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A Hard Ball Story
By Abigail Barnette
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
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Copyright © 2012 Abigail Barnette
Edited by Christine Allen-Riley and Jason Huffman
Cover art by Les Byerley, www.les3photo8.com
Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC
2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-526-7
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including
infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable
by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic Release: June 2012
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product
of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
This story is dedicated to the memory of Glenn Burke.
Author Note:
True baseball fans know that there is no such team as the Grand Rapids Bengals. True baseball
fans also know that MLB is a litigious organization that doesn’t like having their trademarks
tossed around all willy-nilly. Heck, Justin Verlander won the AL Cy Young and AL MVP in the
same year and couldn’t even show the old English D on his own cereal box. Keeping that in
mind, forgive me for not referring directly to MLB trademarks in this story. And of course, it
bears repeating that no character in this story is intended to resemble any person, alive or dead,
connected to Major League Baseball.
Chapter One
Zach Martin was showing up to work late. Real late. Like, fourteen weeks late.
He paced around his long-stay suite, wishing he was anywhere but Grand Rapids. He
missed his house in LA. He missed his dogs. Hell, he even missed his apartment in Lakeland,
where he stayed during spring training. More than any of those, he missed playing baseball, and
now that he had the all clear to get back into the game, he was wishing for more time off.
He checked his reflection in the mirror, and ran a hand over his jaw. Copper stubble had
crept up over the past week. He hadn’t been taking very good care of himself, aside from the
routine visits to the trainer. Today would be his first batting practice, and if things went well,
he’d ride the bench for tonight’s game and then maybe get some playing time in tomorrow. No
matter how long he put it off, though, he still had to face the inevitable.
Sooner or later, he was going to see Javier.
Grabbing his bag, he stepped out of the suite and directly into the blistering Michigan
June. The temps were apparently a record high, which Zach could have lived with, if not for the
humidity. As hot as it got in California, he rarely worried about drowning while walking down
the street. The air was thick and wet and gross, and the idea of playing in it…he shook off his
internal complaints and slid into the driver’s seat of his rental car. Just another weird,
impermanent aspect of his life. The only thing about playing for the Bengals that bore any
resemblance to his old life was Javier. And the last thing he needed was his deeply closeted ex
acting one hundred percent weird around him for the next three years.
When Zach had taken the contract with the Bengals, things had been so different. He’d
planned the entire thing in his mind. Showing up to spring training, seeing Javier for the first
time in four years, letting him see that Zach was fine, even better, without him. After all, he was
dating one of the most powerful young directors in Hollywood, he’d just come off a career high
season, and the Bengals had been willing to drop a mighty big chunk of change to scoop him up.
It would have been perfect. Then, he’d decided to go for a run, deviated from his normal
course one stupid time, and, distracted by thoughts of his impending triumph over his ex, he’d
stepped in a gutter drain and ended up with hairline fractures in his elbow and ankle at the same
damn time. The deal had been inked, but he’d missed spring training and the beginning of the
season. It had been all over the internet and talk radio. “Zach Martin, biggest waste of money
since Delmon Zario wrecked his arm with too much Guitar Hero.” Fans loved to harp on stupid
mistakes, as unfair as it was to the players. Hindsight being twenty/twenty he could have easily
avoided his injury.
Now, he didn’t even know if he was going to be staying in Grand Rapids long enough to
sign a lease. He’d been fine with confronting Javier when it seemed like everything was coming
up Zach. Somehow, living in a corporate stay and driving a rental car didn’t seem particularly
brag-worthy.
The ballpark sat on the riverside downtown. Zach tried to muster up some enthusiasm for
the sight of the lights peeking above the freeway as he approached. He mentally planned batting
practice, every last swing. There was an old adage about shortstops being notoriously bad hitters,
but he took pride in his average. That had been last season, though, before the Los Angeles
Sewer and Water Works threw him a curve ball. Though he didn’t feel any lasting effects from
his injuries in daily life, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t feel it on the field.
He parked in the employees only garage beneath the park and used his shiny new
laminated badge to open the security doors. He’d just nonchalantly slip into the clubhouse and
get changed. Hopefully no one would make a big deal.
The second he opened the doors, he wished he’d broken both ankles. A big sheet cake
with “Welcome Home, Zach Martin” sat on a table beneath a dark flat-screen television. A few
guys had helped themselves to the corners.
“You’re late.”
Zach’s swiveled round to see Taylor Coburn, center fielder, pulling a t-shirt over his
head. “The season started in April, man.”
With a laugh of relief, Zach headed over to his friend and clasped his hand. “You have no
idea how glad I am to run into you, first.”
“Why, are you avoiding someone?” Taylor had come up to the majors at the same time as
Zach had, to play on the Oklahoma City Sooners. They’d become good friends during that
season, and they’d kept in touch after Zach had gone to the Pioneers. Still, there were some
things Zach didn’t share in the clubhouse.
He slapped Taylor’s shoulder and said, “Nah, just nervous. A friendly face helps.”
“You taking batting practice today?” Taylor asked as Zach hauled his bag to his locker. It
would have been nice to get a spot next to Taylor, but the manager made clubhouse
arrangements based on what he thought would be best, and Zach wasn’t one to argue with the
skipper.
He nodded and pried his shoes off with a toe against each heel. “Got the all clear
yesterday. Just do me a favor, don’t hold today against me. I haven’t had a bat in my hands since
last season.”
“And you guys didn’t go that far,” a voice pointed out helpfully from across the room.
“At least, not as far as we did.”
The hair on the back of his neck standing up, Zach turned to face Javier Vargas, catcher,
possibly the love of Zach’s life, if someone demanded the truth under pain of death and Zach
particularly felt like living that day. “Hey man, haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Nope, don’t get out to Portland all that much.” Javier smiled, but the expression didn’t
reach his warm brown eyes. It was a lie, the Bengals played the Pioneers just as often as they
played all the other teams. But that wasn’t what Javier had meant, and they both knew it. He was
saying there was nothing in Portland interesting enough to make him visit. “I heard this crazy
rumor that you were living in LA during your downtime.”
“Yeah, that’s where I…it’s where my better half lives. You know how it is.” He shrugged
and cleared his throat. “Women, right?”
“Yeah, I know what you’re saying.” Javier pulled his cap on. “Get a piece of your cake,
before these jackals eat it up.”
“I really wasn’t expecting a cake.” In fact, it was kind of embarrassing, showing up after
a stupid injury to find your name in frosting.
Taylor laughed ruefully. “The new owner’s assistant has this weird idea that everything
should be celebrated with cake. It’s driving the trainers nuts, you should see how much weight
some of the guys are putting on.”
There was a companionable silence that turned uncomfortable. Javier slid his sunglasses
on and said, “Well…see you guys out there.”
Zach could feel Taylor’s stare as Javier left. It was pretty bad when it only took a five
second conversation to put all the awkwardness between them on display. Quietly, Taylor asked,
“So…you guys didn’t get along in Portland, huh?”
In fact, they’d gotten along too well, but that was definitely not clubhouse talk. “You
could say that. It’s not going to cause a problem, though. We’re both big boys.”
That promise sounded hollow, even to his own ears. It wasn’t until he got onto the field
that he felt like he could breathe again. Surrounded by his teammates, some friends, some
strangers, all wearing the Bengals practice jersey while a few fans watched from the empty
stands, and he didn’t feel like he’d really missed anything at all. The only snag in his exhilarating
revelation was the fact that Javier was there, and both of them were being careful, too aware of
each other on the field in a definite attempt to avoid talking to each other.
“Baird, you’re up,” their manager, Ken Holmes, called. Then, he narrowed his eyes as
they landed on Zach. “When I saw you on my roster today, I gotta tell you, I was relieved. It’s
good to have you with us finally.”
Zach couldn’t help but grin at the old man’s words. He’d only met Ken briefly, in the
thick of the deal, when general manager Casey Morgan hadn’t yet totally convinced Zach to
leave Portland. A large part of Zach’s decision had been based on the leadership the grizzled
veteran manager had promised. “Any chance I’ll play today?”
“No sir,” Holmes immediately shot him down.
“I did my sixty days,” he pointed out. “More than. They’ve got me down as day-to-day,
right?”
“They’ve got you down as day-to-day, but I don’t listen to the DL, I listen to the trainers.
Medical wants you riding the bench tonight.” Holmes turned to the batter in the box. The
conversation was clearly closed, not to be revisited. “You ready, Baird?”
Zach tried hard to suppress his disappointment as he walked away. When the skipper
called out to him again, his spirits momentarily lifted. Until Holmes said, “Why don’t you grab
Vargas and do some fielding drills?”
It would have to be Vargas. He nodded and gave a tight smile. Javier had overheard the
command, as well, and though his mouth barely moved, Zach knew he’d sworn under his breath.
He wanted to shout, “Hey, I don’t want to be around you any more than you want to be around
me,” but that wasn’t exactly the old team spirit. He couldn’t come in as the new guy, the injured
liability, and start a fight with the guy everyone probably liked.
Because Javier was likeable, damn him. As they walked silently into the outfield, Zach
tugging on his glove, his chest ached a little. In Portland, things had been damn near perfect. He
and Javier hadn’t just been lovers, they’d been best friends. When they’d split up, Zach had
found himself wanting to turn to someone for comfort, and realizing that the only person he
wanted comfort from was the one who’d hurt him.
Of course, they’d both done their fair share of hurting. Hadn’t he been the one who’d
acted like their relationship had been casual? Like it hadn’t bothered him at all that they would
be thousands of miles apart? Strangely, it didn’t bother him when Domenic was on location, like
he was now.
In fact, he hadn’t really been missing Domenic at all, lately.
He pushed that discomfiting thought aside to focus on drills. If Javier was anything, it
was professional, and he wasn’t going to let some petty romantic feuding ruin the entire team’s
chances.
“How’s the arm feeling?” he asked, after a couple gentle throws.
Zach flexed his elbow. “It’s not clicking anymore. That has to be a good sign, right?”
“I hope so. You don’t want to be the guy they strategically drop from the roster.” Javier
took a breath. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t nice.”
“It wasn’t mean. It’s reality. If I’m still banged up and they’ve got a chance to bring up a
better shortstop, they’re going to.” He peered across the field to where Braydon Bells stood
against the fence while another player hit ball after ball at him. “You think Braydon is going to
be pissed that I’m back?”
Javier shrugged. “He wants to play shortstop, but he’s better in the outfield. Don’t worry
about him; he’s not the guy calling the shots.”
As the day wore on, the tension between them eased. After they broke from practice for a
light dinner in the clubhouse—Zach hadn’t gotten his grocery order in with the clubhouse
manager on time, but Taylor gladly shared some of the bagged mixed greens and pre-cooked
chicken breasts he kept in the huge industrial refrigerator—it was time to get suited up for the
game. It wasn’t a momentous night for the rest of the team. In fact, most of the guys were
already counting down to the long weekend the mid-season exhibition game provided for those
not voted onto the team. For Zach, it was just as exciting as opening day. His fingers itched to
get inside a glove, and riding the bench would be torture, but at least he felt like he was getting
closer to some actual playing time.
The park was packed to the rafters. The nice weather had brought out the fans, as had the
team’s long-standing rivalry with the New York Patriots. Even from the dugout, Zach could feel
the good spirits of the crowd, who would get a little drunker and a little louder as the sun set and
the lights came on.
The game was a good one, too. The Patriots weren’t going to go home without putting up
a fight, and the Bengals were more than willing to give them one. Zach studied Braydon Bells’s
moves as SS. There was a reason the kid wasn’t going to keep the position. He couldn’t turn
quick enough, his release was sluggish, and an eighty-year-old could cover second better. It
wasn’t that he was a bad player; he just wasn’t a great shortstop.
They clinched the win gaining a two run lead in the eighth, ending the game 5-3. Walking
out of the dugout without having played, though, felt like a huge loss.
He wound down in the clubhouse for a little while, not really wanting to go back to his
empty suite. Eventually, though, he had to head home.
The drive seemed to take forever, on streets that weren’t nearly as crowded as LA’s
would be at the same hour. Sleepy didn’t even cover it when it came to describing Grand Rapids.
He dropped his bag at the door and headed straight for his laptop. The video chat popped
up with a bubbling noise, and Zach combed his fingers through his hair. He clicked the call icon
and waited while it mimicked a dial tone and ringing. He always felt weird contacting Domenic
when he was on location. The long hours took their toll and Domenic often complained about
interruptions breaking his concentration.
When he answered, though, it was with a smile. “Hey, baby, how was the game?”
Zach didn’t feel his usual annoyance at the endearment. Just seeing Domenic—albeit
from miles away and over a stuttering internet connection—was enough to let something that
usually irked him slide. “We won. Do you care?”
They both laughed. Zach never took offense to Domenic’s lack of interest. Not everyone
was into baseball. At least he cared enough to ask. “How’s filming?”
Domenic groaned. “I wish I could answer that without swearing. But it’s beautiful here.
Damn hot, too many bugs, but it’s absolutely lush for shooting.”
Guiltily, Zach laughed and looked away from the screen. He couldn’t exactly remember
where Domenic was. He’d thought it was Myanmar. Maybe Guam? Somewhere in South
America? The hardest part of having a long distance relationship was that it was easy to forget
the little details, like Domenic didn’t even exist when they weren’t together. Worse, Zach knew
Domenic must be feeling the same way.
“So, how did it go with the ex?” Domenic raised an eyebrow.
“Not great. We’re not going to be best friends or anything.” But it hadn’t been that bad,
had it? Reluctantly, Zach had to agree with himself. “It wasn’t terrible. We’ll be able to get
along.”
“And if you can’t—” Domenic’s words were cut off when the screen froze. Moments
later, the call ended of its own volition, and before Zach could call back, his cell rang.
Through the crackling static on Domenic’s satellite phone, Zack could make out the
words, “Bad connection” and “stupid phone,” before the line went dead again. He waited for a
few minutes. When the phone didn’t ring, he tossed his cell aside and gave up.
He flipped through the channels on the television for a few minutes, but his heart wasn’t
in it. He hit the lights, stripped off, and got into bed.
The hardest part of a long distance relationship wasn’t communication, if he were to be
entirely honest with himself. As shallow as it sounded, the hardest part was not being able touch.
