Chapter 4
4
“ O ne of the beautiful things about baseball is that every once in a while you come into a situation where you want to, and where you have to, reach down and prove something.” —Nolan Ryan
“I can’t believe it’s taken you two whole days to call and pump me for details.” I rested my cell between my ear and my shoulder while I typed. I was at my office working on a memo for one of the partners who, naturally, needed it yesterday.
“Ha-ha. It’s not me you have to worry about. It’s Aar, as you well know. I’m your safety, man. You can share or not share. It makes no difference to me.”
“Good to know. What are you calling for, then?”
“Jase can play this Saturday. Can you find a fourth or should I ask Aaron?”
I smiled at the thought of Aaron joining our traditional Saturday morning game of basketball. Now that spring was here, we could get back to our once-a-week routine playing half-court ball. We’d started the weekly games when we lived together a few years ago, and other than giving a nod to inclement weather and holidays, we tried to make a point of keeping this sacred “guy time.”
“Sure. See if he wants to,” I teased.
“Very funny. He doesn’t. He’s kind of distracted right now, anyway.”
Matt obviously wanted to tell me something but needed a little prodding. I sighed and turned my attention away from my computer. “Matt? Talk. I don’t have time for twenty questions. Why is he distracted?”
“We’re buying our condo.” I could hear the underlying joy behind Matt’s anxious confession.
“Dude! That’s awesome. Wow! That’s very… grown-up and committed.”
“Thanks. I know. It’s cool. We love that place, but Aaron is jumpy and nervous about the loan stuff and…. Stop distracting me! How was Sunday with Jack? And I’m supposed to ask if it’s true that nothing actually happened with Paul.”
“I knew it! I told the absolute, honest truth about my date with Paul. Nice guy but nothing exciting to report and….”
“ And? C’mon Curtster, I’m an important lawyer like yourself, I don’t have time for twenty questions.”
I laughed, swiveling in my chair to look out my window. “Sunday was great.”
“Whoa.”
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. I can hear it in your tone. You dig him. Admit it.” Matt was getting as relentless as Aaron, I decided, but I found myself smiling like an idiot when I finally replied.
“Yeah. I do.”
“Good. Invite him to play with us.”
“What?”
“Why not? He’s into sports obviously. He might be interested. If not, it’s your turn to find a fourth anyway. Bye, sunshine.”
I sat in my office chair, staring at nothing in particular after Matt unceremoniously hung up. Maybe he was right. Jack said he didn’t do “dates,” so maybe this was the perfect way to see him again.
Later that same day, Paul called to ask if I was interested in going to a concert with him when he returned from a business trip next week. I think he said it was a jazz concert, but I wasn’t certain. I agreed to go because I couldn’t think of a reason not to accept the invitation. Jack and I weren’t dating. We’d spent a day together and yeah, a little more than that, but I wasn’t under the misconception that the time we’d spent equated to a relationship. It seemed like a smart idea to see other people and try not to get too hung up on someone I ultimately felt was out of my league. I had to laugh that I suddenly had something close to what might be considered a social life. Maybe I wasn’t doing such a poor job at “letting go and moving forward” after all.
Although Jack agreed to be our fourth player that Saturday, we were forced to reschedule due to rain. It wasn’t pouring, but a steady drizzle wasn’t conducive to outdoor basketball. We ended up getting together at Matt’s place to watch baseball and hang out. I extended the invite to Jack, hoping he’d accept although I was unsure how he’d feel about spending time with my college buddies and me. We were younger than him by a decade and we’d all known each other for a few years. Jack sent me a text message saying he’d stop by after he spent a couple of hours at his shop.
A sudden bout of nerves made me wonder if I’d made a big mistake. This blending of friends with someone I was interested in felt awkward. I had to remind myself the reason I suggested it in the first place was an attempt on my part to keep things casual. I wanted to spend time with Jack, but I didn’t want him to think I was pursuing him romantically for fear of setting off alarm bells of some sort. I didn’t want to scare him away and I was shit at seduction anyway. If we somehow ended back in my bed, I would be more than thrilled. I just didn’t know how to get him there in a straightforward manner. An invitation to watch baseball was the best I could do.
