“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.
Once the movie was over and the television shut off, the room descended into darkness. I’d admit it was hard to get to sleep with him right there, feet away. I felt like he could hear every breath, every rustle of the comforter.
“So, when did you first get stung?” His husky voice startled me out of my reverie.
“Huh?” I asked, feeling disoriented by the question.
“By a bee. You said you were young?”
“Jesus Christ, what’s your obsession with me and bees?”
When he burst into a hearty laugh, I found it was contagious.
“Just making conversation, Maclain. We know baseball and could talk about it all night, but I don’t know much about you outside of that. Just forget it.”
I heard him shift away and felt guilty. He was right. We didn’t know each other, and I found I was curious about him—way more than I ought to be. I’d always fought it because I didn’t want it to lead to me being attracted to him even more. But I also didn’t want to be a dick. Well, within reason.
“When I was a kid,” I said, staring at the ceiling, “I guess I loved smelling flowers, and there was a bee in one. My mom rescued me with a trip to the emergency room, but I was terrified afterward, and that was why she gave me the stupid bee.”
“Do you still love flowers?” he asked, and, damn, I’d never been asked that question before. Not that I’d ever told anybody that story. Fucking Girard.
“Who do you think planted the garden in front of our house? Not Donovan or Hollister, that’s for sure.”
I heard a little gasp. “Stop it. Don’t even play.”
“I did. I mulched in the fall and then planted spring flowers—mostly perennials so they’d come up on their own every year.” It felt good to do it. I enjoyed having my hands in the dirt. It was different than the dusty kind at the field. Should even think about doing it more, after all this was over and I was well into a career. Sometimes I pictured planting herbs on a windowsill somewhere, but I’d admit it all felt a little murky.
“Fuck, Maclain, you are full of surprises.”
“Thanks?” That was a good thing, right?
Girard snickered, and I wanted to know what that was for, but I didn’t ask. He was full of surprises too and, right now, lying in the dark when he was so close to me and we were completely alone was really tripping up my brain. I’d always fantasized about just such a scenario, but it had always involved something sexy to satisfy that part of me I tried so hard to keep at bay.
But just talking and hanging with him was satisfying in a different way. No doubt he’d make fun of me for saying it. But truth was, he was sort of friends with everyone on the team, and I’d never been that social, so it felt good having his undivided attention like this.
“Do you have a favorite flower?”
“Why, you plan on buying me some?” I quipped, then clamped my mouth shut. Why in the hell had I said that?
He chuckled. “I like when you don’t choose your words so carefully and just say whatever’s on your mind. Unless it’s a string of curses, of course.”
I grew quiet because he was right. I did stay pretty buttoned up unless I was pissed or poking fun. It was my shield, and I wore it well.
“Peonies,” I replied eventually.
“There you go again,” he said around a yawn. “Why?”
“Why do I like them?”
“Uh-huh.”
I could tell he was close to zonking out. I supposed I should’ve been flattered that he kept right on asking, even when he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.
“I guess because their season is so short-lived—only a couple of weeks—so it feels like a bit of a wonder to see them. Plus, they smell good.”
“Gotta stop with the bombshells,” Girard whispered, and then after another long beat, I could tell he’d fallen asleep.
I turned over, glad for the absence of light so I could hide my smile. Why I was smiling was something altogether confusing. Maybe I liked talking to Girard about everyday stuff, which was distressing if you put it together with everything else I appreciated about him. His voice was soothing to me even as he asked his inane questions, but I’d never admit it. So, for the moment, as I slipped off into my own dreamland, I’d simply allow myself to enjoy it.
8
Girard
Getting ready for the game in a more comfortable silence than the night before felt nice. I made us shitty hotel coffee and discovered Maclain liked it black, and then we rode the elevator down together to meet the team. Almost like we were friends, even though logically I knew if we hadn’t been forced to room together, we would still be standing on opposite ends of the lobby.