Their relationship wasn’t just about the sex, but ever since they’d gotten together, he and
Domenic had been unable to keep their hands off each other. They’d broken their “no
sleepovers” rule in the first week of dating, but they hadn’t been doing much sleeping. And even
though Domenic had been burned by commitment before, hence his need for an open
relationship, Zach had never found it necessary to “go outside” to get play. He didn’t know if
Domenic did or not; what happened on location, stayed on location. As long as it was safe, both
at home and away, Zach didn’t care.
Still, it was hard to think of Domenic out there in a tropical paradise with a bunch of
good-looking Hollywood hard bodies, while Zach expended more mental concentration on
switching pronouns than any person reasonably should. The last time Zach had gotten any was
three weeks ago, before Domenic left LA.
He cupped himself through the blankets. Was this the way the entire season would be?
Come home from a game, jack off, go to sleep, just to start all over in the morning? Was this the
kind of life he wanted?
Trying to picture himself back home, in LA, he reached beneath the covers and gripped
his cock. Half-soft, it quickly hardened under the sudden attention. He rolled the foreskin over
the head and back, and blew out a long exhale as he relaxed. Imagining it was Domenic’s hand
helped. He tried to feel Domenic’s warm, hard body beside his, tried to mimic the quick, sure
strokes of his lover’s hand.
Somehow, without consciously trying, that hand became someone else’s. Someone with
warm, brown eyes and a crooked smile. Someone who’d turned sex into a competition, an
endurance race. Zach had never had sex like that before, and he doubted he would, again.
Damn Javier.
Zach let his arm fall back to the bed in frustration. There was absolutely no way he was
going to jerk off thinking about the guy. It was too pathetic. Way too “not over you” for Zach’s
tastes. Besides, he was with Domenic now. It wasn’t fair to him, open relationship or not, to be
fantasizing about an ex.
His cock twitched against the sheets, and he swore.
Just once, he promised as he gripped himself again. Maybe that was all it would take, one
time, to get it out of his system. Imagining Javier beside him was, absurdly, much easier than
trying to conjure up a ghost of Domenic. Zach could practically feel Javier, his strong hand
slowly stroking and teasing. He thought of that night in New York, when they should have been
getting shuteye for the last game in the series, and instead they’d fucked until three AM and had
to pretend they were hung over from a night on the town. The smack down they’d gotten from
their manager had been worth it.
Tugging faster, he thought of the way his cock had looked disappearing into Javier’s ass,
remembered the way his tawny olive skin had tasted and felt under his teeth, salty and tight. His
fist moved faster, up and down, squeezing, trying to replicate the feeling of Javier’s body
gripping him.
He kicked the sheets back just in time to avoid spraying all over them. Panting, he held
his softening cock and blinked up at the ceiling he couldn’t see in the darkness. If he’d meant to
get Javier out of his mind, this hadn’t been the way to do it. Now, all he could think of was the
smell of sex and sweat and the feeling of Javier next to him, where he should be thinking of
Domenic.
He was going to have to nip this in the bud. And real quick.
Chapter Two
Javier tossed his bag down and whistled across the clubhouse. “Hey, Thomas, you
pitching today?”
Chris Thomas turned from his locker. The most senior player on the team—hell, the
oldest damn player in the league—Chris had been having a rough season. At least, on the field.
Off the field, and strictly off the record, he was dating the team owner, and from what he’d told
Javier, things couldn’t be going better. But his shoulder had been flagging from the start of the
season, and just two weeks ago he’d blown a save against Nashville. After losing the
championship to them last season, that had definitely stung.
“Nope, I’m day-to-day,” Chris said, grimacing as he rolled his shoulder. “And today is
not my day.”
“You can keep me company in the dugout, then.” Javier tried not to look at the door
automatically when it opened. Zach hadn’t come in yet, and he didn’t want to seem like he was
waiting for him. He dressed quickly and headed out to the field. It was early for batting practice,
but he wasn’t going to hang around in the clubhouse for an awkward moment with his ex.
It would be so much easier if he could talk to someone, anyone, about what was going on.
That was the shittiest part of playing pro ball. The “don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t even think about
speculating, we’re all straight” policy. It wasn’t an official policy, but it might as well have been
scribed on a stone tablet by God himself, it was so ingrained in the culture. And Javier didn’t
really have any friends outside of the game. It was isolating in ways he’d never expected.
Thomas came up a few minutes behind. “Hey, you got a sec?”
They walked a few yards away from the dugout, and Chris shielded his mouth with a
glove as he spoke. “Remember what I told you about Thorgerson?”
Remember? How could Javier have forgotten? A local journalist was digging up some
pretty heinous dirt on the stadium manager. Allegations of betting against the team had given
way to rumors about mismanaged finances, and with every new development, things
looked…well, way less good. “What is he up to, now?”
“Maggie said he tried to set up a meeting with Morgan and a couple of the investors,
thinking he could convince them that Maggie isn’t ‘solid leadership’ for the team.” A muscle in
Chris’s jaw twitched. Javier was pretty sure a hundred violent revenge scenarios were going
through the pitcher’s mind.
“I assume that didn’t go well. Casey’s got a massive hard on for your girl Maggie.” Javier
held up his hands defensively when Chris turned that furious glare on him. “Hey, I’m not saying
she cares about the hard on, just that it’s there. He’s not going to let anything happen to the team,
I can tell you that for nothing. And he’s always going to side with Maggie.”
“That’s a good way to look at it, I guess.” Chris shook his head and looked up at the
stands, where a few early arrivals were making their way down the cement steps toward the rail
at the warning track. “I just wish there was some way I could help.”
“You want to be the knight in shining armor saving the day, I get it.” And Javier really
did get it. It was hell on earth being in a relationship with someone and having to hide it. Once or
twice, he’d considered that maybe Chris would understand his situation, but he’d never had the
balls to come out with it. “Come on, let’s go look busy.”
It wasn’t that Javier disliked fans, but official rules prevented him from talking to anyone
not on his team while on the field before a game. No fans, no staff, sure as hell no umpires. That
way, no one could bribe anyone to not do their best. Thorgerson hadn’t tried to pull a stunt like
that, yet, but Chris had let Javier in on the secret so they both could keep an eye out for anything
suspicious.
He was headed down the steps to the dugout to retrieve his batting gloves when Zach
came out, looked up, and blanched.
“Do I really look that terrible?” Javier tried to joke, rubbing a hand over his chin. He
hadn’t shaved today. He just hadn’t felt like it. Now, even though it was silly to be worried about
how he looked when he had a game to concentrate on, he felt gross and unkempt. That wasn’t
like him. He had an image to protect, as a sharply groomed ladies’ man.
Zach managed a laugh as they dodged each other, giving each other way more room to
pass than they would have for anyone else. That kind of shit had to stop, because someone would
eventually notice it. Or not. Maybe Javier was just feeling particularly paranoid.
Fine. Time to put an end to it. He reached out and grabbed Zach’s shoulder. “Hey, man,
let me apologize—”
“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” Zach said quickly, not quite shrugging off
Javier’s touch, but certainly not letting it linger. “We are totally cool.”
Casting a desperate glance around, praying no one was within earshot, Javier lowered his
voice and said, “I meant about how I left it. In Portland.”
“How you left it?” Zach laughed bitterly then quickly recovered his carefree demeanor.
“You got traded. There’s no hard feelings here.”
It was a bigger lie than Javier’s rumored romance with that Brazilian super model. But
he’d let it pass, until they had a more private time to talk. “Okay. I’m glad we’re cool.”
He watched Zach head up to the field, buttoning the last button on his practice jersey.
Chris leaned over the dugout rail, scaring Javier half-to-death. He hoped he didn’t look as
jumpy as he felt.
“What was that about?” Chris asked, cocking his head.
“Nothing,” Javier replied quickly. “Just settling up accounts.”
* * * *
They ended the series a total sweep, which was more than enough reason to celebrate.
After a few interviews with some of the press guys that had gathered, Javier was grateful to get a
shower, get changed, and head out on the town with some of the other guys. He was the first one
in the clubhouse, the first one out of the shower, he’d probably be the first one at the bar, and
that suited him just fine.
He was tying his sneakers when Zach came out of the showers, a towel slung low on his
hips. Javier absolutely hated the allegation that gay guys in locker rooms couldn’t keep their eyes
to themselves, but it was pretty damn difficult not to look at Zach. It was like taking someone to
the Eiffel Tower a second time and telling them that they didn’t deserve a repeat of the view.
Zach’s architecture was no less impressive. His stomach was hard, the muscles of his
abdomen defined like bas-relief ornamentation. Two long ridges of muscle led Javier’s eyes
down, to where the white terrycloth intersected the fine line of auburn hair below his navel.
Quickly averting his gaze, Javier inconspicuously adjusted himself as he stood up.
He cleared his throat, knowing that whatever sound came out of him when he spoke
would be some guilty, broken thing he couldn’t control. “Listen, some of us are going out to this
bar, Quinn’s, over on Leonard. You wanna tag along?”
Zach took a long breath, and never looked away from his locker. “I don’t think that
would be a good idea.”
“Why, you have something better waiting for you?” Did that sound as confrontational as
Javier thought it had?
A couple of the other guys trickled in, talking about the game, and that ended the
conversation. Taylor came to stand between them, at his own locker. “What about you, Zach?
You coming out with us?”
“Nah, I think I’d better just call it an early night,” Zach protested.
“Shut up, you’re coming.” Taylor had a way of saying stuff like that, and no one took
offense. They just sort of went along with it. “You can sleep on the flight tomorrow night.”
“Yeah, all right. Maybe for a few drinks.”
Zach’s acceptance of the invite did something weird to Javier. He’d invited Zach along
first. Was it because he knew Zach would turn it down, considering the source? Or was he ticked
off because Zach had said no to him, but not to Taylor? Maybe a little of both, and despite his
earlier invitation, Javier was suddenly not looking forward to Zach being there.
Quinn’s was as packed as it was any night after a win. It was nice to have a hometown
bar, full of hometown fans, waiting for them if they wanted to swing by after a victory. They
didn’t go if they lost. People didn’t want to buy you beers then, they wanted to empty them over
your head. But tonight, the customers packed to the walls cheered when they arrived.
“Hey man, how’s Minika?”
Javier didn’t recognize the young guy who’d called out the question. “Beautiful, as
usual.”
That was a good answer. It didn’t confirm or deny anything. Minika Costa was, far and
away, one of the most beautiful women on the planet. She just wasn’t dating him. They’d been
hanging out at the cover reveal party for her swimsuit edition. She was a nice girl. Not real
bright, but very nice, and so into women that even if Javier had been interested, there was no
way anything was ever going to happen. Since that night, they’d exchanged a few emails and had
gone out to “be seen” in New York a couple of times. It was great cover, and easy to accomplish
when they were playing there. She’d even come and sit in the wives and girlfriends section a
couple of times.
Javier wondered if Zach had heard those rumors. He’d have known they were bullshit
right off the bat, and he probably would have made some disgusted face. He mentally dared him
to say a word about it. Whichever Hollywood big shot he’d hooked up with had probably
frowned on the stories, too. That was a different business and a whole different life. Javier had
worried that Zach might come out after he’d left Portland. It could still be a career ender, and
Javier had told himself that he was concerned for Zach on that score. In reality, he’d been
worried that any declaration of homosexuality, hell, any subtle hint, might point a finger at
himself. The more models he went out with, the better.
The night wasn’t as tense and Javier had expected it to be. He spent most of his time
sitting with Chris, watching the guy check his phone every few minutes, in between watching the
West Coast game on the bar’s television.
“You look like you’re waiting for a bomb to go off, put that thing away,” Javier only
partially joked. He hated the way some people were attached to their phones.
On the other hand, he knew exactly whose call Chris was waiting for. He slipped the
phone in his pocket and grimaced. “I know, it’s rude. I’m supposed to be out celebrating our win.
But I just can’t wait to get home to her.”
“Home to her? You guys living together now?” Javier raised an eyebrow.
“Not…officially.” Chris looked away guiltily. “We’re still being very discreet; it’s not a
big thing.”
He jumped up and pulled the phone back out. The screen was flashing, and his ringtone
was almost audible over the chatter of the bar. “I’ll be right back.”
He watched Chris head off toward the back door, a finger in his ear as he shouted, “Hang
on, babe, I’ve got to find somewhere quieter.”
Javier shook his head. He was happy for his friend. Good for him, he’d found someone.
Jesus, how did he get so bitter in two days? Just because Zach was back, and he’d been
the love of Javier’s life. So far, he reminded himself. The love of his life so far.
As if drawn by the scent of his misery, Zach approached Chris’s abandoned seat slowly.
He had a brown glass bottle in his hand, and his coppery hair brushed the collar of his navy blue
polo shirt. What kind of a dork wore a polo shirt to a bar? He looked like tech support. But he
was still beautiful, with an unshaven chin and those eyes that looked boyish in a face that
belonged to a man.
“Is this seat taken?” Before Javier could answer, Zach sat down. “I’m sorry. About acting
so weird.”
“Is this the right place to be having this conversation?” Javier asked, ducking his head
down at little.
“People can still see you.” Zach slapped his hand on Javier’s shoulder and gave a little
pull. “Come on, man.”
Javier knew he shouldn’t follow Zach. It was clear he’d drunk a little too much. Probably,
he was giddy on actually playing a game for the first time in the season. It was a cute
combination. Javier didn’t trust himself around cute.
Zach wavered on his feet a little as he went ahead down the dark back hallway. Past the
restrooms and the door to the kitchen, there was a little space where a payphone used to be, back
in the days when people had still needed payphones. The shelf was still there, with the hole
drilled for the cord to go through, but the phone itself was missing, the paint a different color in a
large rectangle where they’d painted the new, darker green around it.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Zach said, slumping against the wall beside the back door. “I
don’t know how to do this. How do we play on the same team, and treat each other like
teammates, after what we had?”
“I don’t know,” Javier admitted. “And I’m sorry, too. I mean, I had to leave. I got traded.
But I didn’t have to break up with you. That was just me being dumb and scared.”
“Dumbest thing you ever did,” Zach said, tipping the neck of his bottle at Javier. “But we
were best friends. I feel like I miss that more than I miss going out with you.”
