Not that I expected Maclain to sit with me on the bus. Instead, we resorted to our usual routines, with Fischer waiting for me as soon as I boarded.
“How’d it go?” he asked as I slid onto the seat beside him.
Last night had been strange, to say the least. Being in the same room with Maclain had lessened the mystique surrounding him, which was a good thing. But it didn’t help lessen my raging hard-on from earlier in the evening. I’d only been trying to add a bit of normality by acting like I did in the locker room, but he seemed unnerved, and not only because of my bruises. It was when I pointed out the one on my thigh that the energy in the room had shifted. I’d admit that him looking at my dick made it start filling, which was why I’d turned away to get dressed.
When he jumped up and fled to the bathroom, he seemed unsettled, and then he stayed in the shower forever. Not that I was counting the minutes.
“Fine. It was fine,” I told Fischer, hoping my tone conveyed nonchalance. “You?”
“Eh, Sinclair is always cool.”
As I looked toward the front of the bus where Maclain and Sinclair were seated, I suddenly wondered if Sinclair knew stuff about Maclain that no one else did. Did Maclain talk to him about real things? Would he ever with me? He did tell me about planting flowers. I hid my smile. My favorite part of last night had been when he’d allowed me a glimpse of the man behind the curtain.
We easily won our first game, Maclain and I completely in sync, and I could tell how smug Coach felt that his idea was coming together. And maybe that got inside Maclain’s head and rattled him enough to let the second game get away from him. Missed fly balls in the outfield didn’t help, and even Lopez couldn’t hold on to our slim lead.
After dinner, most went off to their rooms. We had one more game in the morning before we got back on the road to Lexington.
Instead of going straight to my room, I stopped in Devers’s first because I knew some of the guys would be playing card games to pass the time. I was surprised to see that Maclain had the same idea. I avoided eye contact because I didn’t want him to think I was following his every move. After a couple of rounds of rummy, he left and I stayed put, even though I was pretty tired.
He was showered and changed by the time I keyed into our room and was aiming the remote as he flipped through the channels.
“Anything good?” I reached for my bag.
“Not really. Unless you like crime shows?”
“Fine by me. I’ll be right out.”
Once I got cleaned up and climbed beneath my sheets, I sighed. My muscles were achy, and I predicted sleep would come soon. But hopefully not too soon if it meant having another chance to get to know Maclain better. “You pitched good today. That beginning series where you held them to one run was amazing.”
“Thanks.” I was surprised to see a rosy flush crawling over his cheeks.
“Plus, you actually listened to my calls.”
“Screw you.” But there was a ghost of a grin on his face, which went straight to my stomach, and I felt like maybe I’d broken more ground.
“You have a nice smile,” I remarked, and, fuck, it was obviously the wrong thing to say because it immediately slid from his face. “So I’m not allowed to give you a compliment?” I sniffed in frustration. “Try it sometime. It won’t hurt.”
He arched a brow. “This your way of fishing for compliments?”
“Seriously?” I scoffed. “You ass. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting one, or even needing one. Not gonna hold my breath where you’re concerned, though.”
“What the hell? I can give compliments.”
“Yeah? I dare you to try it.” I motioned with my arm. “I’m waiting.”
“You, uh…” He winced. “You’re a good catcher.”
I rolled my eyes, feeling disappointment, which was ridiculous. What had I been expecting? “Gee, thanks.”
He frowned, likely noting the sarcasm in my tone. “You’ll probably be picked up by a team after graduation.”
I shrugged. “Not something I’m interested in.”
His eyes snapped to mine. “Why not?”
“The bowling alley is mine to inherit if I want it. Besides, my parents need me, and when I’m on the road, they have to rely on part-time help to pick up the slack.”
Maclain stared at me. “Does that bother you—I mean, not playing ball again after you graduate?”
“No. Maybe it would for some.” I fluffed my pillow. “But if I really wanted a baseball career, they would support me. My brother’s in the military for the long haul, and they’re cool with that. My teen sister helps out too, but I’m not sure running a bowling alley would be her dream. I actually enjoy the work.”
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—”