Matt and Aaron’s place was perfect for hosting parties, large or small. They had an open layout with the kitchen and island at one end of the space with a generous living area on the opposite end. The high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows gave the illusion the condo was bigger than it really was. A huge flat-screen television hung above a fireplace and was visible from practically anywhere in the room. Their centrally located Dupont address and Aaron’s effusive welcome made their place our go-to spot for watching sports or just hanging out.
Aaron didn’t always stay to partake in our beer-guzzling, chips-and-salsa fests since he wasn’t a sports fan, but he usually visited for a while and played the part of congenial host. I would catch Matt watching him from the corner of his eye from time to time, the adoration in his expression so beautifully transparent as he listened as his boyfriend asked each of us about work and life in general. On a rainy springtime afternoon, it was a comfortable, homey place to convene.
I was sitting at the island, nibbling on tortilla chips and sipping a beer while Aaron chatted about the weather as he made a plate of nachos for the guys sitting in his living room. I stole glances at the play on the television from my perch on a barstool and made sure to nod occasionally when the cadence of Aaron’s tone told me he was waiting for a grunt by way of response.
“So when are you going out with him?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Curt.”
“Mmmm.”
“Curt!” I looked back at Aaron, who was standing with one hand on his hip, giving me an irritated stare. “Were you listening at all, or have I been talking to myself this whole time?”
“Uh.”
“Give the guy a break, babe. He’s waiting for ‘you know who.’” Matt stole a chip from my fingers, which freed mine to flip him off.
“Who?” Aaron went back to his task of piling cheese and beans on top of chips.
“Jack.”
And there he was, almost as though Matt’s casual mention of his name conjured the man himself. I took a big swig from my beer bottle, no longer listening to the buzz of my friends around me. Damn, did he look fine. His hair was damp from the elements and curled enticingly around his ears and at the collar of his leather jacket. Jack held a hand outstretched to greet Jason, who had opened the door. He introduced himself and offered him a grin and a nod before making his way toward the kitchen. Toward me. I swallowed hard, oblivious to the conversation around me. Until I heard Aaron.
“Jack? But I thought we were talking about Paul. Aren’t you going out with Paul?”
Aaron’s back was turned to us as he set the tray of nachos into the heated oven on the opposite end of the kitchen. He swiveled around gracefully at the approach of his newest guest, but it was too late. Jack had heard. He didn’t say anything immediately, but I wasn’t stupid enough to think he wouldn’t eventually. I didn’t know him well enough to gauge whether or not he cared about me “dating” anyone else, so I fought the urge to correct Aaron and downplay my involvement with Paul.
Thankfully, Aaron was one of a rare socially gifted breed who knew exactly what to say and how to encourage others to participate without any clumsy machinations. He steered the conversation masterfully in another direction without any awkward rifts. The only way Jack would have recalled him bringing up Paul’s name after Aaron paused to take a breath was if it mattered to him. I figured I was safe.
In my circle of friends, any televised sport could either serve as the focal point or as background sound while we caught up with each other. We watched whatever game was available while catching up with current events and reveling in a return of sorts to simpler times when we lived together or near enough to do this all the time.
Luckily, Jack went with the flow. He seemed perfectly at ease sitting with my buddies and sharing tidbits of his life. I sat near him on the sofa but not next to him. I didn’t want to crowd him or come across too strong, and I didn’t know how to strike the right balance. I was nervous but trying to play it cool. For the life of me, I couldn’t tell if I was doing a decent job of it, either.
Even after a couple of hours, I was on high alert and ultra-aware of the conversations going on around me. Jack and Jason were talking about a rookie pitcher’s incredible arm. I had to take a quick glance back at the action on the screen to remind myself who was actually playing. I wasn’t watching baseball. I was watching Jack. I nodded distractedly at something Matt said.
He was telling me about a contract he was currently working on when I noticed Jack as he stood and walked to the kitchen to set his beer bottle on the island. He turned to give me a piercing look and silently beckoned me forward with the slightest motion of his hand. I swallowed hard as I rose to meet him in the deserted kitchen.
