Chapter 8
Jase
An hour into a three-hour flight out of Fort Myers had me feeling restless, and Dylan kept hogging the armrest he apparently thought was his. “You drool on my shoulder, and I’m jabbing you in the ribs.”
He cracked one eye open. “You’re already complaining, and we’re not even halfway there.”
“Then stop stealing my space.”
“These seats suck. My ass is numb.” He shut his eyes again and shifted in the cramped seat.
“You spent three weeks running outfield drills in Florida’s heat and humidity. I think your precious ass will survive sitting for a few hours.”
“You’re the worst.”
“You love me.” I smirked.
“Unfortunately.” He grinned, keeping his eyes closed.
Even though we no longer lived together, we still spent as much time with each other as possible.
We had our own training schedules, and our teams had put us up in apartments, but when we weren’t training or sleeping, we were usually grabbing a bite to eat or just hanging out together.
It was going to suck when the next season started, and we were no longer in the same town.
At least we had about six months before that happened.
With the lights turned down and most of the window shades lowered to block the afternoon sun, the cabin was dim.
Most people were staring at their phones, some had earbuds in, and nobody talked much.
My brain refused to slow down after three weeks at rookie camp.
The Red Sox coaches had been on me for every missed ground ball and gave me notes after the cage round.
It was intense, to say the least. Dylan had been across the complex in Crushers gear, running outfield drills on a different field.
Now we were on our way to Cape Cod to see the President and First Lady walk their son down the aisle (or however they were doing it), and there was a real chance their daughter would get us into her bedroom again.
Even though my phone was in airplane mode, I was using the plane’s Wi-Fi. While scrolling through social media, my phone buzzed with a text. It was from the woman I’d been thinking about. She sent a message to our group chat with Dylan:
Status report. Are my guys in the air or did you miss your flight?
Dylan reached for his phone. “That Faye?”
“Yeah, she called us ‘her guys’.”
“No shit?”
We’re in the air, but D’s crying about his ass
“Accurate, but you left out that I look hot as hell in this middle seat,” he teased.
“You look half dead.”
“Half dead and hot still works.”
I rolled my eyes and typed:
He says he looks hot as hell but that’s a lie because he’s drooling all over me
“I’m not drooling on you.” Dylan scoffed.
I chuckled slightly. “You were close.”
“Whatever.”
Faye’s reply popped up:
Send a pic
Dylan perked up. “Selfie time.”
“We look rough.”
He dragged his fingers through his hair, trying to fix the mess. “We look good.”
He leaned in so our arms touched along the armrest. I flipped the camera, lifted the phone, and snapped a shot of both of us jammed into the frame while he flashed a lazy peace sign.
I dropped the picture into the chat and watched the screen.
Faye: Excuse me. When did you both get hotter and why wasn’t I notified?
Dylan let out a low whistle. “We’ve still got it.”
The three of us hadn’t seen each other in over a year, except for pics in text or on The Loop, but I still loved hearing that she thought we were hotter.
I chuckled and replied:
Rookie camp did its job. A lot of running and sweating
Faye: I’d say so
Dylan: What are you up to?
Faye: Just got done with wedding stuff, and now I’m hiding in my room, pretending to practice my poem.
I pictured Faye on her huge bed at the Cape estate, her blonde hair a little messy, phone in hand, bare legs stretched out, and my dick stiffened slightly.
Dylan nudged my leg with his knee. “I wonder what her dress will look like.”
“You just want to know how fast you can get her out of it.”
He smirked. “Exactly.”
Dylan: What are you wearing tomorrow?
He wants details so he knows how much trouble we’re in
The dots bounced for a few seconds.
Faye: A floor length sapphire blue dress with a slit and a low back
Dylan stared at the screen, now more awake. “Slit and low back. We’re fucked.”
I took a sip of my in-flight water. “Yeah, we are.”
You really expect us to focus on the grooms with you in that?
Faye: You promised you’d behave during the ceremony. Save the filthy stuff for after cake
Dylan’s thumbs flew across his screen:
No way I’m getting through the vows with a clear mind if you’re in that dress. Tell them to cut the cake early.
A laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “Subtle.”
He grinned at his phone. “We all know what’s going down at our after-party.”
My phone buzzed again:
Faye: That sounds like a you problem. I’m not responsible for your lack of self control
Dylan: Pretty sure you are
He’s gonna blame you when he walks into the cake table
Faye: If he walks into the cake I’m pretending I don’t know him
Dylan: Bet that will get us naked faster
Faye: You two are insatiable
Yeah but be honest. You’ve thought about last summer as much as we have
My leg started bouncing, and I forced it to stop. The dots appeared, stopped, then came back.