“I miss that, too.”
They stood in silence for a moment. An uncertain smile spread across Zach’s face. “I
don’t want to be mad at you anymore. I’m lonely as hell in this town, and it’s killing me.”
Javier laughed. “Oh, I see. So, you spend a few nights away from your piece of
Hollywood ass, and suddenly I’m looking real good—”
“Domenic. His name is Domenic. Look, we’re grownups. Let’s be mature about this and
put all that other shit behind us, okay?” Zach’s tone was pleading. Javier already felt like a first-
class dick for the way he’d ended things, but then Zach had to go and sound all lonely and
unhappy, and it made Javier feel worse.
The very last thing he’d ever wanted was for Zach to be unhappy. That was one of the
primary reasons Javier had ended things with him when he’d left Portland. Seeing each other on
the field those first few times their teams had played against each other, that had been hell, but
they weren’t required to talk to each other. Every time, he’d reminded himself how hard it would
have been to still be together, only seeing each other when their paths crossed during the season,
spending those few months of downtime together before going their separate ways again. The
temptation to “go outside” would have been everywhere. He’d totally trusted Zach to be faithful.
It was his own fidelity he’d been concerned about.
Of course, they’d been broken up for a year, and Javier still had never “gone outside”.
Not even for a one-off slump buster. And there had been plenty of times he’d needed a little
pick-me-up.
It was clear now that in trying to protect Zach, he’d hurt him, deeply. It was too late for
those regrets now. “It’s in the past.”
“Good.” Zach laughed with drunken relief. “So…can you give me a ride home?”
A thousand warning bells went off in Javier’s head. Just how lonely was Zach? Then he
considered the way Zach swayed on his feet, and the nearly empty bottle in his hand. It hadn’t
been his first beer of the night.
“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”
“Will they tow my car?” Zach asked as they crossed the gravel lot behind the bar. “It’s a
rental.”
“They won’t tow it; I’ll give them a call.” Javier hit the locks with the key fob. “Watch
your head getting in, it’s low.”
“Yeah, it is.” Zach rubbed the temple he’d struck against the doorframe as he slumped in
the seat. “Same Porsche? You didn’t even trade up a year?”
“I’m not wasteful. And all Porsches look alike, so what’s the point of a new one every
year?” Javier buckled his seatbelt and started the engine. He was trying to think of a safe, neutral
topic of conversation that wouldn’t turn their new, drunk-born friendship into a rekindling of old
animosity, when Zach emitted a soft snore.
Javier couldn’t help but smile. He’d complained about that snore the entire time they’d
been together. After they’d broken up, he’d missed it so much; he’d been unable to sleep. He’d
bought a white noise alarm clock that played the sound of the ocean, but it had been a pale
substitute.
He’d gone a few blocks before he realized he had no idea where he was supposed to be
taking Zach. “Hey, buddy. Wake up. Tell me where I’m going.”
“Just take me home,” Zach slurred then sighed happily as he slid back into
unconsciousness.
“Fuck it.” Javier turned for home. He’d put Zach up on the couch and hope he wasn’t
pissed off about it in the morning.
Javier’s house was in the east part of town, a 1920’s mini-mansion with a swimming pool
out back and Spanish barrel-tiles on the roof. Every single house the agent had shown him had
some kind of “Spanish flare” thing going on, and he’d almost fired her racist ass, but then he’d
seen this place. It had been recently renovated, with a brand new kitchen and a state-of-the-art
sound system that ran through the entire house. So, it had come on the recommendation of a
woman who’d asked him if it “reminded him of home in Mexico,” it was perfect for him. And
he’d had the pleasure of informing her at the closing that he came from Venezuela and the only
time he’d ever been to Mexico had been a drunken weekend in Cabo for his twenty-first
birthday.
He pulled the car into the garage and opened the passenger door to nudge Zach awake.
“Get up, yo. We’re here.”
“This isn’t home,” he slurred as he struggled to his feet.
“It’s my home. I don’t know where you’re staying.” Javier took Zach’s arm to steer him
out of the garage and up the ceramic tiled steps to the door. “You’re gonna sleep it off, and in the
morning, we’ll go back and get your car.”
“No funny stuff,” Zach warned with a goofy drunk giggle. “I don’t take advantage of the
open relationship.”
Open relationship? Javier bristled at that. It had been his suggestion, when he’d first
realized that a long-distance relationship wasn’t going to work, that they just let the occasional,
horny lapse in judgment slide, in favor of staying together. Zach had flatly refused, all “I have
too much self-respect,” and “That’s not how people in love treat each other.” And Javier had
felt—still felt—that he’d been a jerk for suggesting it. It had been his way of saying, “I’m not
even going to try to not fuck around on you,” and Zach had rightly called him on it. But now,
whoever this Domenic was had somehow been great enough to overcome those obstacles of self-
respect and love? He was probably a real charmer.
Not that Domenic had anything to worry about from Javier. Cute as Zach was sober, his
red eyes and a slack mouth shining with sleep drool did not, at present, make him a great
temptation.
Javier went to get some sheets from the linen closet to make up the couch in the den. He
dropped Zach off in the kitchen, slouched into one of the tall chairs at the island. When he
flicked on the lights, Zach groaned and dropped his head to the counter. Yeah, he’s not going
anywhere.
Guiltily, Javier spread the sheets over the couch. A gentleman would let his guest have
the bed. But he wasn’t a gentleman enough to ignore the implications of Zach’s scent on his
sheets, the intimacy of him lying where Javier slept.
Making a note to break down and furnish one of the empty bedrooms, he went back for
Zach. Walking into the kitchen, he felt the weight of a thousand repressed emotions like a fist
punching his heart. The house felt right. With Zach slumped over the counter, snoring, the place
felt like some crucial piece of furniture had just been delivered. Having Zach with him felt like
home, a feeling Javier hadn’t realized he’d missed in the years since he’d left Portland.
And he’s not yours anymore.
Trying—and failing—to ignore the sudden, heartsick feeling that squeezed his chest,
Javier reached out and gently shook Zach’s shoulder. When Zach lifted sleepy, drunken eyes to
meet his, Javier swallowed against a pang of sadness. “Come on. Time for lights out.”
Zach leaned against him, every heavy, hard muscle in his body evident as Javier helped
him to the couch. Turning Zach at the last second, before he could collide with the couch and fall
flat on his face, Javier intended to let him just drop, but Zach’s hands closed on the front of
Javier’s shirt, pulling him down, too. Their mouths met in a frantic, wet slide, before Javier ever
had the option of pulling away. Zach tasted like beer. Sharp stabs of electric desire assailed
Javier. It would have been so easy to give in, to sink down on that couch with him and justify it
as something they both wanted.
It would have been easy then, but not when it was over. Javier pushed Zach firmly down
and stepped back. Zach was drunk. He didn’t know what he was doing, and Javier was going to
be damned if he contributed to widening the rift between them.
Blinking in the semi-darkness, Zach slurred, “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Just sleep it off.”
Javier left the den like it was on fire. He went directly upstairs. He’d showered at the
clubhouse, but he felt dirty enough to need another one.
What the hell had that been about? Yeah, Zach was drunk, and lonely, but didn’t it prove
that he had some feelings for Javier still, that he’d kissed him? What did it mean if he did? He
was in a relationship, and Javier was, well, if not exactly enjoying his single status, he wasn’t
dying to be in a relationship with an ex from a messy break up.
The kiss hadn’t been about trust, or love, or any of the other things he wanted from a
relationship. It had been borne of alcohol and the horniness inherent with a long-distance
relationship. And Javier wasn’t going to be a stand in for some Hollywood douchebag. Domenic.
Ten to one, that wasn’t even the guy’s real name.
Zach deserved better. Javier had realized that and ended the relationship. What was this
Domenic thinking—that he could just fuck around for fun while Zach waited patiently for him?
It was late, and Javier realized guiltily that he was reading far too much into the entire
exchange. He knew nothing about Domenic, nothing about their relationship. He should stay out
of it.
Or…
It was always a really good sign, in the most sarcastic sense of the phrase, when he
started talking himself into crazy plans. Seeing Zach sitting there in the kitchen, looking like he
belonged there, had opened up old, admittedly self-inflicted wounds. Zach wanted to be friends
again? Fine. Javier could be a friend. He could be supportive and he could fake it when he
wished Zach well with whoever this Domenic was. Because eventually, Domenic would be out
of the picture. It didn’t matter when, and it didn’t matter how. Javier was willing to wait.
When the day came, Javier was going to get Zach back. And when he did, he was not
going to make the mistake of letting him go again.
Chapter Three
Sunlight woke Zach. He blinked against it, but even his eyelids hurt. Sitting up, he swore
off all alcohol as the room took a moment to catch up with his change in position. Alcohol led to
bad choices.
At least, he was on the couch, and he still had his clothes on. His face flushed hot at the
memory of how he’d acted the night before. None of it had been an accident. Not ending up at
Javier’s house. Okay, that was a little bit of an accident…he really hadn’t given a thought to the
fact that Javier wouldn’t know where to deliver him Definitely not kissing Javier. Zach had
wanted to do that at the bar, but there wasn’t enough beer in the world to make him forget what a
bad idea public displays of gay affection were in the Midwest and in their line of work.
An apology was needed. He stood, vaguely surprised that he could still walk under his
own power. There was a clock on the wall in the wide, tiled foyer. It was eight-thirty. Javier
would be up. He could never sleep past eight, no matter how late he’d been out the night before.
It seemed a little too familiar to go upstairs, so he wandered the lower level of the house,
keeping an eye out for him. In the kitchen, music drifted up a set of back stairs. Zach followed
them down to a gym with glass doors that overlooked the sparkling waters of a dark blue, tiled
pool.
“You survived the night,” Javier called from the treadmill in the corner. So, he still
started his mornings with a run. It was oddly comforting to know that his routine hadn’t changed
when their relationship had ended.
Javier was shirtless in running shorts. There was no shortage of shirtless men in running
shorts in LA, but somehow, they never looked as good as Javier did right now.
Purposefully averting his gaze, Zach went to the windows. “I’ve been staying in a hotel. I
haven’t been woken up by the sun in a long time.”
“I have black out curtains in my bedroom,” Javier said, barely out of breath despite the
sheen of sweat that stood out on his tan chest and shoulders.
Zach swallowed hard and forced himself to meet Javier’s eyes. “I am really sorry about
the way I behaved last night. That was not cool of me.”
Javier laughed it off. “No apologies necessary. You were drunk, and you’ve been away
from your guy for…what, a week now?”
“Six weeks.” It sounded so much longer when he said it out loud. “He left LA before I
did to go shoot a movie.”
“A movie, huh? What does he do?” Was there an edge of jealousy in Javier’s voice?
That wasn’t fair. Not everyone wants you, Zach. It’s just wishful thinking. But why would
he wish for that? He didn’t want Javier. He had Domenic. “He’s a director. He, uh, he directed
that movie that came out last summer, with the aliens?”
“Invasion 2026?” Javier’s eyebrows shot up. “That was the biggest movie of the summer.
Or so I’ve heard.”
“It sounds like I’m bragging, right? I tried to downplay it, and I sounded like an asshole.”
Zach laughed, and he was relieved that Javier laughed with him. It felt like they were slowly
easing back into their old friendship. Then, like a bucket of cold water hitting him, Zach realized
he hadn’t called to check in with Domenic the night before. “Oh shit. I usually Skype him when I
get in at night. I better give him a call.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket. The green light was flashing. As he stepped out the
doors, from the soft, cool whisper of the air conditioning to the brutal morning humidity of the
Michigan summer, he grimaced. Nine missed calls, all from Domenic. Without checking the
time difference, he immediately hit the speed dial.
Domenic answered, sounding ragged. “Hey, baby, I can’t talk for long, we’re resetting.
Where were you this morning?”
His “this morning” was Zach’s “last night”. That didn’t make the gap between them feel
any wider, not at all. “Some of us went out after the game last night. I got drunk, didn’t answer
my phone.”
“So, it was a win, then?” Domenic laughed, the static from his satellite phone breaking up
the sound.
“I have something I have to tell you.” It was a jerky thing to do, while Domenic was still
at work, but Zach would feel even worse if he waited until their next opportunity to talk. “I
kissed my ex.”
He’d expected a pause, or a clipped, “I have to go.” What he got from Domenic was an
“oh yeah?” like he found it amusing.
A normal person would have been relieved to be let off the hook so easily. Zach pushed
on, needing to make him see how very serious the situation was. “Nothing else happened. I was
drunk and missing you. I’m at his place right now, I slept it off on his couch, but I’m leaving in
like, two seconds. It isn’t going any further.”
“That’s fine. You know I don’t care, baby.” Domenic shouted something to someone on
set. “Look, don’t beat yourself up about it. You know what this relationship is. I love you, but
I’m not going to be mad if you sleep with someone else. I mean, I would prefer it not be your ex,
but I’m not an idiot. I know who you’re going to come home to. Just be safe, that’s all I ask.”
“There isn’t any need to even consider safety, because nothing is going to happen.” Zach
glanced guiltily at the windows. Could Javier hear him out here? That would be humiliating.
“You got me at a bad time. Can you call me later?” Domenic asked, before barking
another order on set.
“I’ll be on a plane tonight, but I’ll try to Skype you when I get in, okay?” Zach hesitated
to sign off with the usual, “I love you.” It would have just been swallowed up by Domenic
shouting about losing the light before he hung up.
The trickling sound of the pool filter should have been relaxing, but Zach felt insanely
keyed up. When he went back into Javier’s home gym, he asked, “When you’re finished with
your run, can you give me a ride back to my car?”
“Yeah, sure.” Javier stopped the treadmill and stepped down, taking a swig from his
water bottle. “Things not go well out there?”
“No, things are fine.” Why was he lying? If they were friends, they were friends, right?
“Actually…I told him what happened last night.”
“And he freaked?” Javier grabbed a T-shirt from the weight bench and pulled it on. Every
muscle in his torso rippled with the motion.
Zach needed to get out of there, and fast. “No, he didn’t.”
“But you wanted him to?”
How did he know him so well? He would have suspected that he’d listened to his
conversation, but over the sound of the air conditioner and the treadmill, it would have been
impossible. The truth was Javier knew him better than anyone ever had, and that hadn’t changed.
