As I motioned to Maclain to throw a fastball, he waved me off. Screw him. I remembered this batter had been unable to connect with Maclain’s two-seam pitch last time up, so throwing one now might’ve gotten us out of this jam.
Doubling down, I signaled the same call again, but he ignored me. Instead, he decided to throw a slider, which surprisingly led to a pop-up fly at home plate that I had to rip my mask off to catch. Thankfully, that ended the inning with no new runs.
“You’re fucking lucky,” I bit out as we jogged toward the benches. “Stubborn jackass.”
I strode toward the end of the dugout, away from him, and plopped down beside Fischer. When Coach pulled Maclain from the game, I felt momentarily guilty, even knowing it was the right call, not only because he almost blew our lead, but also to rest his arm for the next game. The problem was, despite his hang-ups, Maclain was still our best pitcher. He would be even better if he got out of his own fucking way, and that was the most frustrating part.
Maclain watched glumly from the bullpen as his replacement got us through the next three innings and set it up for Lopez to bring home a win.
Afterward, the team returned to the hotel to change and meet back up in the lobby to grab some dinner. I was getting as good at the silent treatment as Maclain, and as we walked around the city and ended up at a mini-golf place, we still kept our distance, which was nothing new. When Hollister took bragging rights for his impressive score, my mood only worsened. My ball kept rolling in the sand trap, but only because I was distracted by Maclain’s genuine laughter at some story Devers was telling the group. It aggravated and riveted me at the same time, and I didn’t like how mixed up he made me feel all the damned time.
Once back in the room, I let my frustration spill over while we stood in front of the bathroom mirror with our toothbrushes, momentarily sharing space. “What didn’t you like about my calls during the game?”
“I have to make split-second decisions. It’s not like we can debate every pitch and batter right there on the field.” His eyes met mine in the mirror. “Why can’t you trust my instincts for a change? You’re a stubborn ass too.”
“Oh no, today you took the cake all by yourself.” And last night. His lack of rebuttal as he followed me into the room told me he knew I was right. “Maybe you need to blow off some extra steam.”
“By doing what exactly?” he scoffed as he sank down on the edge of his bed and plugged his phone in the outlet between our beds.
“Jerking off or something.” I motioned with my hand, refusing to zero in on how his thin shorts had ridden up his thighs.
“What, you want me to whip it out right here?” His hand absently brushed over his bare chest, and I couldn’t help following the action, noting how his nipples had pebbled, possibly from the cool air swirling from the unit near the window.
I shrugged. “You’ve never jerked off with another guy?”
“Hell no.” His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “You have?”
“Once, in high school when I was watching porn with a friend. We both got off, separately but in the same room. It was actually…” Hot. “No big deal.”
It was another memory that had returned to me after my conversation with Donovan. I wouldn’t admit I’d been as enraptured watching a guy jerk off as I’d been with the sex scene he’d pulled up on his laptop. But sharing hour was over. I’d already made myself too vulnerable in front of someone who would never concede.
“I’m sure that would be too gay for you.” I rolled my eyes as I sat down on my mattress and set my cell on the night table. “Or in my case, bisexual. I’ve figured that much out at least.”
Maclain winced, likely still feeling unsettled about our previous conversation. When I openly stared back, it felt just like what we’d done in bed last night. And the other time before that. This time the lights were still on, and we were sitting up, facing each other.
“Dare me,” Maclain said in a strangled voice, and I could see the tension brimming just below the surface, like he’d burst out of his skin any minute. Believe me, I knew the feeling.
“That’s what it takes, huh?” I waved at him dismissively, tired of the runaround between us. “Yeah, sure, whatever. I dare you.”
As he brushed his palm over the bulge in his shorts, I held back a gasp. Was he really going for it, or was he just tired of fighting himself so much? Regardless, that small action, almost like he was acknowledging his own needs, made my dick swell to half-mast. When I adjusted myself in my underwear, his eyes became hooded, but I recognized the wariness in his gaze as well.
“It’s just getting off. It doesn’t have to mean anything,” I said softly. Because it was true. It hadn’t meant anything when I’d done it in high school, but back then I wasn’t truly aware of myself or what it might signify years later. And deep down I knew this might become meaningful, too, because of my attraction to Maclain. If anything, I’d have fantasies for years to come. But I certainly didn’t want him to have any regrets. “No worries if you’re not into it. I’ll just hide in the bathroom for a few minutes.”
“No,” his voice rang out as I rose from the bed. I sank back down, my pulse going crazy as I waited for him to make the next move.
“Now what?” He screwed his eyes shut as he trembled.
I could see how badly he wanted this, maybe even needed it. Still, after last night, I nearly balked and told him to fuck right off. But something told me to stay put, to ride this out with him. That this was his way of owning some part of our conversation—and maybe himself in the process.
“We just make ourselves feel good and then get a good night’s sleep.”
“O…okay.” He palmed the front of his shorts, his eyes focused on me.
“Cool.” I glanced around the room. “I don’t have any porn for us to watch, but…” Just watching you will be enough.
He absently shook his head as if inadvertently agreeing with my thought.
And then I just went for it, even if he ended up fleeing the room. I tugged my underwear down my thighs, and my stiff cock jutted against my abdomen. No way to deny I was already turned on just from the idea of being this close to him, naked.
His eyes were wide as his gaze slid down the front of me from chest to groin.
Why was it such a turn-on that he was openly staring at my dick?
Unsure if he’d ever be brave enough to join me, I gripped my cock and stroked myself from root to tip, intent on getting myself off. I ignored his intake of breath as I closed my eyes and concentrated on not coming right then and there before I even got started. Christ.
When I heard him shift, I opened my lids just in time to see him push his shorts and underwear down to his knees. His shaft bounced against his abdomen, stiff and leaking precome. I’d seen him naked before, but this close up, it was something else.
I noted the nice length of his cock, the wiry hair at his groin, the pearl of precome at the tip, wondering how any of it might feel against my fingers or my mouth. But I didn’t want him to think our mutual jerk-off session had gone astray, so I averted my eyes and opted for some humor.
“Damn,” I said as I fisted my cock. “I think your dick is nicer than mine.”