Isolation Play (Dev and Lee) Read Free

grin.
    I sit in the back and try to relax as they file out Dev and the other players. As they pass my row, I give him a huge smile. He acknowledges it with the slightest creasing of his eyes, and then he’s gone, his coach and teammates disappearing after him.
    The reporters up front, the well-paid ones with laptops and satellite links, they stick around to file their stories from the press room. The ones in the back mostly file out, slowly enough that I can catch their words: an armadillo saying, “he’s got guts,” a coyote telling a fox, “they’re gonna flatten him next game,” a cougar saying, “fucking faggots” into his phone.
    The cougar and leopard in front of me stick around, though, leaning back over their seats. “Life ain’t fair,” the leopard says. “Fake-dating an actress and dating a vixen and shit, turns out he’s queer. I can’t get that kind of action.”
    “ Be sensitive, dude,” the cougar says. “Miss Vix here just got dumped on national TV. You want a shoulder to cry on, sweetie?”
    “ I’m fine.” I sigh. I don’t really need to give it that dramatic little touch, but they’re being really attentive, and I’m a sensitive vixen. On the outside. “It’ll just be hard. Watching him on TV, now.”
    “ Won’t have to worry too long,” the leopard says. “Corcoran’s a real Family Values guy. Miski’ll be traded in a week. Probably to Yerba, or Port City. Somewhere liberal, anyway.” He laughs harshly.
    “ Dunno,” the cougar says. “Might wait ’til Mitchell comes back.”
    Corey Mitchell is the cougar who plays Dev’s position. When he was injured, Dev took over the starting role. I think he’ll be back in three or four weeks—another thing to worry about. I play up a naïve smile. “Traded?” I say.
    The cougar turns to me with a big smile. “John Corcoran is the owner of the Firebirds, sweetheart. We think he might not like a fag—a homosexual on his team.”
    I’m framing a sweet answer that doesn’t let on that of course I know who John Corcoran is, but I don’t get the chance to say anything. “Hey,” the leopard calls to my left. “Hal, you know Corcoran. One week or six?”
    I follow his look. The short swift fox is sitting sideways, looking at me. He’s got on a tan blazer over a t-shirt, his scent so strong on them that I know he hasn’t washed them in a while. His jeans are frayed at the cuffs over his brown-furred feet. The jeans aren’t dirty, so I assume the brown is his natural fur color. He doesn’t smell dirty, either, just strong, a familiar farm country smell with overtones of scotch. I can practically tell the make of his father’s tractor.
    He shrugs. “Don’t know that he’ll be traded at all.”
    “ C’mon!” The leopard laughs. “Fuckin’ Republican douchebag like Corcoran?”
    “ I know what you think of him,” Hal says. “I don’t think he’ll trade Miski.”
    “ Oh, like you’d know.” The leopard turns back to the cougar. “Twenty bucks says he’s gone in a month.”
    The cougar slaps his paw. “You’re on, pal.”
    They shake. While the leopard hefts his bag over his shoulder, the cougar turns and leans down to me. “You sure I can’t buy ya dinner or something?”
    I put on a narrow-eyed, polite smile. “Thanks,” I say. “I think I’ll just go home.”
    He holds out a card. “Case you change your mind. Don’t like the idea of a sweet gal like you cryin’ alone.”
    My fingers brush his as I take it. I get a little thrill from playing with him, but it’s not worth taking it any further. “Thanks,” I say.
    When he’s gone, I compose myself in my best ladylike manner, smoothing my dress over my knees. The room is almost empty now, save for a couple reporters two rows up, and the swift fox still sitting to my left. I consider him.
    He knows the Firebirds’ owner. He doesn’t think Dev will be traded, or let go. Why not? Also, he’s looking at me sideways and trying really hard not to be