Now my gaze slid over to him for a long minute, which was something I avoided like hell in the locker room, especially after the shower incident.
When I noticed the bruises on his biceps, I gasped. They looked deep and painful and probably fresh from the first couple of weeks of the season. I wondered if his mom—whom he regularly talked about in an affectionate way that didn’t make me gag but rather intrigued me, go figure—was alarmed by his injuries.
His back straightened. “What’s wrong?”
I pointed to his arm. “Those are from stray pitches?”
He shrugged. “You’ve never noticed before?”
“Not like I stare at your body. I’m not…” My words trailed off as Girard scrutinized me, and I had to look away, ashamed of what I’d been about to say, all because I was so fucking afraid of my feelings.
“We’re always naked around each other. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with being curious,” he said carefully, then made a frustrated noise. “Christ, Maclain. Don’t tell me you’ve never wondered what people were packing and looked just for the hell of it.”
“No.” My pulse was throbbing in my ears. “Fuck no.”
“Okay, whatever you want to tell yourself,” he grumbled. He seemed irritated and a bit bummed—nothing new there—and for the first time all day, it put us right back in that edgy zone where we normally lived with each other. It had become almost a comfort to me, which was really fucked up.
“And to answer your question, yeah, I get all kinds of bruises from stray balls. I wear shin guards, obviously, but my thighs take the brunt of it.”
He moved aside his towel and pointed out a deep bruise on his upper thigh.
“Damn.” I tried so freaking hard to focus on the tender, purple skin, but my eyes kept straying to his cock. It was thick and lying against his thigh in front of a nest of dark, wiry hair and, holy shit, I was getting hard.
And now I was certain Girard was just screwing with me as he dropped the towel and moved around the room like he owned the place.
“Yeah, when the season’s over, I’ll finally heal,” he was saying, but I couldn’t get my lips to move. All I could do was nod, which he didn’t even see as he reached for his deodorant. “I’ll definitely miss playing, though.”
When he bent over to slide his underwear on and I got a good look at his ass, at that shadow between his cheeks, I thought I might combust right there on the spot. Fucking hell.
I threw my covers aside and stood up on shaky legs, my hair standing on end. Thankfully, he didn’t see my turmoil, too busy feeling comfortable being naked around me. “I’m, uh, gonna shower too.”
I rushed past him and locked myself in the bathroom, noticing my sweaty face in the mirror while I got my pulse under control.
Turning on the shower, I stood under the spray and willed my dick to go down. Of course I’d seen Girard’s body, but I’d never had that sort of close-up or stared for any prolonged period of time. Why the fuck did I have to be so affected by him? It was like my body went on overdrive every time he was around. And now, alone in a hotel room? My thoughts cycled between wanting him in a way I’d never wanted someone before and exasperation that I couldn’t turn this thing off in my brain.
I stayed inside the shower so long, the first splash of cold water brought me right back to my senses. When I finally left the bathroom, Girard was in bed with the lights out except for the television, which cast a blue glow around the space.
“You okay?” His tone was tentative as I slid beneath my covers.
“Yeah, why?” I asked, irritated by the question. What was he, my babysitter?
“Never mind.” He sighed, like I’d disappointed him again. Story of my life. “I left the movie on for you.”
“Thanks.” I adjusted my pillow, feeling a bit more settled now that I was safely tucked away in a cocoon of covers. “Have you seen the first one?” I asked because I felt guilty that I’d fled the room earlier. Christ, I didn’t know how to have a normal conversation with someone I’d known and played with for the past couple of years.
“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s dumb but funny.”
I smiled. “True.”
And then we watched a movie together, and it was, well…nice. Natural. I could still cut the tension in the room with a knife, but I was able to get my pulse under control. So maybe being around him more was a good idea. Likely this insane attraction to him would eventually lessen or transform into something less intense. He wasn’t too bad, after all. In fact, we had a similar sense of humor and laughed at the same parts, which was probably why we were able to bitch at each other so well.