Michaels’s eyebrows fly up. “Dude, good for you, man.”
He holds out his fist for dabs, and I just stare at him, unmoving. I am not dabbing him for my dick size.
Eventually he takes his hand back and shakes his head, grin turning devilish. “Mark my words, Pebbles. One of these days, you’ll warm up to me.”
I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were him.
Even putting aside the fact that his presence at Spring Training makes him a threat to my standing with the team, he’s someone I’d never willingly associate with.
He’s all life and laughter and endless optimism. I know that guy well—I used to be him. And I know how quickly it all falls apart. The last thing I want to do is spend my time staring at the version of myself that didn’t survive.
FIVE
SHANE
I’m prettysure Jed Stone Jr. hates me. Which means I’m even more determined to make him like me. I do get it to an extent—we’re technically each other’s competition—and I’ve been slaying this Spring Training. I’m so fucking hot right now, I’m fire. So, yeah, I guess it makes sense for him to not be my biggest fan. Won’t stop me from trying to win him over.
“Michaels!”
I turn, lifting a hand to my forehead to shade my eyes. My gaze lands on Nebs.
“Volleyball! Drag those two over, too.”
I spin back to Sanders and Stone, a smile on my face, my eyebrows lifted in silent invitation. Sanders is already standing up, but Stone just glares at me. Don’t tell me how I know, since he’s wearing sunglasses, but I so totally know.
“I’m good,” he says.
“Come on, grumpy wumpy,” I singsong. “Have a little fun. Loosen up a little.”
Sanders snorts, and Stone’s mouth parts like he’scompletely lost for words. I do sometimes have that effect on people. My gaze traces his lips. They’re always so tightly pressed, always grim and frowning. It’s…different to see them soft. I hastily look away.
Sanders hauls Stone to standing, despite the man’s grumbling. “You heard the kid, let’s go,grumpy wumpy.” He wings a brow in challenge, then jogs down to the net, his laughter drifting back to us on the light breeze.
Which leaves me and Stone standing here silently. He towers over me, both in height and breadth. He crosses his arms, his pecs rippling with the movement. My gaze catches on his left nipple. Nipplepiercing. That’s…interesting. His chest hair is also interesting. I don’t have chest hair. I wonder what it feels like.
I swallow hard. For the first time, probably ever, I can’t form words. He’s kind of a beast. Not like bodybuilder bulk, but his muscles are clearly hard earned. All power and presence. And piercings, apparently.
I channel my breezy self and throw him a goofy smile. “So, I’m a little afraid that if I touch you, you’ll squash me like a bug. But I’m not opposed to dragging you down there.” He doesn’t move. “Come on, dude. Think of how good it’ll feel to let loose on some balls. Is there anything better than when a guy sets you up perfectly and you drive it home for the win?”
A choking noise comes from Stone. “Stop. Just stop talking. I’ll fucking play.”
My grin widens, and I perk up. “Yeah?”
He just shakes his head and walks past me toward the court.
I bound after him to the net and join up with Paulie and East. “How are we splitting this up?” I ask.
“Big boys against us minor leaguers,” Paulie says. “We’re playing four versus four. Round-robin style, with the two teams with the top points facing off for the championship.” He nods toward where Frize, one of our veteran Triple-A players, has a signup sheet.
“Want me to sign us up?” I ask.
“Yeah, we just need a fourth,” East says.
“I’m on it.” I make my way to Frize, who’s sitting in a beach chair with a notebook he’s passing around as guys sign up. I know exactly who our fourth should be, and by the way he’s standing stoically away from the rest of the team, I doubt he’s already on a team. Probably thinks he can simply drift into the background, Homer Simpson gif style, and avoid playing.
“Hey, Frize. How’s it hanging?”
Frize glances up at me, his permanent crinkle lines around his eyes deepening. “Good, man. Got a team?”
