Home Plate (Easton U Pirates 2)

He got this faraway look in his eyes, like he was remembering something in his own life, and it reminded me of the time at his house with the bee. I’d overheard him talking about his computer science classes a few times with teammates, and just as I was about to ask him about what he saw himself doing, he spoke first.

“Does your mom still hate me for giving you a bloody nose?”

“No, my mom doesn’t hate anyone.” I turned onto my side so I could see him better. “Why, do you feel guilty?”

“Maybe,” he replied, but I knew he absolutely did. He’d been way more amenable to me afterward, on and off the field.

“Well, you’ll see her again because you’re being forced to attend the fundraiser planning meeting with Kellan,” I teased.

“Ah, fuck, that’s right.” He reached to turn off the lamp near our bedside table, then turned onto his side to face me as well.

“Coach has got you covered from every angle,” I threw out as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. “No way to avoid me now.”

“I’ve never tried avoiding you. I just…”

“Just?” I asked in a softer tone as my gut tightened in anticipation.

“I don’t really know,” Maclain said, sounding defeated. He settled against his pillow and seemed lost in thought for a moment.

The light coming from the restroom provided me a good view of his profile, but it was his eyes I noticed most as they stayed planted on me. All the molecules in the room began knocking and swirling in the space between us as neither of our gazes strayed away.

“See, it’s not so terrible sharing a room and being forced to talk to me,” I murmured.

“Guess you’re all right,” he conceded, and I grinned.

“Before you know it, we’ll be best friends, and you’ll have one of your stupid nicknames for me.”

He gaped like he hadn’t realized until then that he hadn’t given me one.

“Don’t push it, Girard. Bet your family already has one for you. Sounds like you’re pretty close,” he said in this dreamy tone that was slightly tinged with something else—maybe sadness?

“Yeah, each has their own variation. How about you? What did your mom call you?” I didn’t ask about his dad because I had a feeling that would be too painful a subject. When there was a prolonged silence, I knew I’d pushed my luck. “Never mind, none of my—”

“Masey,” he blurted, and I blinked in shock. “Don’t make fun.”

My stomach turned to mush at the vulnerability in his voice. “Nah. Never with something like that.”

His memories of his mom were sacred. And too precious.

And then we did more of that staring thing, where it felt like stuff was hanging between us that both of us were probably too chicken to say.

Still, this was a good start. We were never around each other alone like this unless you counted that time in the shower. No, don’t think about it. No matter how much you want to ask him once and for all and get it out in the open.

Ultimately, I decided it wasn’t the right time.

“Night, Maclain,” I said, but didn’t turn away, just kept my eyes on him.

“Night, Girard.” He didn’t turn either, but after another minute, he shut his eyes and so did I, falling into a dreamless sleep.

9

Maclain

“I see how you look at me, Maclain.”

My shoulders stiffened and my throat felt raw. “Not sure what you mean.”

“I think you do,” Girard replied in a strangled tone, and I was too curious not to turn and face him.

Girard stood in front of our lockers, completely bare, fisting his stiff cock as if daring me to look. Instead, I focused on a point over his shoulder, terrified I was reading him all wrong. Unless I was dreaming. It certainly felt like I was dreaming.

Please don’t let me be dreaming.

“This what you wanted all along, Maclain?” His voice was hoarse and so damned sexy.

“No, I—” I sputtered as my gaze roamed greedily over Girard’s bulging chest and down the line of dark fuzz below his belly button to the bushy patch at his groin. I nearly whimpered aloud as I braced my shoulder against my locker to steady myself.

Girard’s gaze slowly skimmed the front of my white baseball pants as his hand gripped his length tighter and stroked upward in a smooth motion. “I think your dick feels differently.”

My eyes were glued to the bead of precome at his tip, and I wondered what it might feel like against my fingers…or my mouth. A moan escaped my lips.

“You wanna touch me?” Girard choked out, his fist in motion while his other hand reached down to cup his balls as if to stave off his orgasm.

I shook my head, barely able to take my eyes off Girard’s swollen shaft as my own cock now strained against the itchy material of my baseball pants.