Chapter 26 Callum
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CALLUM
Someone loves me.
Ian.
Ian loves me.
My eyes remain glued to a certain batter at the top of every inning, and to a certain third baseman at the bottom. Even from a distance, Ian is sexy as heck, and he’s all mine.
And he loves me, exactly how I love him.
That plays through my mind on repeat throughout the whole game.
The internet says you’re supposed to complete yourself instead of relying on someone else to do so, but I don’t think anyone is ever complete.
I’m still working on myself—that’s never going to stop—and I’m not getting Ian to bridge any gaps.
I’d be okay on my own, but he adds to my life in a way I couldn’t do myself. Like how black coffee does the job to wake me up, and I like it alright, but milk helps it go down smoother. My life would be fine if I was lactose intolerant, but his cream makes it so much better—
Oh, god. That analogy took a filthy turn, even if it’s true.
I would have thought blunting my sexual hang-ups would also blunt my intrusive bedroom thoughts, but it’s done the opposite.
I have to take my mind out of the sewer and focus on the game.
Ooh, action! Awesome. Ian pulled WMU ahead by one at the top of the ninth, and BUC just got a second strikeout with a runner still on second.
WMU’s place in the playoffs is hinging on Jeremy. Man, the poor guy looks like he’s shitting king-sized bricks with how he’s white-knuckling the ball on the mound. He fires off a…fastball, I think, and it sails toward BUC’s batter.
Fuck, it connects. The hit sounds crisp and looks even better, and the ball sails far into the outfield.
Please don’t be a home run.
Nick answers my prayers. He’s running toward the back of the ballpark, eyes fixed on the falling ball, tracking it, homing in, stretching out, jumping…
Catching it.
Dropping his body to the ground. With his glove still around the ball.
BUC is out.
WMU won. Holy shit, they won.
Groans of disappointment surround me as I pump my fist in celebration, heading down so I can get closer to the dugout.
Ian’s going to do a debrief like he always does, but I want to congratulate him beforehand, if I can.
The few people heading for the exits let me pass as I go in the opposite direction to them, and I lean over the railing above the visitor’s dugout, waving at Ian, who’s looking out onto the field.
I’m about to call his name when one of the WMU coaches, Ramirez, based on the name at the back of his coaching sweater, spots me and grins, motioning for me to climb over.
Jeremy spins Ian around and shoves him closer. I jump the low railing into the dugout, and Ian catches me as I stumble on the landing.
“Hey.” He’s all smiles, his face flushed and shimmering with hard-earned sweat. “Did you enjoy the game?”
My god, that smile. It's blinding, perfect, and all mine.
“Yeah, I did.” My voice is flat, my mind distracted by the amazing sight of a win-fueled, elated Ian in front of me. I reach down and turn his hat backward. Red dust clings to the stray sweat-dampened strands of hair sticking out from under the brim and on his sun-kissed skin.
He looks too good to be real. This man is completely, utterly breathtaking, he’s mine, and he loves me.
“You good, Cal?” he asks, his mouth crooking up to one side.
“More than good,” I want to say back, but the words don't come. The emotions, the everything, it's overwhelming, and at the same time, it's not nearly enough.
I grin and run my thumb along his jaw. He jerks once, a shiver echoing across his face, but that beautiful expression of his doesn't break.
We're in public. There are hundreds of people around us. I'm sure nobody is watching, but still. This is so intimate, anyone who catches so much as a glimpse of me and Ian would assume we’re more than friends, and they'd be right.
But do I even care? The whole team knows. What’s a few more people who I might never see again?
Ian opens his mouth, probably to ask me why I'm clamming up, but if he says anything, it doesn't register. My pulse is deafening, unrelenting, and somehow, it's also clarifying.
I don't care.
Those parted lips, soft, tempting, and there, might as well be an open invitation.
Maybe it is. I don't know, and only two words ricochet around in my head.
Fuck it.
Without another thought, I close the distance between us and crash my mouth onto his.
The buzz around us fades into nothing. Ian loves me back. He loves me and my awkward, messed-up self, and I want to show how much I appreciate having him in my life.
He doesn’t doubt me. He doesn’t stop, question, pull back, or stiffen. He gives me the lead, and I deepen the kiss, smiling through every satisfied breath he takes.
Yeah, we’re still in public, but I don’t stop myself from sneaking in a little tongue here and there.
He tastes like the gum he was chewing on the field, mixed with salty ballpark, and it’s pure him.