“I’m heading out now. Thanks for inviting me.” Jack smiled at me kindly.
“Yeah sure. Um… I’m sorry it didn’t work out today, but we play most Saturdays, so maybe….”
“Yeah, call me. Bye, Curtis.” He leaned into my space and gently brushed his lips over mine. I could taste the faintest hint of beer and instinctively closed my eyes and stuck out my tongue, hoping for more. Jack made a low sound deep in his throat before crushing his mouth over mine. He slipped his hand behind my head and held me close as he plundered and probed. I wrapped my arms around his waist and brought my pelvis flush against his. A light coughing sound startled us both, sending a furious blush over my face.
Matt smiled and gestured that he was just trying to pass through to the kitchen. I rolled my eyes at him and bit my cheek nervously as I looked up at Jack’s cocky expression. He reached out to smooth my hair back where he’d ruffled it. When he leaned in a second time, he gathered me in his arms for a brief hug and kissed my cheek sweetly.
“Hmm.” I sighed, rubbing my lightly bearded jaw against his afternoon stubble. I loved a little scruff on a man. I hadn’t realized I’d closed my eyes until Jack spoke.
“Who’s Paul?” he whispered in my ear.
“Hmm. What?” My eyes shot open. I stepped back and stole a glance at my friends nearby before attempting to read Jack.
“Are you dating someone named P— Wait. He’s the ‘nice’ one you went out with the night you came by my bar.” The devilish smile and cocked eyebrow told me he had it all figured out.
“Well, we’ve actually only?—”
“Are you guys serious? I don’t want to step on a nice guy’s toes.”
“Oh shut up. He’s… I’ve… we’ve only been out once, but we’re supposed to go out tonight. A jazz concert, I think.” I sounded sheepish and unsure, which was exactly how I felt.
“You’re a jazz fan?”
“Well, not exactly, but I like it… fine.”
Jack threw his head back and laughed. “Good. Well, have a nice time, honey.” He leaned over to kiss my cheek before walking toward the door. “Talk to you later.”
I stood still, staring at the door for a few seconds after it closed, turning only when I felt a nudge on my shoulder.
“He’s jealous.” Matt shoved a beer in my hand.
“Yeah, right.”
“He is. Trust me. It’s easy to see, Curtster.” He clinked our bottles together and left me to join the guys watching the game while I pondered the likelihood of my inspiring jealousy in Jack. I took a deep breath and returned to the sofa. This social-life business was stressful.
Paul insisted on picking me up for the concert later that evening.
“The parking will be atrocious, and it may be difficult to find one another there. Do you mind?”
What could I say? An alarm bell was certainly ringing. C’mon. I had ridden on the back of Jack’s death trap a couple of times already but I was hemming and hawing about having Paul pick me up in his Audi to take me to a classy jazz concert. Obviously, something was screwy. In my head.
The jazz concert was more entertaining than I’d thought it would be. And Paul was obviously in heaven. He talked nonstop about the artists and instruments and regaled me with stories of other concerts he’d attended that were even more superior than the fantastic one we’d seen. His words, not mine. Although the subject matter wasn’t as interesting to me as it was to my companion, I was charmed by his enthusiasm and, of course, his accent. As with our first dinner date, I noted my attention drifting when I heard the phrase “jazz horn flute” one too many times, but the beautiful cadence of his speech kept me from being completely uninterested.
After the concert, Paul took me out for drinks at a small bar in Georgetown before taking me home. So like any good gentleman, when it was time to say good-bye, he parked his car in front of my apartment and leaned over to stick his tongue down my throat.
What’s a guy to do? Two choices. Either I could shove him away and profess to never kiss on a third date or return the gesture by shoving my tongue in his mouth. So, I kissed him back. And it was… nice. I knew I wouldn’t invite him upstairs to continue making music of our own, but I didn’t mind a little harmless grappling in the dark. Until thoughts of Jack popped into my head.
Not guilty thoughts per se, but comparisons. Jack was more forceful, more passionate, and my response to him was automatic. Whereas with Paul I was perfectly fine to keep it in first gear, making out but not really going any further. When I pulled away and thanked him for a lovely night, he smiled and assured me he’d call me. The end.
