Home Plate (Easton U Pirates 2)

Holy shit. That was so…gay. Or bisexual, according to Girard. And maybe it was true for me as well. I was definitely attracted to women and enjoyed sex with them. I’d hooked up plenty last season, when Girard had a girlfriend of his own, but this year it was proving hopeless. Why was Girard taking up so much of my brain space, and why did no one else even compare? Sure, he was attractive, and despite pretending he was annoying me, I liked when he busted my balls. I also didn’t mind hearing stories about his family, which didn’t make much sense. They still stung and reminded me how alone I was. Except being around him made me feel less so—which meant the guy obviously knew how to charm the pants right off me.

I scowled in Kellan’s direction, blaming him again for Girard and me having to spend so much alone time together, resulting in these stupid thoughts. Sure, blaming Kellan was misplaced and plain idiotic. But what was I supposed to do with this…obsession with my teammate?

Ask him to jerk off some more? Or do other things?

No. Hell no.

My stomach sloshed even as my cock began stirring.

Goddamn it. Don’t look at him. Do not look at him.

Such a fucked-up mix of emotions where that man was concerned.

“We’ve got a tough series coming up,” Devers said, and I was grateful he’d brought me out of my thoughts. “It’ll be cool to get away in a couple of weeks.” My teammates murmured in agreement.

While most Easton U students would be leaving campus or traveling home during spring break, we played straight through the holiday. In fact, we’d be boarding a plane and flying west to play a series against a pretty tough team in San Diego. The idea was to get a chance to play schools in other regions of the country that we didn’t normally face during the regular season. Plus, we’d see a heck of a lot more sun than we got here in April.

“Especially if these two are getting along,” Fischer said, motioning between me and Girard. “We haven’t had any broken furniture in the hotel rooms, so I guess no one is killing each other.”

Christ, if they only knew.

“No stabbing incidents yet. Only Maclain’s famous death glares,” Girard replied, and everyone laughed.

“You mean I’m not the only one on the receiving end? I feel less special now,” Kellan quipped, and I rolled my eyes even as my cheeks heated. I deserved every single sarcastic remark. “Speaking of spring break, don’t forget about the bake sale next week. I’ll have the sign-up sheet at our next practice.”

The bake sale was to help cut the cost of our trip, and it was a popular one on campus. We signed up for different shifts to work the table set up in the student center. The team usually begged their parents or girlfriends to bake something for the sale. Of course, lots of them happily obliged. No doubt my mom would’ve too—she was pretty involved in all that parent stuff when I was a kid. I forced that thought aside before it took me further down memory lane.

“Making your famous sugar cookies for the bake sale?” Jasmine asked, and when I threw her a warning look, she shook her head and laughed.

“What’s this about Maclain baking?” Lopez said. “You holding out on us?”

“I’ve got many hidden talents,” I bragged, and Jasmine snorted. “One night I was bored and decided to bake some shit, no big deal.”

I wouldn’t tell them that spending Christmas Day with Jasmine helped me feel less alone. Only she knew that, and not in so many words, but the way Girard was staring at me right then made me feel like maybe he’d guessed it too. There was something else in his gaze as well, a sort of protectiveness I didn’t want to admit I liked.

“I think you should make him prove it,” Jasmine said as she and Kellan gathered their things. “In the shape of little Easter bunnies.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” I whispered to her.

“Love ya too,” she whispered back, then strode off in the direction of a class they had together.

I looked down as my phone buzzed with a text from Girard.

Gardening and baking? I’m impressed.

Shut it.

You’ll make such a good husband someday.

Never gonna happen.

My cheeks flushed as I fired off that text. I knew he was only messing with me, but the idea of him suggesting I’d be any good in any type of relationship, let alone a marriage of all things, made my stomach feel all weird.

Not something I’d ever pictured for myself. Besides, how long would it take before that person got tired of my bullshit?

Maybe a good thing, you grumpy fucker.

Can’t argue that.

When he frowned, I had to look away. He was liable to say some deep stuff again that would give me pause, like seeing me with all my defenses up and liking me anyway.