“Everyone believes in you. That’s why you’re our number-one pitcher.”
He buried his head in the pillow. “Not everyone.”
God, he was gonna be the death of me.
Instead of responding, I embraced him tighter. And when his limbs finally relaxed and he fell asleep in my bed, it felt like Easter and Christmas rolled into one.
19
Maclain
It was Easter Sunday and, thankfully, I’d saved leftovers after meeting Jasmine for pizza last night. And now she was on her way to spend the holiday with her girlfriend, Tanya, and my roommates were, of course, with their own significant others.
The Pirates returned from San Diego a few nights ago. We’d swept the series, making the coaches hopeful that we’d end the season with one of the best records in our division. We had a home game this coming week, but most of the team was glad for a little weekend reprieve from the schedule so they could visit their families.
The only member of my family was out of town and no doubt celebrating his engagement.
Not for the first time, I thought back to that wedding in the sand. Had I been with my stepdad, he’d have said something about them flaunting it on a public beach. My jaw clenched. Flaunt what exactly—their love? And what in the hell was wrong with that? What a lucky son of a bitch to find someone to put up with him again. My mother had been practically a saint, so maybe Nina was too.
I’d never felt close enough to any one person to imagine sharing my life with them, and with my track record, they wouldn’t stick around anyway. But being with Girard—specifically, sharing a bed with him that night and the subsequent night as well—Jesus—had been the closest I’d come to feeling a real connection to someone. And it was definitely hard to shake.
“How’s the situation with Girard?” Jasmine had asked me last night. That was how she referred to the topic now. And it could’ve meant anything. Pitching to him or rooming with him. But we both knew it meant more, and that she’d figured it out long ago, probably the night we’d all gone to the bowling alley. Calling it the situation allowed me to never outright admit my attraction, and it gave her permission to offer me veiled advice.
“It’s…interesting,” I’d replied.
“In a good way?” When I nodded, feeling my cheeks flush, which was a dead giveaway, she added, “Hope you’re not fighting it too hard. It’s good to allow yourself a little bit of happiness.”
And that was what I’d been doing, right? Finally just going with it.
Girard had become my safe space and, somehow, I’d come to trust in that. Mostly.
Christ, that last night of spring break I’d even urged him to sit on the edge of the bed, then went down on my knees for him. I needed to see for myself what it was all about and if I’d enjoy it as much as he’d seemed to.
I’d licked at Girard’s shaft and actually didn’t mind the salty taste, go figure. The rest had been sloppy, though, as I’d tried to fit too much of him in my mouth at once and gagged. But all it took was for him to touch my face and hair while his soothing words slowed me down and encouraged me to experiment at my own pace, using my hand and my mouth in tandem.
It didn’t take Girard long to lose his load. He squirmed and swore and began panting in more urgent bursts before groaning and shooting into my mouth. It was a bit too much jizz, and I definitely couldn’t swallow it, but I thought he liked looking at how messy he’d made me. He’d grinned in this satisfied way as I’d swiped at my mouth.
Just as I pulled out the pizza box and was about to transfer my meal to a plate, my cell buzzed with a text from Girard. My stomach dipped in that weird way.
I know this is a long shot, but my mom invited you to join us for dinner.
At the bowling alley?
No, goofball. That’s closed. I wasn’t birthed under a pinball machine.
Well, you sure act like it sometimes.
I chuckled to myself.
Ass. My parents’ house is just five minutes down the road.
So crazy how I hadn’t even given his childhood home a thought.
Anyway, I did my duty. Mom asked. Gemma and Dad liked the idea. I did too. But it would probably be a bit much for you.
The idea of being with the Girards filled me with a strange warmth, but maybe it had everything to do with the atmosphere of the bowling alley. Their house was altogether different and more intimate. I’d already declined the friendly invites from Donovan and Hollister, so why would I accept Girard’s?
Because it’s different with Girard, and you know it.
I lifted my cell and started typing.
You sure this isn’t a pity offer? I don’t want to put you guys out.
Have you met my mom? She made enough food for an army.
I can only imagine.
And pity? Really? Can’t you just accept the idea that some people enjoy having you around? Though I have no clue why…
Burn. You know why.
My pulse throbbed as I waited for his response. Pathetic.
Because I like when you’re all sleep-warm?
Sleep-warm? That’s a thing?
If not, I just made it one.
I shook my head, feeling my skin pebble. God, he was something else.
So you’ll come? You should, if only for the leftovers she’ll send home with you.
I grinned stupidly.
Deal.
But as I got changed, the giddiness I felt during the text conversation turned to pure nerves. It wasn’t like I hadn’t met his family before. I had even spilled some personal stuff to his mom over soft pretzels, for Christ’s sake. They were obviously magical. Or maybe she was, and that was the draw. Right. Nothing to do with Girard at all.
I punched in the address he’d texted me, and was on my way before I could reconsider. My mind wandered all over the place, and before I knew it, I’d arrived in an older neighborhood with modest-sized homes. I could almost picture Girard playing baseball in the empty lot across the street.
And the strangest thing was that as soon as Gemma opened the door, I instantly felt calm. I knew this family; they were only in a different setting. And they’d invited me to share a meal with them just because, if I were to believe Girard.
“There you are, Mason,” Girard’s mom said as I stepped into the kitchen. “I sure hope you’re hungry.”
“I told you,” Girard said with a shy smile and, damn, he looked nice. Why did he have to look so good in those tight jeans with a button-down shirt? Now who looked dressed up? Maybe they’d gone to church or something. Easter was a big Christian holiday, and from the cross his mom always wore around her neck, I suspected it meant something to them.
After Girard took my coat, he pointed out different areas in the house, including his old room where he still kept some baseball memorabilia. I wanted to ask if his last girlfriend had been a frequent visitor here. Whoa, where had that thought come from? It wasn’t like we were boyfriends, just secret hookup buddies. Secret everything really, and for the first time, that sat uneasily in my stomach. But I wasn’t sure I would’ve been so eagerly invited if they knew the truth or if we’d been something more to each other. And wasn’t that exactly where most of my apprehension was coming from? Not being accepted, or maybe not being understood.