Except it wasn’t the end. He called, I answered, and another date was set up. Once again, he was traveling the following week but wondered if I were free the following Saturday evening. I was, so what could I say? I wasn’t used to being pursued and I admit I kind of liked the idea of having a date on my calendar. Chances were I’d be sitting at home watching baseball, hopefully not alone but there was no guarantee. Jack and I were new friends, and he was busy with his bar on weekend nights. True, he had a staff he trusted, but I didn’t want to start thinking there was more between us than there really was.
“My team is playing yours this weekend.”
I was at the office and hadn’t checked the caller ID when I’d picked up my cell. My attention was fixated on my computer screen until I heard Jack’s low, sexy voice. I smiled and sat back in my chair, letting myself take a break as I swiveled around to stare out at my view of the street below my office window.
“Hmm. Are you ready to get whipped?” I asked as though it were a foregone conclusion.
“Ha-ha. A fucking riot, aren’t ya? My place or yours? Wait. Mine. What the hell was I thinking? Unless a hoarder intervention was staged in the past couple of weeks, we’ll never find the damn TV, let alone be able to watch it.”
I chuckled in spite of myself. “Asshole. It’s clean. I promise. I actually broke down and hired someone to come in and do the honors for me once a week. So yeah, come on over.”
“See you Saturday, Curtis. I’ll bring the beer.”
We hung up, and I took a moment to savor how much I liked just talking to Jack. The idea of spending Saturday… oh shit! I sat up quickly and hurried to my computer to look up the time of the Braves-Giants game. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that it was an early afternoon game. But this still had the potential for being awkward. I basically was seeing two guys in the same day. One was technically a friend I’d fooled around with while the other was a traditional “dinner/movie” date. This was a new one for me. I bit my lip, wondering what, if anything, I should do about it.
“Well, what do you know? This is actually a cool little pad under all the takeout boxes and old magazines.” Jack leaned against the doorframe, wearing his aviator sunglasses and a slick leather bomber jacket. I licked my lips to check the drool before moving aside to let him in.
Jack made himself at home, carrying the bag of snacks and a six-pack of beer he’d brought directly to the kitchen. He opened two bottles, handing me one before shrugging his jacket off his shoulders. I wondered at my reaction to him. He was blessed with an incredible body, which he surely worked hard to maintain, but it wasn’t just his toned musculature. There was something in how he moved. He was very graceful for someone so big. He carried himself like a dancer. I smiled at my analogy.
“What’s so funny?”
I gave him an exaggerated cocky grin and moved over to the sofa. “My team is about to trounce yours. I’m happy. That’s all.”
“You haven’t won anything yet.”
Jack sat down in the armchair next to me. We bantered back and forth good-naturedly about sports and let the conversation morph into a “how was your week?” and “what exactly do you do for a living?” informational chat, while keeping an eye on the action on the big-screen TV.
“So are you an office-type lawyer? Tell me about the immense importance of eminent domain.” Jack’s tone was teasing but he also managed to seem interested, so I embarked on a short description of my day-to-day life at the firm.
“What do you wear?”
“Clothes. What do you mean?” The Giants were at bat at the bottom of the second inning. Usually that alone would have my attention, but Jack was all kinds of distracting.
“You know… do you wear a suit or is it more of a casual-environment kind of place?”
I’m sure my blank stare spoke volumes. Jack chuckled and took a sip of his beer. “It’s not that strange a question.”
“Uh, well… yeah. Whoa! Did you see that? Woo-hoo! Home run for the good guys!” I barely curbed my urge to jump up and celebrate, thinking that might be a little obnoxious.
“Yeah, yeah. Early in the game, man. Don’t get too excited.” Jack looked amused at my outburst, not irritated in the slightest.
“Sure, sure. Giants 1, Braves 0. Now what the fuck were you asking me about clothes at work?”
“You do wear them, right?”
“Ha-ha. Thank God my coworkers do, that’s all I have to say.” I gave a mock shiver and we both laughed. “The answer to your weird question is yes, I wear clothes.” Jack rolled his eyes and smirked as I continued. “I usually wear a suit, but more of a casual suit so I can comfortably take off my jacket, undo my tie, roll up my sleeves, and get to it, ya know?”
