6. Andres
SIX
ANDRES
The next morning, I wake up to Jackson snoring, and I take a moment to appreciate the rise and fall of his chest, the peaceful expression on his face.
This is what I want every morning—waking up to him, knowing that he’s mine.
Today, I want to show him I’m serious about us, about our future.
I want to give him a real first date, something he’ll never forget.
Because how fucking sad is it that I’ve never taken him anywhere, just the two of us, in a romantic way? All I feel is love for him, and I’ve never really shown it.
That changes today.
I slip out of bed quietly, grabbing my phone and heading to the kitchen to plan our day.
I pull up a local batting cage place, make a reservation for a lane, then make some food for a picnic at the boardwalk.
It will be a bit of a drive, but the weather is beautiful, and I want today to be perfect—a day Jackson will look back on and smile.
I want to give him everything he deserves and more.
I hear Jackson stir, his footsteps padding down the hall as he makes his way to the kitchen. “Morning,” he mumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Morning, amor,” I reply, turning to face him with a smile. “I’ve got a surprise for you today.”
He raises an eyebrow, a curious glint in his eye. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s a first date.”
Jackson’s eyes widen in surprise, then shift to confusion. “A first date, huh? I guess we do need a first date. I mean, we’ve been having sex for over a year now.”
I roll my eyes. “Sex isn’t everything, Jack. While it is arguably a very fun part of relationships, it doesn’t keep a relationship going. At least not for me. So first, we’re going to the batting cages to work off some energy. Then I thought we could have a picnic on the boardwalk.”
Jackson’s face lights up, and he nods enthusiastically.
God, seeing him happy is everything to me.
“That sounds fucking perfect. Give me a few minutes to get ready.”
I watch as he turns and heads back to the bedroom. I turn back to making food, noting the carbs, proteins, and fats in the note section of my phone, then pack it all up.
Today is going to be a good day.
An hour later, we’re pulling up to the batting cages.
The place is bustling with people, but I don’t let that deter me.
I want Jackson to have fun, to feel alive.
We grab our gear and head inside, the sound of balls hitting bats filling the air.
I know this place is meant for kids and families to have a good time—not two professional baseball players. But what the hell.
We should be allowed to have a good time.
Jackson steps up to the plate, a determined look on his face. I can see the athlete in him, the drive and focus. He swings, connecting with the ball, and it flies to the back of the cage with a satisfying smack. “Fuck yeah!” he shouts, turning to me with a grin.
I laugh, clapping my hands. “That’s my man! Show me whatcha got, hermoso.”
Jackson and I take turns batting, our laughter and cheers echoing through the cage. It’s the best time, laughing with him, competing with him, and just being together. We needed this.
We finish up, and as we walk out, a group of teens eyes us. Jackson is oblivious to the boys watching us, and while they aren’t saying anything, I see the look in their eyes.
Judgment.
Fuck that.
I pull Jackson closer to me, slipping my arm around his waist and kissing the side of his forehead. Nobody will make me feel ashamed for loving him.
The beach is just a short forty-minute drive away, and as we pull up, I can see the perfect spot for our picnic. A stunning view of the ocean, just the way I imagined. I grab the blanket and basket from the trunk, and we make our way down to the sand.
Jackson spreads out the blanket while I unpack the food. I made sure to get all his favorites—tortas, mango and pineapple with green grapes, and his favorite chocolate bar.
Okay, so I spoil him.
I get to.
“This looks amazing, baby,” he says, his eyes wide with appreciation. “You really went all out.”
He called me baby.
Okay, that totally hits all the right parts of my brain.
“Only the best for you, Jack.”
We sit down, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore providing the perfect backdrop to our conversation.
Jackson looks the happiest I’ve ever seen him.
I’ll do this every week if this keeps him smiling.
As we finish eating, I watch him give himself a bolus, then lean back on my elbows, looking out at the ocean. “You ready for the game on Monday?”
We have an away game in STL, and I know he hates flying.
Jackson turns to me, his expression serious. “Yep. Long plane ride… absolutely not.”
I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “I’ll be right there with you, Jack. You can hold my hand all you want.”
Jackson gives me a playful smirk. “Can I sit in your lap if I get too scared?”
“La única manera en que te sentarás en mi regazo en el avión es si estarás montando mi verga, hermoso.”
Jackson smiles, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Is that so?”
I nod, leaning in closer. “Absolutely.”
I want the world to know that Jackson Michael Baker is mine.
Before Jackson can respond, I see a woman walking by, her eyes lingering on Jackson a little too long for my liking.
Now I’m not normally a jealous person—normally being the keyword.
But I can feel my territorial instincts kicking in.
I stand up, pulling Jackson to his feet, and before he can react, I crush my lips to his in a passionate, claiming kiss.
Jackson’s eyes widen in surprise, but he melts into the kiss quickly, his arms wrapping around my neck. I can feel the woman’s uncomfortable gaze on us, but I don’t care.
Let her look.
Let her see Jackson is mine.
When I finally pull away, Jackson’s cheeks are flushed, and his breath is ragged. “Was that necessary?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips.
I grin, unapologetic. “I’m not going to let another day go by without people knowing that you’re mine. Only mine.”
Jackson rolls his eyes but can’t hide the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “I never pegged you to be the possessive type.”
I wink at him, pulling him back down to the blanket. “You wanna top me? You said pegged.”
“I’ll top you any day, Dre. You know that. I just prefer you being inside me.” His lips ghost over mine, and he lingers a moment before settling in my arms.
We lie there, watching the sunset paint the sky with hues of orange and pink. This is what I want—Jackson by my side, the world knowing he’s mine. I lean over, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Eres mi todo, Jackson.”
He looks up at me, his eyes shining with emotion. “Tú … eres mi todo también.” He pauses. “Did I say that right? My comprehension of Spanish is way better than my actually speaking it. It gets all jumbled up in my brain and never sounds right.”
God, I love him.
“You said it perfectly, hermoso.”
We stay like that for a while, just holding each other, the sound of the ocean and the chatter of other beachgoers our only companions.
It’s perfect, and I never want it to end. But as the sun sets, casting long shadows across the sand, I know it’s time to head back to San Jose. We have to pack for the game, and I need to make sure we have his medical kit squared away.
Reluctantly, we pack up our things and make our way back to the car.
Our drive home is filled with the random-ass playlist Jackson put together.
It’s got all the Latin vibes and then what I can only describe as “metal baby-making music.” But I’m here for it.
I reach over, taking Jackson’s hand in mine, and he squeezes it, a small smile on his face.
The song changes, and when Jackson belts out the lyrics at the top of his lungs—using our joined hands as a microphone, windows down, breeze blowing in his hair—I can’t hold back my smile.
This is the man I want to spend forever with.
When we get back to the apartment and I park the car in my spot in the garage, Jackson turns to me, his expression serious. “Today was perfect, Dre. Thank you.”
I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Anything for you, Jackson. Anything.”
He smiles, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Anything, huh?”
I give him a once-over and see that bratty Jackson has come out to play. There’s only one way to deal with bratty Jackson. “No juegues conmigo, guapo. Si sigues así, sabes exactamente dónde va a tenerte Papi.”
“Oh yeah, and what’s that?”
Reaching across the center console, I grab him by the throat, feeling it constrict under my palm. His pulse beats wildly against my fingertips as I squeeze. “With my cock buried in your ass, fucking you so hard that you cry for me.”