Divisions (Dev and Lee) by Gold Kyell

Author:Gold, Kyell [Gold, Kyell]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: lee, furry, football, dev, Romance, Erotica
Published: 2013-07-30T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18: Pre-Fight (Lee)

Sunday morning, I’m on a bus on my way to the game when Brian calls. My first reaction is apprehension, that tightening in my gut that accompanied that number coming up on my phone in the past, along with a wash of minor disgust. Not fair, I tell myself. Sure, Brian did some crappy things, but the important thing is that he’s helping me out now. With that in mind, I pick up.

“Sorry to interrupt on your way to the game,” he says.

“Aren’t you going?”

“Sadly, with the success of the team, tickets have gotten more exclusive. And I didn’t get invited by anyone with connections to the players.”

The bus pulls up at our stop and two dozen people in Firebirds gear lurch toward the door. “Hang on,” I say, jostled by the crowd as we all hurry off, tails tucked around our bodies so they don’t get caught—still, I accidentally step on the tail of the lion in front of me and say a quick sorry, and he says no problem, the way you do. Tails get stepped on in crowds.

“We’re only just talking civilly again,” I say as I step out into the brisk—oh, who am I kidding, it’s warm—Sunday afternoon air. Green Christmas garlands wrapped around the lightposts along this street look out of place, even hung with red-and-gold Firebirds ornaments. Chevali around me bustles with excitement over the game, crowds in glowing red and gold. It still feels weird to me to be going to football when it’s warm, to be smelling desert and dust behind the tens of thousands of people flooding into the stadium. It feels even weirder to see so many people enthusiastic about the Firebirds, to hear “win the division” and “playoffs” and “championship” in snatches of just about every conversation my ears pick up, but that gives my step a bounce. My tiger is part of the reason for that, and catching sight of a #57 jersey in the crowd, even just the one, makes my tail wag, despite the danger of it getting snagged.

“For which I am grateful,” Brian says as I fish in my pocket for the ticket. “I know I haven’t always behaved the best in the past.”

“Are you calling from outside a church?” I ask.

“This isn’t a confession, and I’m not asking for penance.” There’s a little of that familiar edge. “I talked to Marilee and Paula yesterday. Marilee’s the Communications Director and Paula’s the regional office head. They both love the idea of having a PSA starring Miski.”

I stop about fifty feet from the entrance, in line behind two white-tailed deer, one with a Firebirds jacket and the other with a #14—Aston’s jersey—that’s clearly too big for her. Maybe she gets to wear it while her husband’s antlers are in. “Yeah,” I say, and find the guy wearing the #57 jersey again, a big stallion not too far from me. He’s gesturing to his friend, who’s wearing Gerrard’s #55 “Thing is, we can’t do that during the season.

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