Jack didn’t respond, and I could have sworn it was because he couldn’t. I glanced over to see him take a deep breath and yet another drink of beer.
“Dude, we have seven more innings to go. You may want to slow down there.” I pointed at the bottle in his hand.
“Dude? Your California is showing.”
“Mmm. So what do you wear? And why are we talking about this, anyway? Did you really want to know or is this another lawyer razz session?”
“I have nothing but the utmost respect for you lawyer types. And I asked ’cause you can tell a lot about someone from the uniform they wear every day in a work setting versus how they dress in their free time. I would guess you’re always casual in your spare time.”
“Of course. Why would I dress up if I didn’t have to?” This seemed like a silly conversation, and I wondered if it was one of those times when you realize you don’t have anything in common with someone you just met and hoped to find the opposite was true.
“I own a bar, Curt. Think about it.”
“Uh, coming up blank. Sorry. I’m not… you mean, people in their free time who go to bars like yours and wear leather are relaxing in a different way than me when I go to a similar establishment dressed in jeans… or khakis,” I added with a grin.
“Yes, but you know my place isn’t actually a ‘true leather bar,’ right? Like I’ve said before, anyone is welcome wearing whatever type of ‘uniform’ they like.” Jack used air-quotes in a friendly manner, mocking my tendency to overuse them when I was trying to make a point. Knowing he’d picked up on my silly idiosyncrasy and went along with it made me like him just a little bit more.
“Strikes me as obvious but I think you’re telling me something. What is it?”
“I guess it is obvious in a way. I’m a business owner with two businesses, and though no one wears suits, usually, they tend to wear their own version of a uniform. It might be leather chaps with a harness and bondage collar for the guys who are heading to a real ‘leather’ club later in the evening or tight jeans with a leather vest with no shirt or maybe a highway patrolman’s shirt. Some guys like hats… maybe a Stetson or even a simple baseball cap.”
My mouth went dry. Bone-dry. I tried to speak but nothing came out. Yeah, I understood what he was saying. Sort of. But either way, I was intrigued.
“Are you talking about fetishes?” My voice came out as a whisper. I had to look up to see if Jack had heard me because I really didn’t want to repeat myself. I was warm all over and pretty sure my cheeks were bright red.
“Could be.”
I thought he’d laugh. Maybe give me a good-natured poke for letting my mind drift in the gutter, but no, Jack’s tone was laced with something I couldn’t define. I almost sensed that damn twenty-five-foot wave coming to swallow me whole. Out of my depth. Out of my league, my zip code. Everything. I didn’t necessarily come from a simple place, but I was a simple guy. I loved my friends, sports, and my work. Probably in that order. I didn’t know the first thing about fetishes. I took a sip of my beer and hoped for another Giants’ homer.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
I automatically rushed to assure him I was fine with the topic at hand (totally lie to him, I mean), but his eyes were twinkling again. He was fucking with me. Again.
“Fuck you. You do this on purpose, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Ugh! You are always trying to throw me off. I was about to ask if Jack’s was some kind of fetish club. Geez.” I set my bottle on the battered coffee table. I was talking too much. I expected him to laugh outright and tell me I was naive, gullible. He was unnervingly quiet again. My Giants were back at bat in the bottom of the third. I needed them to come through for me and give my nerves a break.
“In a way, yes. In a way, no.” Jack’s stare spoke volumes. I didn’t understand this language, though, and after a moment or so he relented, shifting his gaze to the game.
“What way? Are you referring to it being a prehangout before hitting the BSDM club?” I was torn between being curious and pissed with myself for asking.
I wanted to know about Jack. Even though I felt we did share a few things in common, there was a vast chasm between us. Maybe it was years on this planet; after all, he was fourteen years my senior. Or maybe it was that his interests lay in darker pursuits. Fetishes. I would have to google it, I mused. I knew nothing about that type of lifestyle. I wasn’t really certain that was what he was telling me, anyway. Kinky sex?
“I think you mean BDSM. And yes, for some that is exactly what Jack’s is, a place to gather before you play.”
