Feet Team

A gay love story, where soccer (football) brings two men together.


1. One

"Hey Devon! Pass!"

I watched as Eric Craig threw himself into the field and cornered the ball. He swiped the ball off the ground and was getting ready to kick it straight into the goal. Students shouted and cheered, "It's going to make it!", while others like me sighed.

"No way in Hell it's gonna make it," I said to my friend, whom sat next to me on the benches. 

She smiled and continued to stare down the couple behind the bleachers. They were making out, and I could swear that Herbert the Pervert was about to squeal; AKA, Sam. 

The ball flew into the air and over Eric's head, right into the other goal; our goal.  

"How'd he even make the team?"

Sam shook her head. "Xandier, you... You quit soccer years ago, and you're still going to let this bother you? Let them handle their own problems, and you handle yours."

"I'm just... Looking out for the team. That's all..."

"Hey, if you'd like, I could get you a form to be the water boy."

I chuckled. "Would you really, though?"

"Well, yeah! Let's get you a form!" 

Sam began pulling me out of the stands, towards Coach.

"Hey wait! Where are we going?!"

"Uh, to get you a form? What else?"

Oh no. She was being serious. 

"No, Sam, I meant-"

To my right was Eric. He was sitting on the side benches, waiting for them to put him back in; but Coach had already made his decision: Eric was drawn out for his lack of play. His brown hair was disheveled, and his uniform was drenched in sweat. He must have really tried his best on that field.

He sat there, staring into his lap, as if he had just lost his dignity. And he probably did. I would have been devastated, too. We passed him up, heading up the bleachers.  

At the moment, I didn't know which was scarier: that we were already here, or that I was already holding a form to be the water boy. 

"What- When did I get this?"

Sam was leading me up the stairs to the top of the parking lot. 

"Wow. You really gotta stop spacing out, Xandier."

"You think so?" I sarcastically replied, shoving the form into my pocket. 

Sam glared. "Hey, I got that paper for you. You're going to sign it."

"Who said I had to sign it?"

"I did, so... Sign it."

We stopped by her car, and she pulled out a pen. 

"Thus, Alexander Terry Clyde signed the paper," Sam said, shoving the green-inked pen into my hand.

I chuckled. "Wrong hand, idiota." 

Switching hands, I drew a smiley face on the signature line. Sam frowned.

"Alright... I guess this'll have to do..." Sam took the form and ran it down to Coach. 

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