“Don’t forget about me after the game, okay?”
“It’s just until Sunday,” Tenner mumbled, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
“Yeah, but then it’s just until Wednesday again. Don’t put me in a box, Tenner. Remember that kiss. Wear it on your skin.”
Tenner let out a humorless laugh. “You dumb jock. Do you think I have a choice?”
Tenner took his mouth this time, a little softer, but still intense intense, and Ross was the one who pulled back. “Sunday. Text me if you can’t make it. I’ll stop by, okay?”
“Yeah,” Tenner murmured. “Piper’ll look forward to it.”
“Good. If I can charm her, the rest of the relationship is a piece of cake.”
Tenner snorted, and maybe it was that little bit of humor that got them both out the door.
“HEY, BATTER batter, sha-wing, batter!”
Ross tried to keep up the energy during the game, but he had to admit he was a little tired. He was tired, and Tenner’s team was playing someone else, and it wasn’t as much fun to bait anyone other than Tenner when they were trying to hit the ball.
The ball came flying out to right field, and Ross fielded it easily. Three up, three out. He trotted toward the dugout.
“Seriously,” Tenner said on the other side of the fence. “Is that all you got? That’s weak shit right there. You’d better be hitting a ton if you’re not even going to put your heart into the shit talk.”
Ross grinned, some spark coming into the game. “Don’t you have a team to captain? A kid to pick up? Something else to do?”
“God, no. I have a team to lead into last place! That I can do! And I’m on the way to pick up the kid. I just wanted to see you strike out first.”
Some of Ross’s swagger came back. “Gimme a kiss for luck and I won’t strike out.”
Tenner’s eyes narrowed, and Ross could see him weighing the odds as to whether a simple kiss for baseball would get back to his ex-wife.
“How about I don’t give you a kiss for luck, but I sit back here and admire your ass. And you hit the damned ball anyway because you’re good at it?”
“If I get a home run, will you give me a kiss?”
“Get a home run and I’ll think about it.”
“God, you’re demanding.”
“Ross, get up here. You’re first at bat!” Patrick called, and Tenner winked.
“You ain’t seen demanding yet. Get your ass up there and hit!”
Ross trotted to the plate with some go in his step. The team they were playing was good but not great. If Tenner had been batting, with his ferocious concentration, the game would be over by now. They were in the bottom of the last inning and that home run Ross was boasting about would tie the game.
He’d known this before he’d gone into the chain-link dugout, but here, crouching over the plate, the eyes of the guy he’d woken up with that morning on him, he felt a sort of thrill he hadn’t felt since high school.
And then he heard Tenner’s voice, taunting, ridiculously arrogant, and completely adorable.
“Hey, batter batter, sha-wing, batter!”
He took a deep breath, ignored the pitcher, and kept his eye on the ball. Up, up, up, down, down, swing!
And it sailed up over the center fielder’s head, clanging off the fence in challenge.
Ross was running before it even passed over second base. He rounded first as the center fielder ran out to snag it, and hit second as the guy turned to throw. Could he get there? Third? His team screaming from the dugout, Tenner’s voice loudest among them, spurred him on. Go! Go! Go! Go! It was going to be close. He saw the ball launched into the air when he only had a few more steps to get to third, and slid in under the baseman’s glove.
His team was applauding on the sidelines, Tenner leading the cheer, and as he stood and dusted himself off, he gave a wink before turning to face home plate.
The next batter hit him in, and as he jogged over to the dugout afterward, his team rewarded him with back pats and lots of “Jesus, McTierney, showboat much?”
“As much as I have to!” he told them.
He went to his gear bag and turned toward Tenner, who was shouldering his own bag and making to leave. “Wait!” he said through the fence. “What about that kiss?”
“That wasn’t a home run,” Tenner told him. “You’ll have to wait until next week.”
As Ross’s jaw dropped, Tenner gave him a saucy wink and sauntered off, like he knew Ross would never fight free of his team in time to get to him.
But Tenner was waiting for him in the parking lot, leaning back against his vehicle, grinning with such self-satisfaction, Ross couldn’t even be mad.
“You think I still want that kiss?” Ross taunted. Of course he did.
“Just waiting to see if you’d come and collect when you didn’t deliver.” Tenner’s eyes danced, but he licked his lips.
Ross wanted him all over again, but he sobered. “You need to go,” he said softly.
“I do. I, you know… didn’t want to leave you.”
Ross closed the distance between them and cupped his cheek, lowering his mouth for a hard, powerful kiss. Tenner opened for him, giving as good as he got, and for a heartbeat, the two of them were lost.
Pat’s wolf-whistle broke them out of it, and Ross leaned his forehead against Tenner’s. “Sunday.”
“See you then.”
And then Tenner got in his car and drove away.
Ross turned back around to Pat. “Is the bag of bases still on the field?” he asked gruffly. “I can go get it.”
Pat regarded him steadily for a moment. “Yeah. I’ll drive around and get you after I load the back.”
Ross strode toward the dugout, wondering when Pat was going to co-opt the kids’ wagon to do this shit instead of relying on forced labor.
He grabbed the bag and had swung around when the lights clicked off, the sound hitting him just a moment before the darkness.
He stood still, letting his eyes adjust, and was forced to deal with the fact that his chest ached.
It was a date.
It was a date to follow up another date.
It was sex, which happened on a date.
He’d done this before. He’d done it several times. Dating was pleasant. Sex was a helluva lot of fun. There was no reason, no reason at all, to feel put out because his date had to leave and go be a family man. Tenner had never lied to him, not about his priorities, not about how out he was, not about any of it.
Pat’s headlights cut through the darkness, and Ross made his way to the minivan, pausing to throw the last bag into the back with his duffel, which he mentally made a note to take to the laundry the next morning.
“So,” Pat said as Ross got in.
“What?”
“It’s what I’m asking you. How was it? Your sleepover. Or date. Or whatever?”
“Uneventful,” Ross lied. “Ate dinner, watched television, got to be grown-ups together. No serial killers. No drama.” No clowns or a trapeze.
“Yeah, Ross?”
“What?”
“You want to convince me it was no big deal, you gotta not look like someone kicked your puppy when he leaves.”