The announcer’s excited voice proved the perfect diversion from the heat flash and cotton mouth I was experiencing.
“And it’s going, it’s going, it’s out of the park! That’s a splash hit! Off the fly and directly hitting McCovey Cove! Unbelievable!”
I swallowed hard, blinked, and turned to the television. A splash hit indicated a home-team home run. Another score for the Giants. I could barely remember what inning it was suddenly. I should be whooping for joy and giving this Braves’ fan some shit for doubting my team’s genius. But all I could think about was the word fetish . I had to know what the fuck Jack was talking about when I could find my voice.
“We’re kickin’ your ass,” I said lamely. I needed a sip or two more of liquid courage before I could ask any pertinent questions. How does one phrase said questions, anyway?
“So it seems. Still just 0–2 and plenty of game time. I’m not too worried.” Jack stood and ruffled my hair as he passed the sofa. “I’m gonna grab a beer. You want another one?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
I used his absence to calm my breathing and refocus. I cast a quick stare in his direction as he left the living room. He was dressed in a slim-fitting pair of long, dark shorts and a snug white V-neck T-shirt. He didn’t look like he’d shaved that morning, and the extra hair on his face juxtaposed with his longish dark hair should have made him look scruffy. Instead he looked dangerously sexy. Like the kind of guy you could certainly be convinced was up to no good. I never tended to notice clothing on men, I realized. In fact, my eye was consistently drawn to Jack’s beautiful body ink. I loved the way his white shirt seemed to make the intricate tattoo on his upper arm pop. I wanted to study it, run my fingers over his warm skin, and….
He returned quickly, set the opened bottle in my hand, and stroked his fingers through my hair in an almost lover-like manner. I did a double take at him as he took his seat, but he didn’t pay any attention. His touchy-feely shows of affection threw me off balance. They probably weren’t affectionate at all. Some people were more tactilely inclined than others. I was making myself nuts with my overanalyzing.
“What fetishes exactly?” I was perversely pleased when Jack sputtered his beer, choking slightly as he wiped at his mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m curious and I know nothing about that… lifestyle. What exactly are you into? Wait. If that was too personal, don’t answer. It’s fine.”
Jack stared at me again, but this time I got the feeling he was trying to think of how much he was willing to divulge. God, I hoped this wasn’t about to get weird.
“Me?” Jack asked nonchalantly. You would have thought we were discussing favorite brands of ice cream, for fuck’s sake.
I nodded slowly.
“Uniforms.”
“Uniforms? Uh… like any in particular? You don’t mean like scrubs for doctors or um….” I looked at the TV screen. “Baseball players’ uniforms?”
“Yes, exactly. Total turn on. What about you?”
“Not so fast. Scrubs do nothing for me, but yeah, a baseball uniform on the right guy with a hot… yes, but I was asking about you. Not me.”
“Fair enough. But it really is that simple. I love masculine men in uniform. It could be a fireman, police officer, doctor, or?—”
“Bet you were a fan of the Village People,” I said snarkily.
“Hmm. Or a lawyer,” he said, ignoring my sarcasm.
“Lawyers don’t have a uniform.”
“Sure you do. A suit. Nothing fucking sexier than a hot guy in a suit, if you ask me.”
I took a long drink from my bottle. I really didn’t know what to say. For all I knew, he was still messing with me.
“How does your fetish for… uniforms play into the whole club thing?”
“I just told you what I like. The guys—and gals too—who come to Jack’s are a mixed bag. Some guys are into the BDSM scene and may be dressed in leather, chains, and God only knows what we can’t see underneath their clothes. Some might be playing a game with their partner… maybe like a daddy thing. And others might just want a cool place to meet up with buddies after work that’s geared toward a more testosterone-laden crowd.”
“Like bears?” I knew enough to be dangerous. I remembered a friend telling me once his date was a bear. I was clueless and looked it, I’m sure, so my buddy explained he was just a hairy, masculine kind of guy. Huh. It was a funny thing that a gay twenty-eight-year-old man such as myself needed a road map—preferably with photos—when it came to all the subcategories of gay men. What the hell was I? Just a regular guy who liked… men.
