“Let’s watch the game,” he blurted roughly as Cantrell took another swallow. “These bastards need to keep their winning streak of one going.”
“Yeah, their pitching sucks. They need better arms if they’re going to make a run for the series.”
Leo’s jaw dropped. “You like baseball?”
A crooked smile tipped up one corner of Cantrell’s mouth. “Duh.My father and I used to go to every opening game when I was a kid. We’d take the train to the city and make a night of it.” He gazed into his glass. “I miss those days. Everything was easier then.”
“Tell me about it,” Leo muttered. His stomach growled, and without thinking, he picked up his phone. “You wanna order a pizza?”
What the fuck?
Cantrell seemed just as surprised. “I wasn’t inviting myself over for dinner.”
“Didn’t think you were. I’m hungry, and you’re here. If you want a slice when it comes, feel free.” He placed the order. “I got cookies for dessert, remember.”
Cantrell stared at him over the rim of his glass, his lips quirked in that same crooked smile. “Yeah. Okay. I guess.” He drained his glass. “I don’t drink hard liquor much, but this was really good.”
He’d already figured out Cantrell was one of the good guys. A get-up-in-the-morning, brush-his-teeth, eat-his-bowl-of-cereal type, because breakfast was the most important meal of the day. The kind of guy who’d never send his meal back in a restaurant because he wouldn’t want to make waves. A maker of cookies because he didn’t want someone mad at him. A guy who always played by the rules.
Unlike Leo.
Leo didn’t like rules, and he wanted to see Morgan Cantrell loosen up.
“Have another.” He plucked the glass off the coffee table before Cantrell could answer, and made him a second, stronger drink. “You don’t have work tomorrow, right? You’re a teacher, and it’s summer.” He handed the glass over. “Have a little fun.”
“I don’t usually drink anything but wine, and even that, no more than a couple of glasses.” Doubt still clouded his eyes, but he took the glass and sipped. Leo finished his beer, and they watched the game.
“That was a great pitch. Oh, wow. He’s got them swinging. I bet he ends up leading them in strikeouts this season.”
Cantrell’s chattiness should’ve grated on Leo. He liked his silence. Occasionally Peter would come over to hang out when his wife went to New Jersey to drop the kids off at her mother’s and have a girls’ day with her sister, but aside from him, Leo didn’t have people over. Not since he and Diego broke up.
“He struck him out on three pitches. I knew it!” Cantrell cheered and drank down half his Sex on the Beach. “Wasn’t that amazing?”
“Fucking fabulous.” The buzzer sounded, and Leo hurried over to the intercom. “Yeah?”
“Delivery.”
He turned to Cantrell, who lounged in the chair, twisting a strand of silky hair in his fingers, full bottom lip caught between his teeth. Long legs dusted with dark hair splayed in front of him. Leo always liked the long, lean, muscled type, and Cantrell had that nice whip-tight body. Taut and firm in all the right places. Lust punched him in the stomach, and his vision blurred.
“Gonna get the pizza.”
God, he needed to get out of there, and without waiting for an answer, raced out of the apartment and to the front door. The delivery guy handed him the hot box, and for a few moments Leo stood in the humid evening, trying to drag some air into his lungs.
It was only pizza. They’d eat and then he would send Cantrell home. Nothing more. Back inside the apartment, he found Cantrell doing a dance in the living room, the sounds of cheering roaring from the television.
“A walk-off.” Cheeks flushed and eyes heavy-lidded from the drinks, Cantrell met him halfway to the door. “Over the left field fence.Bam.” He made a right hook, laughed, and swayed.
Leo set the pizza box on the counter and took Cantrell’s shoulder. “Better sit before you get so excited, you fall.”
“Uh-huh.” Cantrell licked his lips and met Leo’s eyes. “I feel kind of spinny.” Cantrell laid his head on Leo’s shoulder.
Crap. The guy wasn’t kidding. He couldn’t hold his liquor at all.
“Let’s have you sit down.”
Leo led him to the couch, and Cantrell fell into the cushions, taking him along, surprising Leo with the strength of his grip. He had no idea what was on the screen and couldn’t care less if the Mets hit ten home runs.
Heavy breathing filled the air, and Cantrell sighed, lips pressed against Leo’s neck. Fuck, he wasn’t a saint. Cantrell felt good in his arms, his cock hard between them. If Leo moved, he could kiss those full lips he knew would taste sticky-sweet from the drink, and he’d have Cantrell stripped naked in no time. Even now, his hands itched to cup that ass and impale the man on his cock. Leo closed his eyes for a moment, then pulled Cantrell’s clinging arms from around his neck.
