Rules of Play (The Script Club 2)

“Are you cold?”

“A l-little.”

I unwrapped the plaid fleece from around my waist and draped it over his shoulders, acknowledging his thanks with a quick nod before casually asking, “Have you ever dated a fellow scientist?”

“A couple of times. Neither was particularly fun. I think it was a matter of having too much in common.”

“Do you think that’ll be a problem for Newton?”

He shrugged. “Not necessarily. Some people need commonality. That’ll be up to them to figure out. At this point, she doesn’t even know he’s interested.”

“Why not do this the easy way? Tell her he likes her and wants to ask her out.”

George frowned. “We’re not in junior high, Aiden, and I’m no matchmaker. Besides, I never see Susie at the lab. We work different shifts. I signed up for helpful hints to land a date. That’s it.”

“You’re very wise.”

“Am I, though? Look at me. I’m eating a hot dog and freezing my ass off at a baseball game,” he snarked.

“And you love it. Admit it,” I cajoled, tickling his side.

George grumbled but didn’t put up much of a fuss when I wrapped my arm around him.

He leaned against me with a contented sigh that made my heart lurch in my chest as if I’d just crested the top loop of a rollercoaster. The potent combination of thrill and fear rendered me speechless.

Which was probably how the coach felt when the first baseman dropped a fly ball, setting up a scoring opportunity for the other team. The stands erupted as the runner rounded second and raced toward third base.

And me? I sat as still as possible, soaking in George’s warmth.

George sat up, crinkling his brow in bemusement. “What is happening?”

Talk about a loaded question.

I smiled, noting his messy mop of hair and pinkened cheeks from the evening chill. His goth-slash-science-nerd vibe was always strong, but at that moment he looked so damn…sweet and sexy. I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, pull him against me, and ravish him. I wanted to be naked and sweaty. I wanted to feel his cock, I wanted his mouth on mine, and yeah…I wanted to fuck him.

But we were at a baseball game, taking notes for someone else’s date. We were in the midst of a dance I didn’t know the moves to. We didn’t have a groove or a rhythm yet. We were careful with each other and trying not to be, but I could tell I wasn’t alone in this.

“The pitcher threw a wild ball and while the catcher was scrambling for it, the runner on second stole third base.” I was pretty damn distracted by him at the moment, so I was honestly somewhat amazed at my observational prowess.

“You lost me after pitcher and catcher,” he snorted, snuggling closer to me for warmth.

“That was how I felt when I was googling gay sex,” I replied, unthinking.

George jolted upright. “Ahh. You mean like…”

“Who bottoms, who’s on top.”

I made a lewd hand gesture in a last-ditch effort to cling to adolescent humor as if my residual immaturity were an excuse for my awkwardness. Casually discussing sex with the guy I’d been obsessing over was a bad move. I scanned the field, hoping to come up with a topic change just as George cleared his throat.

“Ahh. And um…what role could you maybe see yourself playing?”

“Definitely a pitcher.”

“Would you ever be a catcher?”

I stared at the pitcher, intently watching as he pulled his throwing arm close and lifted his left leg, coiling his body as he prepared to spring into action. Strike one.

“Maybe. Which do you prefer?” I rasped.

“Catcher.”

“Ah. I see.” Gulp. My jeans were already constricting my balls, and now I was aching all over. But I couldn’t seem to shut up. “Why…catcher?”

“ ’Cause I like dick,” he replied matter-of-factly, meeting my eyes with that familiar mischievous look that turned me inside out.

We held a long stare. Challenge, heat, desire, and need rippled between us. The usual thread of easy humor was present too, ready and waiting. I could bail at any second. I could make a joke, he’d go along with it, and we’d be safe again.

Fuck safe.

I leaned in and lowered my voice. “What do you like specifically?”

“I specifically like the way it feels.”

“Okay…”

“And I like the power exchange between men.” He shot a Cheshire-cat grin my way, adding, “A lot.”

“Power exchange?” I knitted my brow.

George cocked his head. “How honest do you want me to be, Aiden?”

“Very honest.”

“Okay. I like getting fucked.”

Yeah, I know. I’d asked for that. But I wasn’t prepared for the flash of heat that consumed me.

“I see,” I whispered.

“Hard and rough. I don’t want to be in pain, but I like when someone else is in control.”

I was now a one-man blazing inferno. No kidding. George was bundled in layers of clothes, shivering beside me while I was sweating like a pig. Literally. I plucked at the collar of my shirt and focused on the catcher squatting behind home plate, wondering if I’d ever see a baseball game the same again.