“I think a certain person was about ready to do it themselves,” Winters mutters.
I snort. I don’t doubt that for a second. Maddy is extremely protective—and possessive—of East. Not in, like, an unhealthy way or anything. More likeI finally have the man I was pining after for over a decade, so everyone else better fuck the hell off.
“I’m glad you’re okay, man,” I say. “Shit is scary.”
Easton shivers. Rightfully so. There is nothing more terrifying than a pitch coming straight at you. And the heaters Morgan throws? That’s shit nightmares are made of.
I’ve never faced Morgan—he’s in Triple-A—but I’ve heard the stories. The guy throws absolute fire. The kind of arm you want on your team, so you don’t ever have to stand in the box against him. Not just because of his velocity. He’s been yanked from games for drilling guys when things start to go south. Some say it’s bad aim. Others say it’s payback. Either way, when Morgan’s on the mound, no one feels safe.
“Didn’t stop Winters, though. You should have seen the home run he stole…” Paulie goes on to detail the catch, but my world stops.
Because Jed Stone Jr. just walked into the camera’s frame. In nothing but a towel. That just dropped to the floor.
A wave of heat instantly hits my cheeks. Unlike when I’ve been in the locker room with him, I can’t make myself look away. I mean, I shouldn’t look away because then it would be obvious I’m avoiding looking at something. I have a small screen to focus on here, and right next to Paulie’s head is Stone’s muscled naked thigh. So, really, it’s perfectly logical and acceptable to not stop looking in order to not raise questions. Yeah, that. Not the whole me admiring the way his ass flexes as he steps into his after-game sweats. Wait. Sweats. He goes commando? That is information I didnotneed to know.
I’ve been really struggling to get the guy out of my head.
This is not going to help.
The muscles in his forearm ripple as he ties his sweats.Ink covers his entire forearm. I’ve glimpsed it a few times but never got a good look since we weren’t exactly chummy during Spring Training. It’s a male lion and a cub looking into a reflecting pool, but the reflection is a faded image of a man holding hands with a boy. I may have stalked his socials to find it. I was definitely not looking for thirst traps of him. Which is good because there aren’t any. Totally great. I don’t need to see that nipple piercing any more than I already do in my own head.
Which is really fucking often.
I think when I found out he was bisexual, it unlocked something in my brain. I’m like an eager puppy who just found out there’s a box of biscuits within reach. Like, come on. Just throw me a fucking bone. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t make Triple-A. I’d probably do something embarrassing. Like ask him if I could try his dick.
“Anyways, we just wanted to call and wish you a quick congratulations,” Paulie says.
I blink slowly.
“You’re probably zonking out soon considering how late our game went.”
I give myself a mental shake and focus back on my friends. “Yeah, but I appreciate the call.” My smile’s full and genuine now. “I fucking miss you guys.”
Easton’s eyes take on a sad cast. “We gotta find a way to get together.”
My gut sinks under the weight in his voice. We all know it’ll be nearly impossible with our schedules.
“There’s always All-Stars,” Paulie says, his voice lilting up in forced optimism.
Urgh. That’s not until July, and it’s only April. We’ll have a few days off then, and if none of us get selected, youbet I’m hopping on a plane to go visit my boys. We usually go to Mama and Papa Nebs’s house for part of it.
I say my goodbyes to my boys. My screen goes dark, and my thoughts along with it. I’m playing pro ball. I’m a hot prospect, killing it. I’ve got it made, right? And yet…all that I hear is silence.
Life of the party: Shane Michaels.
I pull the covers over my head and curl into myself.
Loneliest guy in the room.
ANNOUNCER
PROVIDENCE CLIPPERS - APRIL 10TH
Bernie Johnson:So here we are—bottom of the fourth, two outs, bases loaded. Let’s see if the Jumbo Shrimp can get out of this inning unscathed.
Oliver Reeves:I don’t know, Bern. I think those Jumbo Shrimp should be nervous with the way Nebiolo has been swinging. He’s going to turn them into shrimp scampi and eat them for dinner.
Bernie:And now you’ve made me hungry, Ollz. The pitcher deals. And Nebiolo corks one into right—it might be enough! And it is! A grand slam for Paolo Nebiolo!