Jack smiled widely, his eyes glinting like a pirate again. “Bears are cool. Like I told you before, anyone is welcome. You could be wearing a boa, glitter, and hot pants, and we’d happily serve you whatever you wanted, honey.”
“That’s not my scene. I’m not a frilly guy. But I’m also not into leather and chains, or ugly plaid shirts and jeans. I’m just… you know…. regular. Ordinary.”
“No. You’re not ordinary. And like I said, no one cares what you’re wearing.”
“But some people must care. You said yourself, you like guys in uniform. Do men show up dressed as policemen or firefighters?”
“Some nights we’ll do a specialty evening and make it about dressing in a particular fashion. But like I said, otherwise… it’s just a club with a cool bar and great ambiance. That’s all.”
“Where does the fetish thing fit in?”
“It doesn’t. You brought it up.”
“No, you did.”
“No….” A cell phone rang loudly from across the room. Damn. It was mine and I was nowhere near it.
“I’ll grab it for you. Want another beer?” Jack stood, and I quickly adjusted my cock in my shorts. The conversation we’d just had had certainly made my dick take notice. Baseball. I needed to focus on the game.
“Looks like it’s your boyfriend.” Jack handed me my phone with the name “Paul” flashing on the screen.
“Hello?” I glanced over at Jack, who gave me a cocky grin and then sat forward in his chair with his elbows resting on his knees, assuming a look of intense concentration. On the game. Right. I gulped and tried to pay attention to Paul. He was telling me about a new restaurant he wanted to try and asked if he could pick me up at eight. What? Oh shit! I forgot about our date.
“Yeah, uh sure. Eight is fine. Good. No, I have a friend over. You aren’t interrupting. We’re watching the Giants game. Baseball.” Jack’s hmph of annoyed amusement had me lifting my eyebrows. “Okay. I’ll see you later. Bye.”
I ended my call with Paul and looked over at Jack sitting almost crouched forward, acting like no men on base at the beginning of the fifth was true excitement. His posture was deceptively lose and carefree, but I could tell his muscles were rigid and tense. It didn’t escape my notice he never did get another beer. I didn’t know what to make of his quiet concentration after the “interesting” line of conversation we’d been forced to abandon because of my phone call. I decided to give my whole attention to the Giants. Baseball was easy. It was simple, uncomplicated. And my team was thankfully winning.
We sat companionably and watched the game. With an elephant in the room named Paul.
When Jack stood to leave an hour later, I wondered if things would be strained between us. I desperately wanted to lean into him, kiss him, trace his muscular biceps and the outline of his bulge through his shorts. But I couldn’t tell if Paul’s call had fucked things up for Jack and me. And I was afraid to ask. It sounded sophomoric and presumptuous. Plenty of guys fooled around with other men without immediately jumping into relationship status. I wasn’t one of them, but I couldn’t begin to know what Jack’s feelings were on the subject. What I did know was it was really difficult to sit next to him and not touch him.
“You’re playing with us tomorrow, right?” I watched Jack’s hand on the door handle as he turned to leave.
“Yeah. I’ll be there.” He bent his head and sweetly, ever so gently brushed his lips against my own. I closed my eyes when our mouths touched. When I reopened them, he was gone.
Jack sent me a text message an hour later.
Have a NICE time 2nite
I knew he was messing with me but I admit I stared at my cell for a minute longer than usual. Nice meant boring to Jack. He was wishing me an uneventful date with the handsome Brit. Did that mean he was jealous? Nah. Couldn’t be. I had to laugh at myself, though. It wasn’t so long ago I’d told Matt that communication was important in any relationship. Jack and I were friends, new friends at that. But maybe I should take my own advice and try to see if there was a chance, even an ever so slight one, Jack was feeling anything more about me. Unlikely, but…. I quickly dismissed the notion and mentally slapped myself upside the head. Sure way to end a budding friendship, I thought. Obviously it was much easier to give other people advice than yourself.
It didn’t escape my attention that I was looking forward to seeing Jack the next morning on the basketball court a hell of a lot more than I was looking forward to my date with Paul that night.