Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/101

 "Sure looks like it would."

"You ought to play, Gay. I'll bet you'd be a good runner."

"If I could play like you … I wouldn't mind."

"You could … just takes time. You gotta learn and you can't learn without taking a few knocks. When I first went out, I was lousy."

"I bet you weren't."

"Yes I was, too. Couldn't even keep that pig-skin in my hand and God knows it's big enough. Dropped it all the time … I sure was clumsy."

While Gaylord listened, he thought, Your hand is big but it doesn't feel clumsy … it feels soft and wonderful on my shoulder.

The car stopped and Gaylord felt himself drawn even closer. A strong hand came up and imprisoned his face.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Lover's lane," Blake's voice sounded far away but the hand on the thin shirt over his flesh was very near.

"Lover's lane?" A more timeless moment had never entered Gaylord's life. He tried to be casual by adding, "Your old stomping grounds, huh? Bet you've been here lots of times."

"A few," Blake murmured drowsily, pressing his hands.

"I never knew about this one."

"Not even with Thelma White?"

"Not even with Thelma White."

The odor of oiled hair and bronze skin was in his nostrils, and the darkness ebbed and flowed around him in gusts of warm and melodious wind. Gaylord was startled as he recognized the strength of the emotion Blake aroused in him. The murmur of crickets was constant; the croaking of frogs deep, but not heard. He smiled uncomfortably and tried to release his shoulder.

Instead of letting go, Blake's embrace grew tighter. Gaylord found himself thinking, God, he's strong. Why should I pull away … I've never been so happy … never so happy.

Blake bent down and his lips were soft and warm. The solid strength of the arms hurt, but suddenly they changed to gentleness. He yielded hastily, and Blake held him tight, drawing him close.

Something was being born in him, full-blown and mature, and