My head spins, and I know I need to take a breath soon, but I don’t want to.
When Ian makes the decision for us, I have to hold myself back from grabbing onto his tongue to make sure he doesn’t go too far.
His lids droop over molten eyes, his pupils wide. “Callum, holy shit. That was amazing.”
“Was it?” I smirk at him, making those defined cheeks pinken. “But you cut us off.”
“Excuse me for breathing,” he mumbles, and he hauls me back down for more.
In the fog of the world around us, I register a few noises of acknowledgement from Ian’s teammates, and that only emboldens me to keep going.
I’m living. We’re living, free and unencumbered.
Before, I told myself that I don’t care, and I was wrong.
I actually do care about what we’re doing—I care and know that this isn’t something I’m ever going to give up.
There’s no going back for me. This life, open, happy, and so right, is mine.
“Jesus, babe, save some of that heat for later,” Ian says, pulling back again and giving his teammates a cursory glance.
I do the same, and Nick sends us a friendly nod before taking another swig from his bottle, like seeing his best friend making out with another guy is the most normal thing in the world.
Outside of the bubble I grew up in, it could very well be the case.
I kiss Ian again, gentler this time, holding back on the tongue and not on the pressure. After a few blissful seconds, I release him and stare down into those beautiful hazel eyes, tracing the small, happy creases at the outer corners.
“I love you so much,” I murmur.
“Love you, too. God, saying that feels so right,” he replies.
We both take a step away from each other, and when we do, I spot someone, probably a student, wearing a lanyard and regarding us…tentatively.
She catches my gaze and clears her throat. “Hi, I’m Lana Cheung, sports reporter for the BUC newspaper.” She extends her hand to us. “First off, congrats on the win, and I wanted to get your go-ahead for a social media post that includes a candid picture of you two.”
“Okay,” I say automatically. “What’s the post about?”
“It’s part of a series focusing on the game today,” Lana replies. “One of our photographers got a picture of you guys celebrating. Here, you can see.”
She turns her phone around to show us the photo, and as soon as I see it, my heart melts.
It’s immaculate. We’re gazing longingly at each other, Ian looks spectacular with his backward hat and his game-winning smile, and I look like I belong.
I’m caressing his jaw. He’s got a hand gripping behind my neck.
The love is so obvious, no one could miss it if they tried.
“This would be posted?” Ian asks, and Lana nods.
I take another look at the picture. It’s so good.
“I’m okay if you are,” I say to Ian.
“Babe,” he starts. “That’ll be public.”
“I know, and I don't care.”
Is my confidence a little false? It sure is.
Still, deep down, I know this is the right thing to do.
Nobody is coming for me. The only people who know me and would give a shit are my parents, and what are they gonna do?
If they see it, and that’s a massive if, all they can do is get pissed, try to DM me again, and wallow in their own displeasure.
“Then go right ahead,” Ian says, and he slings an arm around my waist.
“Want a tag?” Lana asks, handing Ian her phone.
“I’m good with that.” Ian puts his account tag in, and once he’s done, I take the phone out of his hands to do the same for myself.
“Awesome. Thanks so much!” Lana says when I give her phone back. “I’ll add a nice caption, and it’ll go up in a few minutes.”
She walks away, and it sinks in.
It’s out there.
A picture of me so obviously in love with my amazing boyfriend. Not hidden, not posted to a private account, nothing like that—it’s on the BUC newspaper’s social media and maybe their website, too. WMU’s paper might repost it.
“Are you doing okay?” Ian asks. “You seem a little tense.”
I tell the truth. “I’m good, but I’m overthinking the photo a little, but I don’t regret it. I needed to take that step.”
“That’s amazing,” he says. “I’m glad you’re feeling good about it, and I’m here for you if the nerves stick around.”
Right as I’m about to speak, one of the WMU coaches calls the team over.
Ian gives me an apologetic smile. “I’m gonna have to debrief and then shower here. You can head back to the hotel to wait.”
“No rush,” I say as nonchalantly as I can manage, and I remember my sexy little plan for after the game. Lowering my voice and brushing my lips against his ear, I add. “I might be tied up myself.”
He blinks, widening his eyes more with each time he opens them. “What do you mean by that?”
I swat his ass. “I said what I said, Scotty. I might have done some digging in our sex drawer, so don’t keep me waiting.”
As I straighten, Ian’s face is flushed. Seriously flushed. His mouth hangs open, and he shakes his head, still standing motionless.
The coach calls for Ian.