“We have an open relationship, but I’ve never taken the offer, you know?”
Javier nodded. “And now you’re wondering if he has.”
Miserably, Zach nodded.
Javier sighed, like he knew what Zach was going through and he sympathized. “Look,
let’s postpone the car for a minute. Let me make you some breakfast. You really don’t need to go
back to that hotel to be alone, wondering if he’s fucking around on you.”
It was hard to tell if he was agreeing because he wanted to have breakfast with his friend,
or if he was agreeing because he wanted to have breakfast with his ex. Zach wondered if things
would always be this weird, or if it was just because he’d made an ass of himself the night
before. But he said yes, anyway.
Javier took a quick shower and joined Zach back in the kitchen. “I was thinking about
your problem, and you know, it seems like there’s only one solution.”
“Ask him?” It wasn’t like Zach hadn’t thought of that himself. “I don’t have the balls.
What happens if he has been with someone else? What if he’s been with a bunch of guys?”
“This is why we would never have worked out in an open relationship,” Javier said,
cracking eggs into a ceramic bowl. “We would both have been exactly in the same spot you’re in
right now.”
“That’s why I didn’t agree to it, I knew us too well.” He hadn’t agreed to it with Javier,
but he’d been okay with it when Domenic had set it as a parameter before they’d moved in
together. What did that say about his feelings for Domenic, then, if he’d wanted to protect Javier,
but not Domenic?
“Maybe Domenic feels the same way. Maybe he’s casually blowing it off because he
doesn’t want to hear about it if you do sleep with someone else.”
“Then why would he have brought it up in the first place?” Zach groaned. “See, I always
say, this kind of arrangement never works out. Someone always gets hurt.”
“But if Domenic isn’t hurt, and you’re not hurt…” Javier let the question end itself as he
whisked the eggs with some milk.
“It’s not that I’m not hurt. I guess I’m more hurt by my own actions.” Zach shook his
head. “I’m disappointed in myself.”
“Well, I am pretty hot. No wonder you couldn’t resist me.”
Javier deftly poured the eggs into a hot skillet. Were he anyone else, Zach would have
told him to knock off the flirting. With Javier, flirting was like breathing. He couldn’t
consciously stop doing it, so Zach wouldn’t hold it against him.
“You’re not disappointed in your own actions,” Javier said, the humor fading from his
voice to be replaced by pure sympathy. “You’re disappointed because you expected to hurt him
with this big revelation.”
“I didn’t intentionally want to hurt him,” Zach clarified.
“Not intentionally, no.” Javier used a spatula to fold the egg in the pan. “But you wanted
to make some kind of impact on him. It would prove that he loves you as much as you love him,
right?”
“Stop being inside my head,” Zach commanded with a weak laugh.
Javier shrugged. “I can’t help it. We’re more alike than you care to admit. Always have
been.”
He got two plates, and slid a huge, steaming omelet onto one of them. Cutting it in half
with a spatula, he moved one piece onto the other plate and offered it Zach. “Hang on, I’ve got
Tabasco.”
“You remember how I like my eggs.” It shouldn’t have touched Zach, and maybe it
wouldn’t have if he hadn’t just been metaphorically kicked in the gut by Domenic. But it did,
and that felt dangerous.
With a snort of laughter, Javier returned from the refrigerator with the hot sauce. “No, I
remember that you’re insane enough to eat spicy food way too early in the morning.”
As he sat the bottle on the counter, his warm brown eyes fixed on Zach’s. Attraction
arced between them like electricity. Just like old times, his sense and reason warned him. But the
old times hadn’t been so bad, and as Javier leaned closer, smelling like shampoo and fresh
laundry, Zach couldn’t think of a single good reason not to let it just happen.
Javier’s mouth fell on his, hungry and demanding. Neither of them had shaved, and the
feeling of stubbled skin on stubbled skin was a heady reminder of all those mornings they’d
woken up together. Zach rose from his seat, pushing into the kiss with more desperation than
he’d wanted to give. Every part of his body remembered every part of Javier’s, and wanted to get
thoroughly reacquainted, right there on the kitchen floor. They’d been apart for way too long, not
speaking even as friends, not so much as a nod or wave on the field. Now, things felt exactly as
they used to, with Javier’s hands gripping his hips as they bumped together against the
refrigerator door. Nothing was more painful than history, Zach decided, because it couldn’t be
rewritten.
And then he thought of the history he was writing for Domenic. It would be one thing,
Zach figured, if he was just trying to get some strange, but he still had feelings for Javier, no
matter how hard he tried to deny them. Maybe Domenic was okay with that, but Zach wasn’t. He
certainly wasn’t okay with Domenic being okay with it.
He was about to push Javier away, say, “This is a mistake,” but Javier beat him to the
punch, placing a hand on Zach’s chest and pushing firmly. “No. You don’t want to do this. Not
this way.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Zach said, stepping far clear of Javier.
“No apology necessary. From you, anyway.” Javier ran a hand over his short, dark hair.
“I was totally out of line.”
“I think this whole ‘being friends’ thing would go a lot better if we kept it hands off.”
Zach tried to make a joke of it, but he swallowed hard, and when he sat down and reached for his
plate, his hand trembled and he dropped his fork loudly.
They ate in relative silence, chatting mostly about the team and how the season had been
going. Nice, safe topics of conversation, until they were joylessly done eating eggs and could get
into the car and go. At the bar, they said a quick, friendly goodbye, and that was it. There was no
agreement to hang out again sometime soon, not even a “see you later”. Hopefully, they
wouldn’t even sit near each other on the plane that night.
Back in his suite, Zach sat in the feeble daylight from the one window in the sitting area,
examining what the hell had actually happened. When Javier had broken things off with him,
he’d been nothing short of destroyed. Teenage girls had been less dramatic over break ups. He’d
been way more manly than a teenage girl, of course, and he’d limited his bouts of very manly
crying to the privacy of his own apartment, but it had taken a lot to face the start of the season
that year. Every inch of that ballpark had held memories of their relationship. The pain was
inescapable and indescribable.
Yet here he was, about to fall into the same trap as he had the last time. Javier knew he
was with someone, so the kiss couldn’t have meant as much as Zach might, shamefully, want to
believe it had. It was pretty much a guarantee that it had meant nothing other than Zach was safe,
familiar, and kind of available. It didn’t mean Javier wanted him back.
Besides, there was Domenic. When Zach had met Domenic, he’d still been a mess.
Through his patience and understanding—he’d recently been through a bad ending of
relationship, himself—Domenic had helped Zach heal from the damage Javier had left in his
wake. Was he going to pay him back by running straight into traffic again?
Resting his head on the back of the couch, Zach examined the popcorn ceiling. He hated
this hotel room, but he didn’t long for home the way he had been for days. Such was the danger
of Javier.
He glanced guiltily at his phone. It was not a great idea to jump on the phone to Domenic.
Not only was he busy, no one wanted to be bothered at work so they could hear all about their
boyfriend cheating on them. Maybe Domenic really didn’t want to hear about it. Zach would
keep this one to himself, and never repeat this stupidity again.
He’d just have to steer clear of temptation. How difficult would that be?
Chapter Four
Playing in Miami in June was like playing in the devil’s armpit. It was unbelievably hot,
the air was stupid moist and un-breatheable, and the visiting team’s clubhouse smelled like
there’d been a nationwide deodorant shortage.
It was hellish in other ways, too, Javier thought, glaring across the infield at Zach. The
sun picked out coppery highlights in his hair, and his arms were red despite the 50 SPF sunblock
he kept slathering on in the dugout. The smell of that sunblock did weird things to Javier. Like
distract him when he should be focused on the game. He had to stop looking over there.
Someone was bound to notice, and they’d think he was checking up on Zach because he
perceived a weakness in their defense.
He shifted on his feet as the next batter stepped into the box. Terrance Glover, one of the
best hitters on the Gators. He gave Javier a friendly nod. Terrance was a good guy.
The sweat ran in rivulets down Javier’s face behind his mask. He was going to wilt like a
lily before he got his first at bat in the next inning. They’d gone down one, two, three in the two
innings before, and he wasn’t flattering himself that he’d be doing any better. He wasn’t a
terrible hitter, but he wasn’t as good as some of the other guys.
He signaled to the pitcher, Derek Sands, suggesting a changeup. When the pitcher shook
it off, Javier was surprised. They’d been mostly in sync all day. He signaled a fastball, and Derek
nodded, raising his glove to nudge the bill of his cap before rearing back into his throw. Javier
braced himself and kept an eye on the pitcher’s arm to catch the release. It was easier for Javier
to anticipate the trajectory of a small object hurtling toward him at upward of ninety-nine miles
an hour than it was to try and track it with his eyes. The ball hit his mitt with a muffled thwomp,
and the force rocked him back on his heels a little. A clean strike, the ball was in his hand before
Glover could check his swing.
Javier and Derek agreed on the next signal, a split-seam fastball. Slower, but a lot
clumsier for the hitter. Another strike. On the next pitch, Derek tried for a cutter, and added a
ball to the count.
Come on, man, Javier willed silently. Let’s get this over with so I can stretch my legs.
The next pitch was a good old fashioned two-seam fastball, and Glover swung for it,
harder than a batter should swing for a pitch like that. Maybe he was as frustrated with the heat
as Javier was, and just wanted to get it over with.
Walking into the dugout, Javier grinned at the sight of Zach’s pristine uniform. “Haven’t
gotten on the ground much yet, huh?”
“Most boring fucking game in the history of boring fucking games,” Zach mumbled,
shielding his mouth with one hand so a camera couldn’t pick up his words.
It was nice to sit with him in the dugout, even if it wasn’t exactly like old times.
“Okay, guys, let’s get back in this,” Ken Holmes said, pacing up and down the bench. He
wasn’t committed to a rousing Braveheart-style speech or anything, not this early in the game,
but he was starting to look a little annoyed.
“You’re on deck,” Holmes said, motioning to Javier.
“Wish me luck,” he said as he got to his feet. Zach nodded, and then he smiled. His
perfect, heart-stopping, All-American down-home smile.
Javier almost tripped over his own feet going up the steps to the warning track. He picked
up his bat and reminded himself that the butterflies in his stomach were uncharacteristic at-bat
nerves, not anything to do with Zach. And men didn’t get butterflies, anyway. They got…bats.
Or something else bad ass.
Baird smacked a clean hit into centerfield, but it sailed over the head of the CFer and
dropped like a stone just before the wall. Baird was off like a shot. For a chubby guy, he could
really move, at least, ninety feet at a time. Javier grinned as he watched his teammate hustle up
to first base and halt.
With a man on, stepping up to the plate usually upped the pressure to get a hit. The heat,
the distraction of having Zach watching him from the dugout, and the non-butterflies all
conspired in Javier, to the point that when he got into a comfortable stance and saw the pitcher
let go of the ball, he’d already resigned himself to a strike out.
When his bat connected, it surprised him so much, he didn’t think to actually run for
about a heartbeat. That was a heartbeat too long, but he took off then, watching the ball warily as
it cleared the top of the wall and bounced into the stands.
Holy shit, it’s not foul.
He slowed up, just a little, and slapped hands with the first base coach as he jogged past
and headed to second. A two run homer was a good day at bat for, well, anybody. But it was
phenomenal for him.
He didn’t want to give himself too much credit, but after his at-bat, the game really
turned around. Even though he didn’t get a hit for the rest of the game, he couldn’t help but feel
proud when they ended the ninth ahead by two runs.
On his way to the locker room, Zach slapped him on the back. “Good game.”
It shouldn’t have meant more to him than the ones coming from his other teammates, but
damn Zach, it did.
* * * *
They weren’t lodging in the best hotel in Miami, but it certainly wasn’t the worst. Javier
looked down at the glittering aquamarine pool from his room on the twelfth floor, and for the
first time in a long time, seriously contemplated leaving his room on a road trip.
Usually, all he really wanted out of a stop on the road was a bed that wasn’t too
uncomfortable and room that didn’t swing between extremes in temperature. But he was too
caught up and excited about his own greatness earlier in the day, and he wanted to celebrate.
Even if it was just a stupid dunk in the pool.
The problem was, there would be people downstairs. It amazed him how many fans
followed them on the road. Yeah, it was flattering, but it wasn’t awesome when they came up
and asked for autographs in the lobby and acted offended when you were too tired to chat.
He picked up the phone and dialed Chris’s room. He took a long time to answer and
snapped, “What?” when he finally picked up.
“Hey, I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” Javier tried to look sincerely concerned at that
prospect. Sure, Chris couldn’t see the expression over the phone, but he might be able to hear it.
“I’m in for the night, man,” Chris said, preemptively cutting off any attempt to get him
out of his room.
“Old man.” Javier hated himself, but he asked anyway. “You happen to know Zach’s
room number?”
“Zach? I don’t know, 1214?” Chris made an impatient noise. “Look, I’m gonna go, I’m
supposed to Skype Maggie in about two minutes.”
So that’s why Chris was staying in. Not that he didn’t usually stay in. It was just awfully
cute that he was staying in to chat via computer to his girlfriend.
Javier held the phone in his hand, one finger pressing the switch hook as he considered. If
he called Zach, what was the poor guy going to think? That his ex was booty calling him? That’s
exactly what it would sound like to Javier, if their roles were reversed.
It wasn’t that Javier wouldn’t love to fuck Zach again. In fact, ever since they’d kissed,
he’d been basically consumed with thoughts of fucking Zach. Some weird, possessive part of
him wanted to know that he was better than Hollywood, that there really was something between
the two of them. But not like this. Not when it would be just a random road trip fuck, while
Zach’s heart still belonged to someone else.
Javier slid the phone back into the cradle. He got about two steps from the desk before he
was back, grabbing up the handset.
Zach answered on the first ring. Was he expecting a call? Javier wiped his suddenly
sweating palm on his jeans. “Hey, man, it’s me. I was wondering…I’m not really feeling like
sleeping right now. You wanna order a pizza and hang out?”
“I don’t know about pizza.” Zach sounded like he was stretching as he spoke. “I ate way
too much at the clubhouse. But if you want to come to my room, we can catch the end of the
Hawks/Pioneers night game.”