Faye: I think about it when I can’t sleep, so don’t get weird about it
My eyes widened, and Dylan leaned in and whispered exactly what I was thinking. “She gets herself off thinking about us?”
My cock ached to be free at thirty thousand feet. I swallowed and then typed:
Not getting weird about it but I remember you digging your nails into my back and telling us not to stop
Dylan shifted in his seat and adjusted himself, probably because he was as hard as I was. “You’re trying to ruin me on this flight.”
“You’re the one who asked what she was wearing. You started it.”
“That’s true. I did this to myself, and now I’ve got blue balls.”
We watched the dots again.
Faye: You two are trouble
Dylan groaned, and my fingers typed quickly:
After the reception slows down what’s the plan? Because we can’t just walk off with the president’s daughter. We know the Secret Service will be keeping a close eye on everyone
The reply came faster this time.
Faye: Meet me in my room after cake. I’ll take care of my detail
That room flashed in my head again. Her between us on her bed, her moan as she came, the way she had trusted both of us at once.
The captain got on the intercom and began talking about descent and seat backs.
“I’ve never wanted cake this much in my life,” Dylan muttered.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Bet it will taste even better eating cake off of her.”
We followed the crowd off the plane at Logan International, through the jet bridge, and toward baggage claim. Dylan checked his phone as we walked.
“Tyler texted,” he announced. “He and Hayden already checked into the hotel. He wrote, ‘If you two bail on dinner, I’m disowning you.’”
“He’s dramatic,” I answered. “Text him back and tell him we’ll be there in about two hours.”
When our suitcases finally dropped onto the belt, we grabbed them and headed to the rental car shuttle. Twenty minutes later, I pulled a mid-size SUV out of the garage and onto the highway toward the Cape.
Dylan tossed his phone into the cupholder and stared out the window. “This is kinda crazy, you know?”
“What is?” I asked.
“We’re about to meet the president of the United States and then have round two with his daughter.”
“Round one went pretty well,” I reminded him.
He grinned. “Trying to top that is a tall order.”
“I’m sure we can think of something.”
“And you’re going to shake President Donnelley’s hand, knowing you’ve been deep in his daughter’s pussy and going to do it again?”
“Are you saying you don’t want to do it with her again?”
“Hell no.” Dylan shook his head. “I’m just saying we’re about to meet the most powerful man in America knowing what we did with his daughter.”
“True, but he doesn’t know what we did with her.”
The road signs shifted from Boston stuff to beach towns and seafood spots.
By the time we pulled into the resort where the wedding guests were staying, the sun had begun to set.
The hotel matched the photos from the wedding packet, with its white buildings, balconies, and a view of the bay behind it. A sign out front read in script:
WELCOME DONNELLEY–DAVIS WEDDING GUESTS
Dylan let out a low whistle. “Fancy.”
“We’re paying our own bill,” I reminded him. “So don’t fall in love with the mini bar.”
We rolled our bags to the front desk. The clerk smiled. “Checking in?”
“Yes,” I answered, handing her my ID and credit card. “Reservation for Matthewson.”
She typed for a few seconds, then looked up. “Found you. Two queens, ocean view, two nights.”
“Sounds right,” I replied.
“You’re here for the Donnelley and Davis wedding?” she asked.
“We are,” Dylan responded.
She nodded and reached for a white gift bag. “Here you go. Also, shuttle buses to the ceremony and reception start tomorrow at three from the front drive.”
“Cool. Thanks.” I took the gift bag and checked inside, finding two bottles of water, snacks, and what looked like packets of Tylenol.
“Someone will be checking IDs before anyone gets on, so bring those with you,” she added.
“All right,” Dylan said.
She slid two keycards across the counter. “The elevators are to your left. Wi-Fi info is on the card sleeves. If you need anything else, dial zero from your room.”
“Thanks.” I took the keys and handed one to Dylan. Then we made our way to the elevators.
We rode up to the second floor, where the room was exactly as we’d booked it. I dropped my duffel at the foot of the bed nearest the window and set the gift bag on the desk.
“I’m showering,” I announced.
Dylan checked his phone. “It’s almost time to meet Tyler and Hayden, and I need to shower too.”
“I’ll be fast,” I promised.