Nebiolo doesn’t laugh, though; he glares down at them. I glance over at his friends—who aren’t laughing either. Winters’s face is white, and Michaels is in front of him slightly now, fists tight. I think this might be the first time I’ve ever seen Surfer Boy without a smile. That puppy has his hackles raised.
Olander’s grin flickers. “Dude. I was just making a joke.” He glances between Nebs and Michaels. “Chill, guys.”
Nebs crosses his arms and sweeps a disgusted look over the pair. “What was the joke?” His voice booms through the locker room, and it goes dead silent.
Olander’s mouth pops open and nothing surfaces. He glances around the locker room before looking back at Nebiolo. “You know, man…”
“No, I really don’t. One of you explain it to me.” The tension is fucking thick. Awkward as hell. And my respect for Nebiolo just grew tenfold. “What’s so funny about two guys jerking each other off? I’m waiting for the punchline.”
“You’re awfully sensitive over this, Nebiolo. You got something to tell us? That girlfriend of yours just a cover? We all knowitruns in your family.”
Devereux says “it” like Nebs is about to admit he’s got an STD or something, and my fists ball at my sides. Thesad thing is a few of these guys would probably rather have one over being called queer.
Nebs doesn’t rise to the bait. “Doesn’t matter how I identify. It doesn’t give either of you the right to be homophobic assholes.”
Damn. Fucking. Straight.
Devereux rolls his eyes. “Bro, relax. No one can take a fucking joke anymore. Everyone’s so damn sensitive these days. You’re literally the only one who cares. It’s not like anyone here is gay. Besides maybe you, since you’re all pissy about this.”
God, that’s fucking enough.
“Not true,” I say, stepping toward the assholes. Devereux’s and Olander’s faces snap to me. “You both know I’m queer.”
They both know, and I’ve told them to shut their mouths on more than one occasion. Little good it does.
Olander waves me off and laughs. “But you don’t count, Pebs. You’re like mostly straight. I’ve only ever seen you with women.”
My jaw locks. That one always hits. That somehow my queerness is written off because I tend to gravitate toward women. I actually find more men attractive than I do women, but when it comes to opportunity? I’m Jed Stone Jr., and cleat-chasers want a piece of that. So, yeah, if we’re talking numbers, it means I’m going home with women more often than men. And it’s not as though these two are around when I go to gay bars.
“So glad you can forgive my queerness because I tend to pick up women.” My sarcasm is as thick as molasses. “Because making sure you’re not uncomfortable is all I’m concerned with.”
Olander goes to open his mouth, and I can see it in hiseyes: regret, the panicked desire to backtrack. I’ve never seen someone six-foot-six look so small. But he and Dev dug their graves. You don’t get to throw that shit around and not get it thrown right back at you.
“You think I don’t count?” I shake my head at him. “Let me fix that for you. Because you don’t get to decide which parts of me count and erase the parts that make you uncomfortable. I like men. I sleep with men. Jerking off in a shower with a man sounds pretty fucking great to me.”
People write off my queerness because Ilookstraight. They can pretend the part of me that makes them uneasy doesn’t exist. Well, fuck them. Let them be uncomfortable.
“Better yet, I’d enjoy jerkinghimoff. Does that help? Am Igayenough for you now?”
The silence is heavy with discomfort. Good.
“Nebs had it right—there’s nothing funny about who somebody loves. You say we can’t take a joke, but you're not harmlessly teasing or ragging. It comes from a place of hatred and disapproval. You just tried to hide it behind humor. Keep your bigoted views out of this clubhouse.”
“I’d ask the same of your queerness,” Devereux shoots back, “but we’re fucking stuck with you.”
My breath shudders from me. How I hate that prick. “The feeling’s mutual,” I grit out. “I’m not the biggest fan of playing side by side with jackasses. But here we are.”
I shove my wallet into my pocket and grab my keys. I turn on my heel and make for the door. I’m fuming, trying to get myself under control.You said your piece, now it’s time to leave. Don’t stoop to his level.
I stop in the doorway and turn back to Dev. “Have fun cheating on your wife with a bunch of college girls. You tell them the same lie you told her? That one day you’ll play in the big leagues?”
I flip him off and keep walking.
Whoops. Couldn’t fucking stop myself.
I storm down the hall toward the exit to the parking lot. Fucking hell. I’m so wound up now I doubt I’ll be able to sleep. I’ll have to hit the tiny gym in my apartment building.
One thing about being a legend’s son—and having the game to back it up—is that I walked into this organization with a hell of a lot of respect already waiting for me. This is one time I’ll gladly take the perks of nepotism. It gives me the space to be quietly out as a bisexual man in professional baseball and shut down any bullshit from teammates.