Great. They could get together after the game and watch the game. Still, it was better than
staying in his room alone.
Before he stepped out the door, he stopped in the bathroom and quickly brushed his teeth.
He dabbed on just a little cologne. It wasn’t something that he did if he was just going to hang
around his male friends, and Zach would pick up on that. Javier would let him assign his own
motivations.
Zach’s room was ludicrously close, three doors down on the opposite side of the hall
from Javier’s. It was going to be damned difficult not to take a mental trip down that hallway
later in the night. He knocked on the door, and when Zach called, “On my way,” from inside,
Javier had to inhale slowly to calm the thrill that shivered straight from his heart to his groin.
Zach opened the door with a lopsided smile, and Javier stepped in, making sure to leave ample
space between them in the narrow entry.
Zach was wearing gray jersey cotton lounge pants that sunk low on his hips. Javier
watched the slight rise of muscular buttock visible above the waistband, and he almost bit his
damn lip. Was Zach testing him in the same way, just to see how he would react?
Inside, the lights were off, the bed mussed in the blue glow from the television. Zach
padded over to the standing lamp in the corner and switched it on. “I’m glad you called. I was
about to fall asleep, and there was going to be something on TV Domenic wanted me to see.”
“Oh yeah? What is it?” Javier couldn’t care less what Domenic wanted, but if it meant he
got to see Zach like this, tousled auburn hair and strong, freckled shoulders in the warm light of a
hotel room lamp, he’d read the guy’s autobiography if he had to.
Zach shrugged. Was that worry that flickered across his face? He picked up his phone
from the bed and flicked the screen. “I don’t know. He was kind of cryptic, actually. Said there
was something I ‘needed’ to see. He does that sometimes, when he wants to surprise me. He
probably just knows they’re going to be sharing some juicy gossip.”
Javier took a seat on the floor and leaned against the end of the bed. The plasma screen
television on the wall flipped from West Coast baseball to the nightly entertainment news
program. The host, a blond guy with impossibly white teeth, looked more cheerful than usual as
the intro music played. “Out!” he shouted over the last fading notes. “Who’s out? We’re going to
tell you all about it. Also, Angelina’s brood has a day at the zoo, Obama plays eighteen rounds
for charity, and a reality star gets up close and personal with some unlikely fans.”
Javier shifted uncomfortably on the floor. He really, really hoped Zach and Domenic
were big reality television fans.
“Thanks for joining us on a lovely Thursday night,” the host smarmed into the camera.
“Shocker out of Hollywood, blockbuster director Domenic G has come out, telling gossip blog
The West Hollywood Reporter, quote, ‘I’m happy with my life, I’m happy to be a gay man. I
have a great partner, and I don’t see why we need to hide anymore.’”
“Oh shit,” Zach said, very quietly, and Javier looked up. Zach stood beside the bed, his
eyes wide. Javier swore he could see Zach’s pulse in his pupils, fearful like a cornered animal.
Javier briefly considered reaching up and turning off the television. But that wouldn’t
stop the guy on television from talking. Either way, it seemed like with his next breath, he was
going to out Zach against his will.
“And that partner?”
Javier braced himself. In a way, he was glad he was here. Zach shouldn’t have to go
through it alone.
“None other than the star of G’s latest film, Days of Seoul, Ryan Tyler.”
Relief washed over Javier. They’d gotten it wrong, they’d outed the wrong guy. He’d just
started to worry about what they might print in a retraction, when Zach dropped on the edge of
the bed, his head in his hands. On the television, Ryan Tyler, action star, held hands with some
douchey-looking guy in an ironically faded denim jacket and an Ed Hardy shirt. That must have
been Domenic.
Millions of people across America just saw Zach’s boyfriend cheating on him, and Zach
hadn’t seen it coming.
Javier got to his feet and turned off the television as the host rambled on about the movie
the two were filming at a studio in LA. Where had Zach said Domenic was supposed to be?
Myanmar?
Zach sat motionless on the edge of the bed, his head still in his hands. He wasn’t a
comfortable crier; at least, he hadn’t been when they’d been going out, so Javier didn’t know
exactly what to do.
So, he said the first thing that came to mind. “Do you want me to do anything?”
With a sharp laugh, Zach lifted his head. “Why, are you going to go beat him up?”
An inappropriate smile tugged at Javier’s mouth. “I couldn’t think of anything else to
say.”
Eyes shining with tears, Zach covered his mouth with one hand, scrubbing over the
coppery stubble on his jaw. “Well, I’m pissed off, obviously. I know we had an ‘open’”—he
made quotes in the air with his fingers—“relationship. But I always thought that meant just sex.
Not actively pursuing another boyfriend. Or ‘partner’.” He did the quotes thing again, disgust
twisting his lips into a sneer. “God, I hate that word.”
“Yeah?” Javier knew that already. “I’m sorry. This is a shitty way to break up with
someone.”
Zach’s expression froze for a heartbeat. He wet his lips and swallowed, like he was
physically sick. “Honestly? I was so shocked by seeing it on TV, I forgotten he’d told me to
watch it.”
The defeat in Zach’s posture reminded Javier of what he’d seen in the dugout during the
last game of last season. Elbows on knees, head down, propped on hands clasped not in prayer,
but as if holding a lifeline. Going into that last inning, they’d accepted their loss as inevitable. It
was clear that was what Zach had done, and not for the first time.
“You guys have been having problems for a while.” It wasn’t a question, and Javier knew
Zach couldn’t lie to him. He’d never been able to.
“No, not problems. Not really.” Zach shrugged. “Except for infidelity, but what I didn’t
know wasn’t hurting me. We just grew apart. Domenic is in the editing room or supervising
rewrites, I’m out on the road from March to hopefully October, I’m sure as hell not in LA. We
just had our different things. I would have appreciated it if he’d broken up with me without the
dramatics—”
“Yeah, that’s pretty drama queen,” Javier laughed, grateful for the ease of tension in the
room. His chest ached. The reason he’d broken up with Zach in the first place was because he
didn’t want to see him like this. While it helped that Javier hadn’t caused the pain, he still didn’t
want to see it.
On instinct, he laid his arm over Zach’s shoulders. It was a stupid move: that much
became obvious the moment their bare skin touched. Javier’s muscles tensed. If he pulled his
arm away, was he acknowledging the spark of physical attraction that his body remembered?
Zach hadn’t moved away. Didn’t he feel it? Should Javier want him to?
With a sudden intake of breath, Zach stood. “Hey, I know I said we could hang out,
but…I just want to be alone.”
“I understand.” Javier didn’t want to overstep his boundaries, and he really didn’t want to
be the nearest available mistake. “That was really unfair of him. You deserve better than that,
Zach.”
Later, in his own room, Javier suffered through a guilty, sleepless night. Zach did deserve
better than what he’d been dealt in relationships, and Javier had been one of those assholes who
hadn’t given it to him.
He wasn’t about to make that mistake again.
Chapter Five
Javier gave it two weeks. Two weeks before he would bring up the breakup to Zach.
Their contact during those two weeks was friendly, but brief, normal clubhouse chit-chat, which
was easy to do on a long road trip. They returned home and even got a two days off, days during
which Javier picked up the phone several times, only to convince himself to put it right back
down again. Zach needed space to process bad news, he always had.
It was very difficult not to pick up the phone at twelve AM on day fifteen, but Javier
managed it. He waited until six PM, took a deep breath, and punched in Zach’s number.
“Hey, it’s me. Javier,” he replied when Zach answered uncertainly.
“Oh, hey,” Zach said. Was that relief in his voice? Had he been expecting—no,
dreading—someone else?
“Look, you were holding it together pretty good on the road, but I needed to check up on
you…” He let the sentence end, wishing he’d thought further than just “I’ll call Zach” before
he’d actually dialed the number.
“You wanted to make sure I didn’t come home and hang myself from my shower rod?”
Zach laughed. “No worries. It won’t hold my weight, I already checked.”
“That’s not funny,” Javier scolded. “I know that this is hard for you. I can’t even imagine
what you must be feeling. And I wanted to…”
He paused. What did he want? He wanted Zach, but that might not be a possibility. After
all, he’d been the one who’d called things off. “I want to be a better friend to you than I was a
boyfriend. I want to know you’re okay.”
Even over the phone, Javier heard Zach’s intake of breath. So, he could still be surprised.
“I’m okay. Really.”
“Why don’t you come over?” Javier panicked as the words slipped out. What was he
doing? This was going to sound like a sleazy come on. Like the absolute worst sleazy come on.
To his surprise, Zach answered easily, “Okay. I actually have something I wanted to talk
to you about, anyway.”
Zach agreed to pick up some steaks on his way over, and Javier went to the kitchen to
make a quick salad then out on the veranda to change the tank on the gas grill. When Zach
arrived, he let himself in, just like old times, and dropped a plastic shopping bag on the counter.
So, Zach had something he wanted to talk about. Javier wiped his palms on his jeans as
he headed through the glass doors from the veranda. He wasn’t holding out hope that it was a
“Let’s get back together,” talk. Javier had been the one who’d dumped Zach, he doubted Zach
was about to risk another rejection hot on the heels of the last one. Still, Javier felt a weird, giddy
anticipation, like he was about to get a present or something.
And really, just having Zach there was present enough for two Christmases. Javier had
missed him more than he’d realized during their year apart.
“I did what I could,” Zach said in lieu of greeting, pulling two plastic-wrapped foam trays
from the bag. “Not the best selection at six-thirty on a Thursday, but there you have it.”
“Nah, these will be fine.” Javier took the trays with him to the veranda, where he opened
them and slapped the meat onto the grill. “Get a couple beers out of the fridge, would you?”
They fell into an unexpectedly easy rhythm, chatting and drinking as Javier grilled the
steaks. When Javier said, “I think we’ve got Vancouver sewn up,” Zach agreed without
hesitation. When Zach commented on the sloppy pitching of that reliever in Miami, they both
laughed. By the time they sat down with their food and their second beers, it had started to feel
more comfortable, less like two exes hanging out and more like just two guys.
“Can I be sappy for a minute?” Zach asked during a comfortable lull in conversation.
Javier nodded, keeping his eyes on his half-empty plate, because he didn’t want to look at
Zach and have him see any crazy hope in his eyes or something. We’re just friends, he reminded
himself.
“It’s nice to have a friend to talk to,” Zach said, his voice uncharacteristically wobbly
with emotion. “I mean, someone who gets everything. You know what I’m saying?”
Javier let out a breath of mingled relief and disappointment. “Yeah, I do know. I’m real
close to Chris, you know, I can bitch to him about stuff with the game, but I can’t tell him about
the rest of it.”
“About how tough it is to be a closeted pro ball player?” When Javier looked up, a smile
dimpled Zach’s cheek. “I know. I couldn’t even really talk to Domenic about that, because he
kept saying, ‘I know exactly how you feel.’ He worked in Hollywood; he was more or less out,
just not out out. I felt so isolated in LA, because no one seemed to get it.
“You know what the worst part of it is?” he asked, after a pause. “I’ve been looking
forward to going home. This whole time, I’ve been missing home. And then I find out there
never was any home, and I’m not going back there.”
Ouch. It was one thing to get dumped, another to lose your home. “Hey, maybe you could
find something around here. You know, if you planned to stay.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I was kind of hoping you would be able to
hook me up with whoever showed you this place.” Zach looked down at the table, idly toying
with his bottle top. Javier knew then that he’d shown a little too much on his face, gave away a
little too much hope in his expression. Zach shrugged. “It’s not like I’m going to stay in LA.
There isn’t anything there for me now, and it was never really my scene. Might as well get
comfortable here.”
“It’s a nice little town. If I ever got sent somewhere else… I don’t know, I’d probably
keep this place to come back to.” He smiled as he looked down the slate stairs at the patio below.
“You only get to use your pool about two months out of year though.”
They both laughed at that.
“Of course, I can get you the agent’s number,” Javier said, picking up their plates. Zach
grabbed their beers and followed him into the kitchen. As soon as the doors were shut behind
them, he stopped, eyes closed, and breathed in deeply and dramatically.
“That’s what I’m looking for,” he said, opening his eyes finally. “Some place that smells
like a home. Not like a suite some lonely businessman has been stinking up with hookers and
cigarettes for the past six months.”
“And you think this place smells like home?” Javier smiled to himself as he scraped their
plates into the trash. If Zach thought his place was that comfortable, maybe he wouldn’t mind
staying in it. For the night, or maybe for a little while longer.
No. We are not going down rebound road with him. He took a breath and shook his head,
grateful that Zach was distracted, pacing in front of the wrought-iron and glass doors.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not your house. Maybe it just feels good to be around you.”
Zach kept his gaze fixed on something beyond the glass, as if just pretending his remark were
nonchalant would make it so.
Javier couldn’t let that pass without saying something. He rinsed off the plates and wiped
his hands on the dish towel as he turned to face him. “Look, I know you’re hurting right now—”
“And you don’t want to be the rebound guy. I know.” Zach shook his head. “No, I’m not
angling for that. I just feel like being here, with you, it’s just highlighting everything that was
wrong with me and him.”
Javier didn’t know what to say to that. He knew if he tried to speak, his voice would
come out all raspy and emotional, and they’d at least tried to keep it light all evening.
When Zach’s eyes met his, Javier felt the worst sense of déjà vu. He’d seen that pain
before in Zach’s expression, and felt his confusion and heartache. Javier had been raised in a
family where men didn’t show their emotions. It wasn’t explicitly forbidden, but it never
happened, and that was enough to get the message across. Somehow, though, Zach’s emotions
had never made Javier as uncomfortable as his own did, and that made them worse.
Zach looked away, his eyes shining. “What was wrong was that…he wasn’t you.”
If someone held a gun to his head, Javier wouldn’t have been able to resist going to Zach
and putting his arms around him. And even though he hated the honest, good guy part of himself
that made him do it, he had to say, “There was at least something you liked about the guy.”
“There was,” Zach said, pressing his face tight against Javier’s shoulder.
Javier would have been happy to stand there and hold him all night, but there couldn’t be
any kind of misunderstanding between them. He let Zach lean on him a moment more then
stepped out of the embrace he had initiated. “Look, if something is going to happen tonight…”
“Do you want something to happen tonight?” Zach asked, the corner of his mouth
twitching.
