Chapter 12
TWELVE
SHANE
“Michaelssss!” A pair of voices cheer as two familiar faces pop up on my phone, and my chest warms.
“Hey, guys. Good game! Can’t believe it went to fifteen innings.” I’m posted up on my hotel room bed.
My roommate, Rosario, who was also in my draft class, is out with some of the other guys. We don’t go out often, but it’s a little more common during away games. I don’t need or want the distraction. Nothing exists except baseball. And these two goons.
“You too. Good day for the Jetties all around,” Paulie says. He holds the phone out farther to try to get him and Easton in the frame better.
They’re in the locker room, fresh out of the long-ass game. The sound of a team who just fought and won filters through the phone—boisterous laughter, high-fives and back-slaps, and upbeat chatter.
“Who do you have on the phone there?” a voice says, and all of a sudden, Olander’s mug is right up at the camera. “Michaels! How’s Double-A life? Did you guys win tonight? I haven’t had a chance to check yet.”
I smile, but it’s more forced than usual. I’m not the biggest fan of Olander. And a big reason is how stiff Easton is right now. I hate not being there, but I know Paulie’s got East’s back.
I flash my all-purpose smile. “Good, man. We won too. Congrats.”
Olander lets out a cheer. “Double-A brought in a win, too!” he shouts.
The room erupts. Paulie pans the phone around as the team yells congratulations, a few tossing me air-dabs.
The camera focuses back on Paulie’s and East’s smiling faces.
“You guys have any wild plays tonight?” I ask.
Paulie snorts. “You mean besides the ridiculous move Winters made in order to keep his fucking head on?”
Winters’s mouth tightens.
My eyebrows shoot up, and I glance between my friends.
“Yeah.” Paulie’s nodding emphatically. “Morgan was pitching tonight. Still wild as ever. You should have seen the text messages East had after the game.” He snickers. “Morgan better watch out; think he might have a hitman assigned to him.”
“I think a certain person was about ready to do it themselves,” Winters mutters.
I snort. I don’t doubt that for a second. Maddy is extremely protective—and possessive—of East. Not in, like, an unhealthy way or anything. More like I finally have the man I was pining after for over a decade, so everyone else better fuck the hell off.
“I’m glad you’re okay, man,” I say. “Shit is scary.”
Easton shivers. Rightfully so. There is nothing more terrifying than a pitch coming straight at you. And the heaters Morgan throws? That’s shit nightmares are made of.
I’ve never faced Morgan—he’s in Triple-A—but I’ve heard the stories.
The guy throws absolute fire. The kind of arm you want on your team, so you don’t ever have to stand in the box against him.
Not just because of his velocity. He’s been yanked from games for drilling guys when things start to go south.
Some say it’s bad aim. Others say it’s payback.
Either way, when Morgan’s on the mound, no one feels safe.
“Didn’t stop Winters, though. You should have seen the home run he stole…” Paulie goes on to detail the catch, but my world stops.
Because Jed Stone Jr. just walked into the camera’s frame. In nothing but a towel. That just dropped to the floor.
A wave of heat instantly hits my cheeks.
Unlike when I’ve been in the locker room with him, I can’t make myself look away.
I mean, I shouldn’t look away because then it would be obvious I’m avoiding looking at something.
I have a small screen to focus on here, and right next to Paulie’s head is Stone’s muscled naked thigh.
So, really, it’s perfectly logical and acceptable to not stop looking in order to not raise questions.
Yeah, that. Not the whole me admiring the way his ass flexes as he steps into his after-game sweats.
Wait. Sweats. He goes commando? That is information I did not need to know.
I’ve been really struggling to get the guy out of my head.
This is not going to help.
The muscles in his forearm ripple as he ties his sweats.
Ink covers his entire forearm. I’ve glimpsed it a few times but never got a good look since we weren’t exactly chummy during Spring Training.
It’s a male lion and a cub looking into a reflecting pool, but the reflection is a faded image of a man holding hands with a boy.
I may have stalked his socials to find it.
I was definitely not looking for thirst traps of him.
Which is good because there aren’t any. Totally great.
I don’t need to see that nipple piercing any more than I already do in my own head.
Which is really fucking often.
I think when I found out he was bisexual, it unlocked something in my brain.
I’m like an eager puppy who just found out there’s a box of biscuits within reach.
Like, come on. Just throw me a fucking bone.
Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t make Triple-A.
I’d probably do something embarrassing. Like ask him if I could try his dick.
“Anyways, we just wanted to call and wish you a quick congratulations,” Paulie says.
I blink slowly.
“You’re probably zonking out soon considering how late our game went.”
I give myself a mental shake and focus back on my friends. “Yeah, but I appreciate the call.” My smile’s full and genuine now. “I fucking miss you guys.”
Easton’s eyes take on a sad cast. “We gotta find a way to get together.”
My gut sinks under the weight in his voice. We all know it’ll be nearly impossible with our schedules.
“There’s always All-Stars,” Paulie says, his voice lilting up in forced optimism.
Urgh. That’s not until July, and it’s only April. We’ll have a few days off then, and if none of us get selected, you bet I’m hopping on a plane to go visit my boys. We usually go to Mama and Papa Nebs’s house for part of it.
I say my goodbyes to my boys. My screen goes dark, and my thoughts along with it. I’m playing pro ball. I’m a hot prospect, killing it. I’ve got it made, right? And yet…all that I hear is silence.
Life of the party: Shane Michaels.
I pull the covers over my head and curl into myself.
Loneliest guy in the room.