taylor’ on the back. Apparently Brian had owned the thing since he was fourteen.
Jim could believe the jersey was almost a decade old. It was a grass-and-blood-stained, torn, nightmare.
“I’m not taking this off until the Giants win the Super Bowl,” said Brian.
“I just got off the phone with Paul,” said Jim.
Brian’s eyes glinted. With what, Jim couldn’t be sure. Paul had been out of town for several weeks now and the past ten days had been increasingly frustrating for both himself and Brian. Jim just couldn’t seem to strike the right disciplinary tone with him.
Making matters worse, Scott had been on an extended road trip for the past two weeks and Jim was feeling a little needy himself.
“He said he wants you to go inside, take off that jersey, and call him.”
“Can’t.” Brian turned his back to pick up a football that he had let drop to the ground. “I’m not taking this off until the Giants win the Super Bo-o -- oh!”
“Don’t you ‘can’t’ me, Brian,” growled Jim, a wad of the aforementioned jersey and the waist of Brian’s jeans in either hand. And he carried Brian into the house.
***
“If the Giants lose, it’ll be on your head,” Brian shouted from the bedroom.
Jim shook his head, adding a scoop of deodorizing cleaner to the washing machine and crumpling the garment in there.
He walked back into the bedroom where Brian sat, wrists bound to spindles in the headboard, wearing nothing but his boxers. Brian looked outraged.
“I’ll call Paul,” said Jim.
“I’m not talking to him!” he heard Brian shout as he went looking for the cell phone.
***
The change in Brian’s demeanor when Jim finally held the phone up to Brian’s ear and Paul’s voice could be heard at the other end was remarkable.
Brian’s body went limp. “Hi, Daddy,” he whispered.
He listened, eyes going bright as he blinked rapidly. “Yes. Yes, sir.” He glanced up, quickly and tearily, at Jim. “Yes, sir. I-I understand, Daddy. I love you.”
Jim took the phone away from Brian’s ear and left the room before he spoke into it. “Yes, I will. But, Paul. This isn’t working. You understand that, right? We have to do something about it. Yes.” He sighed. Through the door Jim could see Brian looking up at him, expression pleading.
“Ask him when he’s coming home?” said Brian and his mouth twisted a little as he held back whatever he was feeling.
Jim tisked. “I mean it, Paul. As soon as you get home. Okay. Bye.” He disconnected and looked at Brian.
“You know what I have to do, don’t you, Brian?”