“Not if you’re going to be settling for a night with me.” Javier understood the post-
breakup mentality. He was fine with getting off and letting off a little steam. But he wasn’t
excited about the prospect of being mentally replaced by the memory of some LA lothario.
In answer, Zach reached up and cupped Javier’s jaw, his fingers flexing on his cheek in a
shy flutter before he leaned in to kiss him.
The feeling of Zach’s lips against his pushed all the caution and warnings to the back of
Javier’s mind. Everything, from the moment he’d walked out of Zach’s apartment in Oregon for
the last time, had seemed wrong. Like he’d been sleepwalking through life.
Zach’s hand closed over Javier’s hip, pulling him up hard against the bulge in his jeans.
“Whoa, easy there,” Javier whispered, smiling against Zach’s mouth. “I haven’t really
been with anyone since…”
Zach leaned back. “Wait, you broke up with me because you didn’t want to cheat on me,
but then you never slept with anyone else?”
“I didn’t really want to.” That sounded like the worst excuse ever. Sorry, I didn’t really
want to sleep with anyone, but I didn’t want to stay with you in case I wanted to. “That sounds
awful.”
“Yeah, it does. And I’m pissed.” Zach’s mouth twitched. “But I still want to fuck you.”
“Yeah, that never went away.” Javier pressed his mouth to Zach’s, reveling in the sleek
slide of his lips and the prickle of stubble around them. He smoothed his hands over the front of
Zach’s shirt, sneaking his words around kisses. “Maybe that was my problem, too. Didn’t want
to fuck anyone who wasn’t you.”
“There’s a way to solve that problem,” Zach said with a laugh, stepping back only long
enough to pull his shirt over his head.
“That’s a conversation for a less horny time,” Javier warned. He was all about making
bad decisions, but not when someone could get really hurt.
Tracing his fingertips down the hard slabs of abdominal muscle Zach had just uncovered,
Javier grinned. “You remember how we figured out we were attracted to each other?”
“I recall some stupid second-grade teasing about my sexy freckles,” Zach laughed.
That had been it, exactly. When Javier had made the remark, he’d been 99.997% sure that
Zach was gay. He’d made some comment about thinking gingers could never be hot, planning to
make some stupid follow up about Lindsey Lohan if Zach had come off all straight and paranoid.
Instead, Zach had stood there at his locker, his eyes shifting over the empty clubhouse for just a
moment before he’d dropped his towel and raised one eyebrow. Javier still laughed at the
memory. They’d gone back to Javier’s old apartment that night, and they’d worn each other out
until the sun had come up.
That had been a long time ago. Javier wasn’t fooling himself; even after this, Zach might
still never trust him again. Jesus, he might even go back to the Hollywood player, if he got the
opportunity. He would just take this night for what it was, a single, beautiful opportunity to be
with the man he loved, and the man he’d been too fucking stupid to keep.
He bent his head to kiss Zach’s neck, to trail his tongue over the front of his throat.
Zach’s fingers dug into Javier’s back, bunching his shirt in his fists. He tugged it upward, and
Javier stepped back only long enough to get rid of the damn thing. He moved into Zach’s arms,
and just standing there, skin-to-skin, was enough to take his breath away. The crisp line of hair
on Zach’s belly raised goose bumps all over Javier’s flesh. No matter how tightly he held on, it
didn’t seem like he could get as close as he wanted to, needed to. He sucked at Zach’s mouth,
groaning as their tongues writhed together.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Zach gasped, his gaze fixed on his hands against Javier’s
chest.
“Come on,” Javier said, pulling himself away from Zach with much reluctance. He
paused only briefly to hit the lights in the kitchen and check the alarm. Once he had Zach in his
bed, he wasn’t planning on getting out of it for a while.
Upstairs, he led Zach through the double doors into the master suite. He whistled, a low,
impressed sound as he approached the huge bed. “Are you sure you’ve been sleeping in this
alone?”
“Not tonight,” Javier said with a smile. “Lucky you.”
Zach didn’t waste any time being coy. They were both adults, and they knew what they
were there for. He stripped off his jeans, revealing a rock-hard erection that made Javier’s
stomach clench in nervous anticipation. He remembered all too well how that cock felt in his
mouth, in his ass, and his throat went dry.
“I really want to suck you right now,” he admitted, wetting his lips, and a broken sound
emerged from Zach’s lips.
Javier unbuttoned and unzipped his fly, then dropped to his knees at the end of the bed.
He patted the duvet. “Sit down.”
Zach didn’t have to be told twice. He sat on the edge, his legs spread on either side of
Javier’s body, cock bouncing eagerly just inches from Javier’s face.
Javier’s fingers flexed on his own thighs. He wanted to grip that erection and take it into
his mouth, but teasing Zach had always been its own reward. Javier leaned forward and kissed
Zach’s inner thigh once, twice, let his tongue snake out and lave a wet little trail almost to the
crease where his leg met his hip. Then, drawing back, he blew over the wet trail he’d left. The
muscle in Zach’s thigh trembled.
“You’re such a fucking tease,” Zach laughed desperately.
“And you’re still here,” Javier pointed out, pressing his cheek against the pale white flesh
on the inside of Zach’s leg. His nose briefly, barely nudged the heavy pink swell of Zach’s balls.
When Zach answered, it was through an audibly held breath. “It’s easier to be patient
when you know it’s worth the wait.”
“Mmm. You always knew how to sweet talk me,” Javier said, his mouth closing over a
few of the auburn hairs just beside Zach’s penis. He tugged gently, then repeated the motion on
the soft skin of his sack, his breath quickening at Zach’s surprised groan. As slowly as he could
force himself, Javier traced the seam between Zach’s balls with the tip of his tongue, reaching
the base of his cock before retreating, scooping down low behind them, letting the weight of
Zach’s testicles fall against his lips. He opened his mouth and pulled one in, gently releasing it
once he’d run his tongue all around it. Zach squirmed, his breath rasping in his throat as Javier
repeated the motion on the other side.
The sounds Zach made were like a song Javier hadn’t heard in a while, but still
remembered all the words to. Licking up from the base of Zach’s cock, Javier took his time in
making it to that sensitive spot just beneath the head. He dragged the flat of his tongue over the
underside of Zach’s cock, nibbling and sucking until he reached the very tip, then, slowly, he
eased his mouth over the head and sucked him in, a drop of salty pre-cum stinging his lip before
he thought straight.
“Whoa, wait,” Zach said, sinking his hand into Javier’s hair and drawing him up. “I
didn’t really think about this before, and I sure hate to bring it up now, but you haven’t been with
anyone since me. I have been with someone else since we broke up, and he wasn’t as
monogamous as he led me to believe. We need to be careful.”
Javier grimaced. The thought of that LA jack-off putting Zach at risk made him want to
track the guy down and beat the hell out of him. It wasn’t a nice impulse, but it seemed rational
enough. He got to his feet, leaving Zach there, cock still glistening with saliva, and went to the
nightstand. He’d been unwittingly celibate, but not totally unprepared, so there was an unopened
box of condoms in the drawer. He pulled it out and tossed it on the bed. There wasn’t a reason to
rush. He grabbed a bottle of lube from the drawer, as well, and stripped the plastic seal off.
Popping the top, he squeezed a liberal amount onto his palms.
Leaning back with his hands behind his head, Zach watched every movement Javier
made. Knowing he was the center of all that focused attention made him go slower, take more
time. He slowly worked the lube over his hands, added more and watched as Zach’s eyes got
wider. Then, hands slippery and wet, he knelt over Zach on the bed, straddling his thighs.
“Oh, fuck,” Zach groaned as Javier gripped his cock in the cradle of his dripping hands.
He pumped up and down slowly, coating Zach with the lube as he squeezed and stroked.
He could get them both off this way, had, in the past. But he wanted more tonight. Even
as a part of his brain warned that sex did not equal a relationship, his heart wanted to believe it
did. His brain and his heart were going to have a long, long talk at some point. But not right now.
Not when he might talk himself out of this.
Zach pushed himself up to sit, leaning on one arm while he used the other to grab the
back of Javier’s neck and pull their mouths together. How could everything feel so familiar,
when they’d been apart for so long? It was easy to forget there had ever been a divide between
them, and Javier mentally berated himself for ever thinking that being apart was the answer to
their problems. The distance didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, but being with him.
If he felt the same way, then Javier would consider himself the luckiest bastard alive.
Shifting his hips against Javier’s hands, Zach murmured against his mouth, “I want you
so bad,” and Javier released him to reach for the box of condoms. His hands shook as he opened
them, and though he really hoped Zach didn’t notice, he knew he did. Zach never failed to pick
up on that kind of stuff.
True to his nature, Zach reached out and covered Javier’s hand. “Hey. Nothing to be
nervous about.”
Wasn’t there? Maybe Zach thought there wasn’t, but in Javier’s opinion, things had
gotten disturbingly real when he was straddling his ex-boyfriend. Zach reached up and pulled
Javier down with a growled, “Come here.”
Javier closed his eyes as Zach’s mouth covered his, held on tight to him as they rolled
together, reversing their positions. Now Zach braced himself above him on the bed, his green
eyes searching Javier’s face for just a moment. Was he looking for second thoughts? Regrets? He
wouldn’t find them. Even if this was just for the night, Javier wasn’t going to regret it.
Slowly, Zach slid down Javier’s body, his lips seeking out all the ticklish, erogenous
spots that, damn him, he hadn’t forgotten. Javier’s ribs, his side, the ridge of muscle below his
bellybutton; Zach hit them all, until Javier was writhing, panting, clutching at Zach’s hair and
trying really damn hard not to push him down to where he needed him to be. His patience was
rewarded when Zach sucked the tip of Javier’s cock into his mouth. Where Javier prided himself
on his slow, thorough technique, Zach used a flat out assault. His tongue was everywhere,
fluttering up and down Javier’s shaft as he took him deep in his throat.
Having been with no one but his own hand in a couple years, Javier couldn’t pretend he’d
be able to hold out. “Wait. Wait,” he panted. “I don’t want to come until you’re inside me.”
Groaning, Zach lifted his head. He felt around the bed for the box of condoms, fished one
out and tore it open. Wiping the lube off his cock with the sheet, he promised, “If you want me to
do the laundry, I totally will.” Then he sheathed himself quickly with one hand.
“How do you do that?” Javier asked with a shaky laugh, unable to tear his gaze from
Zach’s tall, hard erection.
“Pro-Am,” Zach said proudly, and then he laughed, too. But the moment he squeezed
lube into his hand, everything stopped being funny. One slick finger worked into the cleft of
Javier’s ass, seeking him out. He lifted his hips, his breath held as Zach circled the tight aperture.
When his fingertip dipped inside, Javier’s throat went dry in anticipation and a little trepidation.
Zach had always been a considerate and gentle guy in bed…but it had been a long time.
“Hey, relax,” he whispered, a lop-sided grin breaking across his face. “What are you so
nervous about?”
What was he nervous about? Javier could name about a hundred things. Foremost, that
everything had to be perfect. He wanted Zach to remember what it had been like between them
when things had been good. Not just the sex, though he wanted that to be perfect, too. He wanted
Zach to remember the closeness, the feeling of being safe together. It was what had made their
relationship so strong and so damned hot.
Zach took his time, stretching and massaging with one hand, while the other hand and his
mouth did wicked things to Javier’s cock, things that made him buck his hips and moan words
that came out on autopilot. When Zach finally rose over him, slicking lube down his sheathed
erection, Javier felt as out of breath as if he’d just been on a hard run. Like running from second
to home, he thought, and that made him want to laugh, because the terminology was so fucking
apt.
The head of Zach’s cock pushed against Javier’s ass, and Javier scooted back, making
Zach follow him until they were both comfortably in the middle of the bed.
“Like this?” Javier asked, pulling his knees up.
Zach covered him with his body, guiding his erection back to the slick, lubed heat
between Javier’s cheeks. “Yeah, I want to see your face.” Zach’s voice was low and rough, and
Javier’s stomach clenched at the naked desire he heard there.
Slowly, Zach pushed forward, and Javier welcomed him in, past the stinging resistance,
past the cold chills that raced down his sides. Zach went carefully, pausing in his progress to ask
if Javier was okay, if it felt good.
Did it feel good? Better than ice water on a hot day. Better than comfortable shoes or
clean sheets. Better than anything Javier had felt in a long time. Since he’d last been with Zach,
actually. When Zach sank in all the way, when he flexed that long, hard cock deep inside, Javier
decided that nothing on Earth felt better than being fucked by Zach, and he considered himself
damned lucky to have the experience again.
Zach pulled out with agonizing slowness, setting every nerve ending in Javier’s body on
fire. When just the tip remained inside, Zach stroked forward again, pausing to groan and arch
his back once he’d gone as far as he could go. A visible shiver went through him, and Javier
smiled to himself. He would remember that picture for a long, long time, Zach poised above him,
his cock deep inside him, eyes squeezed shut tight in pleasure that so closely resembled pain.
With a trembling hand, Javier reached down and gripped his own shaft. Zach’s gaze fixed
on Javier’s hand, and he murmured, “Oh god, I could watch you do that all day.”
“I’m not going to last all day,” Javier moaned. He reached up with his other hand and
brought Zach down, strained up to kiss him and snake his tongue into Zach’s mouth.
Zach pumped his hips against Javier, his movements picking up pace. Javier dropped
back to the bed, closing his eyes. Sight was the only sensation he could block out, on the verge of
overload. The taste of Zach clung to his mouth, the feeling of Zach’s body was everywhere on
him and in him, the feeling of his own fist pumping up and down on his cock was inescapable.
The sound of their bodies rustling against the sheets, their skin brushing together, the frantic
puffs of their breath and the scent of perspiration and lube, every sense was overcome with sex.
It had been far too long.
Pressing a hand on each of Javier’s knees, Zach pistoned inside of him, short strokes
alternating with longer ones, until he abandoned any creativity in his rhythm and just pounded,
hard and fast. Javier felt the beginning of his orgasm deep in his groin, raced toward it, urged it
on as he rocked under Zach’s thrusts. Javier opened his mouth to say, “I’m going to come,” but it
didn’t quite make it out. Instead, he just managed an unintelligible noise as his balls drew up and
he shot jerking slashes of cum over his chest and stomach.
“Oh, fuck,” Zach cursed, his eyes wide as he watched Javier slowly squeeze the last few
drops from the tip of his cock. Zach’s head dropped back, and he tensed, hips slapping against
Javier’s ass with quick, desperate thrusts. He drove deep and shuddered with a groan, every
muscle in his body standing out as he went rigid, then collapsed over Javier in a sweaty, loudly
breathing heap.
There wasn’t anything else to do but put his arms around him, and bury his face against
Zach’s neck. How had he ever left this?
How didn’t matter, he realized. How wasn’t even a part of the equation. The fact was, he
had. Now, he was going to have to do something major to make up for it.
Chapter Six
It was three in the morning when Zach’s phone chirped.
He got out of bed quietly. Javier rolled over, but he didn’t wake. Zach grabbed his pants
from the floor and hurriedly flicked the answer button on the screen, waiting to speak until he got
into the hallway.
“Baby, I know it’s late,” Domenic began on the other end of the line, “but I just feel so
terrible, and I had to talk to you.”
Zach struggled to keep his voice down, when he really wanted to shout. “You had to talk
to me? It’s been two weeks, and you couldn’t even end things face to face.”
“End things?” Domenic sounded truly shocked. “I didn’t want to end anything. This is
exactly what I was worried about.”
“You didn’t want to end anything?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, the start of a
confusion induced headache setting up behind his eyes. “You’re living with another guy. You
lied to me about being out of the country.”
“I know, I know,” Domenic interrupted. “But you of all people have to understand how
difficult it is to live with a lie like that.”
“I lie to protect my career, not because I’m setting up franchise boyfriends. I never lied to
you.” God, how had he ever liked Domenic? Not just in a boyfriend way. How had he ever liked
him as a person? Had he been this obviously self-centered while they were dating?
“I didn’t lie to you, either!” Domenic protested. “I lied about being on location, that’s all.
You knew this was an open relationship.”
“I guess I should have clarified that I was okay with you sleeping with another person,
not sharing your life with him. Not going public with him as your partner, when I’ve been living
with you for a fucking year!” He stopped himself short. He didn’t need to wake Javier up with a
bunch of stupid, bullshit drama. In fact, it felt wrong to even be talking to Domenic. “I’ll fly out
at the end of the season to move out. In the meantime, I’m going to send your assistant a list of
things I want shipped to me, so I can set up here.”
“In Michigan?” Domenic snorted derisively. “You are so not going to be able to stand it
there. Why don’t you just come home?”
“Because I don’t have a home. I have a house full of your nice furniture.” And your lies.
All your fucking lies.
Domenic’s silence was probably meant to be dramatic. All Zach could hear in it was cold
calculation. “I don’t want it to end this way, baby.”
“I didn’t want it to end at all, but this is on you. No matter how you justify it to yourself,
you’re the one who did this.” It should have hurt more, to put the final nail in the coffin of the
relationship. But it was almost like he was too pissed off to be hurt. Zach could have laughed at
that, if he’d had just a shred more self-pity.
“Fine. Fine, I can take that. I’m a big boy.” Domenic took an audible breath. “Listen, I’ve
been offered a book deal. A tell-all. And I’m going to take it.”
“Well, congratulations, I guess,” Zach said cautiously.
“I thought I would give you fair warning. I’m going to talk about this. I have an interview
on the same show I came out on, on Friday. Watch it, okay?” Domenic said it so easily, as
though it was his call to make in the first place.
“You don’t have my permission to out me. And you sure as hell don’t have the right,”
Zach warned. “If my name shows up in that book, or on that fucking interview, I’m going to sue
you.”
“That’s fucking pathetic,” Domenic seethed. “You’re just going to keep hiding, then?”
“I’m going to do what I have to do to keep my job.” They’d had this conversation before,
and it was the memory of those conversations that really concerned him. Domenic had stated,
firmly and often, that it was none of his business, and that he would never dream of outing
anyone against their wishes. But Zach had heard Domenic swear that he would never do a lot of
things, and then turn around and do them. He used to find that inconsistency charming. Now, it
scared the hell out of him. “I’m serious. You go public with my name; I’ll take you to court.”
“Fine. Nothing stopping me from heavily implying.” Domenic sighed. “You know, I
thought you were more mature than this, Zach.”
That was the absolute last straw. He wasn’t going to be lectured on maturity by a thirty-
year-old who slept until noon and watched stupid MTV reality shows for hours on end. What the
fuck did I ever see in this guy? “I’m hanging up. Don’t call me again.”
He flicked the screen and dropped his phone to the plush white carpet. He sat on the top
step and hung his head, his hands clasped over the back of his neck.
“Hey.”
He didn’t look up at Javier’s soft utterance behind him. It was way too embarrassing that
he’d heard any part of that conversation.
Javier sat beside him on the stairs, so close Zach could feel the heat of his body through
the loose cotton lounge pants Javier wore. “I assume that was the director?”
“It was.” If Zach could have disappeared right then, he would have. It was bad enough
Javier had been there to see the actual, humiliating break up—along with millions of other
people who just didn’t realize that was what they were watching—but he had to be there for the
aftermath, too?
“If you want to talk about it—”
“I don’t.” He groaned and lifted his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a dick to you.”
“I overheard you talking about a book,” Javier admitted.
“Oh, not just a book. He’s going to blab it all over TV. He can’t use my name. I’ll call
my agent first thing in the morning and make sure this gets worked out.” Zach blew out a long
breath. “This is what I get for not being careful.”
“How can you blame yourself? You didn’t know the guy was a douche bag.” Javier
stopped himself. “I’m sorry, that’s not fair. It’s not my job to be angry at him.”
“I’m angry enough, thanks.” Zach couldn’t even agree with Javier’s point, really. Hadn’t
he known that Domenic was a bad guy? Sure, there had been indicators—his enthusiasm for
PBR and bands that sounded like they belonged in someone’s garage, for example—but he’d
rationalized that stuff away. It was a different life in LA, a different culture; he just didn’t get
it…whatever he could have possibly thought of at the time to rationalize his attraction to
Domenic.
That magnificently clear hindsight made him feel like an idiot.
Javier put an arm around Zach’s shoulders. “Come back to bed. We’ve got an early
practice tomorrow.”
Zach waited until Javier rose and offered his hand. He took it, and finally faced him.
“You left me. Domenic left me. I get not being able to hang on to a guy like you. I don’t get not
being able to hang on to a guy like him.”
“Come here.” Javier pulled Zach into his arms and squeezed him tight. “I was stupid. It
wasn’t your responsibility to hang on to me, okay? I threw away the only good thing to ever
happen to me.”
It was hard, but Zach didn’t let his tears escape. He couldn’t tell if they were happy ones
or not, anyway. He’d waited a long time to hear Javier admit that. It was a shame it came as a
consolation prize to yet another failed relationship.
He went to his bed, anyway, and laid down beside him, let Javier put an arm over him
and draw him close in the big bed. It was stupid, so stupid of him, Zach knew, to let himself be
lulled into a false sense of safety with him. Javier had promised nothing, and Zach hadn’t asked
him to.
But just for the night, Zach had to let himself believe that Javier still loved him.
* * * *
It was an absolutely gorgeous day for a home game, and Zach couldn’t have been more
pleased. Two games left before they broke for the exhibition weekend, and he already knew how
he wanted to spend it. It was crazy selfish of him to be glad Javier hadn’t been picked for their
league’s team, but there it was. He wanted him all to himself, for as long as he could have him.
Because he didn’t know how long this was going to last.
There was a hard and fast line drawn in Zach’s mind, where Javier was concerned. No
matter how good it might feel to let himself pretend, he wasn’t going to get sucked into a
situation that could hurt him again. He wasn’t looking for some grand, romantic gesture. Javier
was good at that grand, romantic stuff, so it didn’t count for as much. Zach wanted some sign,
some reason to trust that it wouldn’t be just like the last time.
He’d been more in love with Javier than Javier had been with him. It was a hard truth to
face, but there it was. The same thing had happened, clearly, with Domenic. Zach was tired of
being the guy who loved more.
Walking into the park, he noticed a lot of people trying to avoid eye contact. He could
usually sense the mood of the day when he walked into the clubhouse. It was a bad sign if he was
already sensing it coming through the security doors.
His first thought, as he passed a guy in a white button-down and khakis, who ducked his
head and scratched behind his ear as he passed Zach, was that Domenic must have gone public
after all. Yeah, they’d had their argument in the middle of the night, but the internet was a
twenty-four-goddamn-hour opportunity for Domenic. He just had to tweet or Facebook
something, and it would have gotten picked up by all the blogs, regardless of the hour. If
Domenic had wanted to make something happen after that fight, he would have.
Slipping through the clubhouse door, Zach was greeted by a bunch of grim faces. Javier
was nowhere to be seen—he’d left first, so where the hell was he? Zach’s blood pounded in his
ears. Why was everyone looking at him?
“Did you see the paper today?” Taylor asked as Zach went to his locker.
“No, I got up late,” he replied guiltily. He hadn’t gotten up late. He’d gotten up early, and
spent an hour in the shower with Javier. He could still feel Javier’s fingers in his hair, the water
sluicing down his face as he’d knelt in front of him under the spray.
Taylor scooped up the sports section from one of the rolling leather chairs in front of the
lockers. “Here, man. It looks bad.”
“‘Bengals owner faces disciplinary action for fraternization’…” he read aloud. “Wait, is
she into gambling or something?”
“Nope,” Taylor said, his deep breath puffing out his cheeks. “She’s sleeping with a
player.”
Holy cow. Zach couldn’t think of a time when he’d heard of such a thing happening, but
most of the team owners were dudes. Not that that means anything. “Which player?”
“No clue,” Taylor said, sounding a little disappointed. “Only Thomas and Vargas aren’t
here. My money is on Vargas.”
Zach shook his head. “I heard he was dating that model, the Brazilian chick.”
“Yeah, but Vargas is a ladies’ man. He’s probably got a little going on the side.” Taylor
looked suitably proud of his great handle on the situation. “I’m telling you, it’s Vargas.”
“What kind of disciplinary action do you think she’s going to get?” Did they take a team
ownership away for something like that? Was it really fraternization? The guy played for the
same team.
“I dunno,” Taylor said with a shrug. “I don’t know that they’ve ever run into this before.
But she’s being investigated. And I guess there are some other things going on behind the scene
that we didn’t know about. Mismanaged finances around the park.”
Zach blanched. Domenic was going to out him, and that would be one more problem on
the backs of these? He swallowed. “I guess we just have to wait until we find out more. Until
someone says something.”
The clubhouse doors burst open with a flurry of shouting and swearing.
“Ten game suspension? That’s horseshit!” Chris Thomas stalked into the clubhouse in
full, red-faced rage. He grabbed the nearest chair and hurled it against the wall. One of the
casters hit the corner of the wall-mounted television and brought it crashing to the ground.
“I guess this is the part where he says something,” Taylor said under his breath, and
moved away from Zach.
Beside Thomas, Javier turned his shocked gaze on Zach and shrugged.
Zach was good at keeping his head down in tense situations, and that’s what he planned
on doing at that moment. Sorry, Javier, he thought, the corner of his mouth twitching with a
wholly inappropriate smile. Good luck.
Chapter Seven
Javier had only seen Chris Thomas this mad once before, and it had been after a batter
had rushed the mound, bat in hand.
This was way worse, but a nearly identical reaction. Maybe it called for near identical
action.
Hoping he was right, Javier stepped up and grabbed Chris’s shoulder before he could
throw another chair. “Hey there, cowboy. Let’s tone down the rage, or you’re going to end up
pissing in a cup, okay?”
“Not really the time to joke!” Chris warned, stalking away. He didn’t go far, once he
realized how many eyes were on him.
“So,” Taylor said in a low, cautious voice, “I take it the rumor is true, then?”
Chris took a deep, audible breath. “Yeah. It’s true. Maggie and I are engaged. We were
waiting until the start of next season to announce it. After I…you get it.”
“People would have known anyway, man,” Javier tried to console him. “They would
have guessed.”
“But the consequences wouldn’t have been so bad. Right now, I’m still playing for her.
No one would have been able to prove that our relationship started before my career ended if
we’d just been able to wait.” He pulled off his cap and tossed it into his locker. “I’m sorry for the
outburst. I didn’t want it to go down this way. I just wanted to protect her from the fallout, and I
can’t.”
Javier couldn’t say anything, but watched him walk out of the clubhouse still suited up.
Behind him, Taylor said quietly, “Think that’s the last we see of him?”
Javier hoped not. He really hoped not.
And then he thought, I’m sorry, Zach. You’re going to be so mad at me.
* * * *
Javier met Chris at a bar downtown. Not their usual bar, a weirdly upscale one with a
taxidermy rhino head hanging just inside the entrance. It wasn’t the kind of place Chris would
normally go. It was the kind of place Maggie would go.
Nervously, Javier wondered if she would be there. He didn’t know the owner real well.
Not after he’d come on way too strong during her welcome reception. She’d been firm, but
polite, and very, very cordial the few times they’d spoken after that. It would be weird to hang
out with her, and very weird to do it on such a shitty day.
To his relief, Chris sat alone in a high-backed booth near the back of the bar. His eyes
flicked up when Javier sat down, then he went back to concentrating on shredding the napkin in
front of him.
“Oh good, I don’t feel overdressed,” Javier said, gesturing to his black button-down shirt
and Chris’s corduroy jacket.
“I wanted you to hear it from me, first,” Chris said, without any preamble. “The season is
over for me.”
“What?” Javier was pretty sure his eyebrows had never gone so high. “I thought it was
just a ten game suspension, until they figure out what they want to do.”
“Maggie thought it would be for the best.” Chris scoffed. “I stood by her, and what does
she do? Fucking fires me.”
Javier whistled his surprise. “Wow.”
“Yeah, wow.” Chris laughed bitterly and balled up the shredded napkin pieces. The short
glass at his elbow had two ice cubes in it, nothing else. He lifted his hand as the waitress passed,
motioning with two fingers.
“No, man, I don’t want to drink anything hard—” Javier began, but he cut himself off
sharply. The least he could do for the guy was have a drink with him. “So, she fired you. Did you
fire her?”
Chris traced the rim of his empty glass. The large watch on his wrist caught the light,
reflected it onto the dark tabletop. “No. That’s the fucking stupid thing. I still love her. I just…”
“You just wish you could finish out your season the way you wanted to. I get it.” Javier
couldn’t imagine what he would feel if someone told him that today had been his last day
playing.
But Chris shook his head. “No, you don’t. I don’t mind being let go. Shit happens. I was
going to retire in a few months, anyway. But I feel like, if I’m going to walk away from the team,
I want it to be on my terms. I wanted to say, ‘Fuck this, I’m out.’ And I wanted to do it to protect
Maggie.”
“Ah.” Javier could understand that, too. Way too well. “You wanted to save her from the
situation with a grand sacrifice.”
“I know, it sounds stupid.” Chris thanked the waitress as she slid two glasses onto the
table.
Javier lifted the glass to his lips, the scent of the scotch burning his nose. If he was going
to go all in, anyway, this was as good a place to start as any. “It doesn’t sound stupid. I’m in the
same position.”
“I doubt it. Unless Minika bought a baseball team.” Chris grimaced as he swallowed
down his scotch, almost draining the glass in one swallow.
“I’m not dating Minika.” Javier took a quick, fortifying sip. “I’m gay.”
Chris said nothing, but nodded slowly and finished his drink. When he set the glass
down, he said, “I know.”
“You know?” Javier made a noise of confident disbelief. “You didn’t know.”
“I knew.” Chris shrugged. “I’m not a rookie, here. You have a model girlfriend you never
see, who shows up to like, one away game a year.”
“Some guys just have that,” Javier argued. “Look at half the guys in New York—”
“Yeah, in New York. Where the models live.” Chris laughed, a smile touching the
corners of his eyes despite his grim day. “You’re in Michigan. You talk about her the way a nerd
talks about his girlfriend from camp who lives in Canada. Look, I can’t point to one thing that
proves that I knew all along, but I had a feeling. I was wondering when you were going to tell
me. Although, I would have understood if you never did.”
“Well, hold onto your jock, Thomas, because you’re just the dress rehearsal.” Javier had
come to the conclusion that the only way to protect Zach, the only real way to mitigate the
damage from Domenic’s impending announcement, was to cover it with a bigger story.
“You’re…coming out? Publicly?” Chris’s booze-reddened eyes widened. “You realize
that only one player has done that while he was still playing?”
“I know.” Javier tried to act nonchalant about it, but under the table, his knee bounced
like crazy. “And it didn’t work out so great for him.”
“And it’s bound to work out a lot less great for you,” Chris said. “You’re Latino—”
“Venezuelan,” Javier interrupted. “Lots of—”
“Lots of countries down there; don’t lump you in, okay, sorry,” Chris said, reciting his oft
repeated apology. “But they’re not going to see you that way. Bigoted people are going to see an
immigrant making millions off America’s game, the national pastime, and being openly gay
while doing it. Do you know how people are going to treat you?”
“Yeah, they’re going to treat me the way they treated you after last season,” Javier shot
back.
Chris pointed an index finger at him. “I may be drunk, but I will fight you.”
“Those two statements don’t even make sense together.” Javier sipped his drink then
folded his hands on the tabletop. “I have to do it. You know how you want to rescue Maggie?”
Chris nodded and motioned to the waitress again, before Javier could cut him off.
He let it slide. “Well, I’m in love. With a guy I used to date. After we broke up, he dated
this epic douche bag, and this guy is going to out him.”
“He can’t do that. Is this guy a player? Does he have an agent? A lawyer?” The way
Chris leapt to Zach’s defense, without ever knowing who he was sticking up for, was kind of
cool.
Javier didn’t want to disclose much information, but since Domenic was going to do it,
anyway… “He’s a player. And this guy is a big time Hollywood director. He’s going to write a
book and give these interviews, and when he does, he’s going to tell them that he was in a
relationship with a pro ball player.”
“And you think that if you come out, no one will figure out it’s him.” Chris put the pieces
together pretty well, for a drunk. “That’s…really nice of you, actually. What does he think?”
“He doesn’t know.” Javier wondered if he should tell him. Would it be worth it to tell, if
Zach would beg him not to do it? No, this was Javier’s information to disclose, nobody else’s.
“Look, it’s almost thirty years after Burke. I’m going to be honest. I’m tired of lying and
pretending to date a model. She’s a nice girl, but we have nothing in common.”
Well, nothing in common except being closeted homosexuals. But that wasn’t exactly a
foundation to build a sham relationship on.
“If you do this, everything is going to change, man,” Chris warned. “You better be
damned sure you really love this guy.”
“I’m sure. As sure as you are that you love Maggie.” Javier smiled, in spite of the
seriousness of the night. “Congratulations. You’re getting married. I can’t believe it.”
“I can’t, either.” Chris laughed. “You’ll be my best man, right?”
Javier’s shocked laughter stuttered out. “Wow. Absolutely. Yes. Yes, I will be your best
man.”
Chris took the two fresh glasses from the waitress and held his up for a toast. “To women
and men who are worth losing our jobs over.”
“No,” Javier raised his glass. “To the careers we had. On to better things.”
They clinked their glasses, and for the first time all day, the burning sensation in Javier’s
stomach eased. That wasn’t from the alcohol, he knew that much. It was a release of stress at the
realization that everything was going to be all right. No matter what happened, everything was
going to be all right. Maybe it wouldn’t work out the way he wanted it to, but it would work out.
* * * *
Standing in the door to his study, Javier studied Zach. He sat behind the desk, his laptop
open, his face grim. He’d stayed over the last few nights, not really talking about Domenic or his
mounting anxiety over the impending interview. He didn’t need to; it was written into every line
on his face.
Javier wished he could make him believe, right now, that everything was going to be
okay. That time was coming soon enough. He just had to be patient, and hope for the best. “You
ready?”
Zach looked up from his laptop and rubbed his eyes. Two empty beer bottles sat beside
him. He shook his head. “Nope. Not ready at all. Never will be. But let’s get it over with.”
Javier looked over his shoulder and scanned the document on the screen. The
nondisclosure that Domenic had agreed to. He could go public about having dated a professional
athlete; he could go as far as saying it was a baseball player. He couldn’t name Zach, or any of
the teams he’d played for, and he couldn’t write about what city they’d met in. Javier had seen
Zach check the document at least once a day. “It’s real. And you’re not going to find any
loopholes that your agent didn’t already think of, right?”
“Yeah. I’m just terrified that I’m about to watch Mr. Teeth blab my name all over the
place.” Zach wiped one hand down his face in the harsh bluish light of the screen. “I’m not even
out to my mom. This would destroy her.”
“It’s not going to destroy her.” Javier had met Zach’s mom, as a “friend” back in their
Portland days. Her love for her son was fierce and obvious at first sight. “Come on. Let’s go
watch this thing and get it over with.”
They left the study and went into the den, where the giant plasma television was already
broadcasting the entertainment channel. Javier picked up the remote and changed the channel.
“What are you doing?” Zach asked, his tone cautious and suspicious.
“We’re not going to watch that d-bag give an interview tonight. There is bigger news on
this channel.” He flicked over to the sports channel, ignoring the sick feeling in his gut that had
been dogging him all day. Too late to change your mind now, anyway.
“If you’ve gotten early trade news and you’re breaking it to me via ESPN, I’m going to
be pissed off enough to take a swing at you,” Zach warned.
The nightly sports news show had already started, and the title sequence was just
wrapping as they tuned in. Javier put his arm around Zach and concentrated really hard on not
hyperventilating or puking as the host adopted an unnecessarily serious tone to make his
announcement.
“Breaking news tonight out of professional baseball. Javier Vargas, catcher for the Grand
Rapids Bengals, has come out of the closet. You heard that right; Javier Vargas is the second
professional baseball player to publicly acknowledge that he is a homosexual during his career.
Vargas told our newsroom director in an email through his publicist, ‘I am a gay man, and I am a
baseball player. I do not believe these are mutually exclusive, and I hope that my fellow players
and my fans recognize that my achievements and the game are in no way changed by this
announcement or my sexuality.”
Zach was utterly motionless beside Javier.
The reporter gestured off camera, saying, “Vargas declined an on-air interview with us at
this time, so we’re going to go to our panel to discuss the implications of this historical
announcement.”
Zach grabbed the remote and clicked the television off. “What the hell? You didn’t want
to tell me about this beforehand? Maybe give me a heads up?”
“No,” Javier said, leaning back in the corner of the sofa as Zach shot to his feet to pace
the den. “You would have told me not to, and it wasn’t your call.”
“No, it’s not my call, but you could have told me.” Zach shook his head. “Do you have
any idea what those guys are going to be talking about on there for the next twenty minutes?”
Javier shrugged, one hand coming up from the back of the couch in an open, “so what?”
gesture. “Yeah, they’re going to be talking about me. They’re going to be talking about how the
other guys feel about being in the clubhouse with a gay guy checking them out. They’re going to
be talking about how there’s a reason pro athletes stay in the closet, and whether or not it’s in the
best interest of the fans to just keep that to ourselves. They’re going to predict doom and lower
turn out for the Bengals, and they’re going to wonder if we’re going to change our colors to a
rainbow. They’re going to call us the gay team, and they’re going to do all of that for an
audience who backs up their ignorance one-hundred percent. But they’re going to be doing it
because of me. They’re not going to be speculating about you.”
Zach stopped pacing, but he wouldn’t face him. “You timed your announcement to come
before Domenic could make his.”
“Yup.” Javier couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself for what was probably the
only Machiavellian move he was going to be able to make in his lifetime. “It won’t be big news
to anyone that there’s a gay guy playing baseball. And no one will suspect you, because they’ll
be too busy talking about me.”
“They’ll probably suspect me now!” Zach’s head drooped. “They’re going to see us
together all the time, and they’re going to assume.”
“They’re going to assume about Chris, too, because he and I hang out all the time.” Javier
stood and crossed to Zach, put one hand on his shoulder. “It’s not like we aren’t used to being
careful, hiding out. We’ll still be careful, for as long as you want to be. Hell, look how long
Chris and Maggie hid their relationship from the team. And she’s the owner. She had way more
to lose.”
“They still got caught,” Zach pointed out. “Maggie is being investigated.”
“Yeah, and they aren’t going to find any evidence that she treated him differently than
anyone else on the team. She told him this was going to be his last season pretty much the
moment she took over the job.” Javier turned Zach and put his arms around him and was
surprised when Zach returned the embrace.
“I can’t believe you did this.” Zach laughed against Javier’s neck. “You’re fucking
insane, you know that?”
“I know. People do crazy things for love.”
The word hung between them in tense silence for just a second. Then, the phone rang.
“I don’t think that’s going to stop,” Zach said with a quiet laugh.
“I think you’re right.” Javier should have thought to unplug the phone first. “I’d say we
should go out for dinner…”
“Not just yet. Maybe not for a while.” Zach lifted his head. “So, you’re back in love with
me?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been not in love with you,” Javier admitted. “I think I just didn’t
trust myself not to hurt you.”
Zach’s mouth pressed into a tight line. “You did hurt me.”
“I know I did.” This was the moment of truth, and Javier wasn’t sure he was ready for it.
“Is there any chance that this, what we’ve been doing…is there any chance this could become a
little more permanent?”
“I think that’s something we can do, yeah,” Zach’s arms dropped to encircle Javier’s
waist. “Thank you. Even though I think you’re an idiot for doing this…thank you for being an
idiot.”
The phone hadn’t stopped ringing.
“I have to either answer it or unplug it,” Javier said, leaning in to press his mouth against
Zach’s.
“Unplug it,” Zach murmured between kisses. “Let’s just have a quiet night. Because
tomorrow, walking into that clubhouse? It’s going to be hell for you.”
Javier shook his head. He’d already made some guesses as to how his teammates would
react. Only a few of them would respond in the extreme negative, if he’d read them right. He’d
deal with those jokers when they required it. “I don’t think so. And if it is, it’s just a day. There’s
a new one popping up twenty-four hours later.”
“Oh god, I forgot how Pollyanna you can be,” Zach laughed, shaking his head. He
stepped back, and Javier headed into the kitchen to unplug the phone. Then, to the study, and
upstairs to the bedroom. He wondered when he’d thought so many handsets were a good idea.
He was halfway down the stairs when he remembered his cell. He’d left it by the pool when he’d
gone for a swim earlier. He flipped on the pool lights on his way out the door, and found his
phone on the lounge chair where he’d left it.
Zach followed him out, and now he stood at the edge of the patio, aquamarine water
shadows lighting his face. Javier stopped, just to look at him. It seemed impossible that the guy
who was the best thing that had ever happened to him was still here, after all the bullshit and
mistakes.
“I love you, too,” Zach said suddenly, as if he’d had to work up the courage in the
interim. “You already knew that.”
“I had an idea.” A tightness in his chest that he hadn’t noticed before it loosened, and
Javier pressed his palm over his ribs, savoring the sweet ache there. “But I’ll never get tired of
hearing it.”
Zach held out his hand. Javier took it, and walked into the house with him. Down the
road, they might end up in different cities, on different teams. They might spend weeks, months
apart. They might not. But right now, they were together, and they were always going to be
together.
Now that he’d gotten him back, Javier wasn’t going to let him go again.
About the Author
The alter-ego of USA Today Bestselling Author Jennifer Armintrout, Abigail Barnette was born
during a conversation with author Bronwyn Green, who encouraged Jennifer to develop an
elaborate fantasy persona-- complete with nom de plume—under which to pen erotic romance.
Abigail enjoys long naps in fairy-filled glades, running through corridors in tragically romantic
haunted castles, and drinking goblet after goblet of spiced wine.
Abigail loves to talk to her readers and can be found at abigailbarnette.com.
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the city, the small man guards the Church District like a vigilante, trying to make up for his
crime. When he rescues the wrong rent boy, he is pulled back into the madness that destroyed
him as a child. And now, another cop's life is on the line...
Nick Kenna is a beat cop with dreams of being a detective. When he stumbles across a murder
and the very unusual suspect, he finds himself caught, not only by the mystery of the vagrant he's
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