Chapter 33 Jed
THIRTY-THREE
JED
“You know what we should do,” Shane says. “Celebrate my new relationship status. It’s Friday. We have a night game tomorrow. We should go to Cox and Company.”
“Yes!” Frankie jabs a finger at Shane. “Brilliant, Shaney-babe.”
I turn to Shane. “Yeah? You want to go clubbing?”
The upstairs level at Cox and Company is its own universe. It kind of feels like a rite of passage, though it’s not everyone’s thing. But Shane…he’d thrive there with his Golden Retriever energy. I rake my gaze over him. Yeah. I’d like to see what moves he brings to the dance floor.
He nods eagerly, hands gripping my biceps. “Wanna?”
“I’m down,” Maddox says. “It’s been forever for me, and East has never been. I’ll gladly pop that cherry.” He sends a suggestive look Easton’s way. One Easton doesn’t return. His blue eyes are wide.
“Clubbing? Really?” His words end on a slight whine. His gaze pings around like he’s looking for an escape. They land on me, and his eyebrows lift imploringly. “Stone. Shut these two down. A club is a horrible idea.”
I tighten my lips against a smile. I send him an apologetic look. “Actually. I’m a big fan of the queer nightlife here. I won’t ever say no to a bunch of hot and sweaty men grinding up on me.” Especially the blond-haired, blue-eyed stunner next to me.
“Amen,” Frankie says.
The expression melts off Winters’s face, and he glares daggers at me. Which is completely ineffective because even an angry Winters looks about as intimidating as a kitten. The guy is too sweet-faced to be intimidating.
“Urgh. How? How? You’re Jed Stone. Made of stone. Grumpy serious. You don’t like clubs. They’re much too fun for you.”
A chuckle catches in my chest, and I grin. “Winters, relax. A guy like you? All you have to do is stand on the dance floor, and the men will flock to you. You won’t have to do a thing. That’s what I do. I just walk out to the floor and stand there. Voila, asses and dicks all over me.”
Easton wrinkles his nose. “That sounds horrible.”
Ah, shit. I forgot Easton is demi.
A hard glint sparks in Maddox’s eyes. “Abso-fucking-lutely not. If another man touches you, I’ll rip out his jugular. With my fucking teeth.”
“Ooooh,” Frankie says. “Maddy’s sexy when he’s possessive.”
A dopey, lopsided smile spreads across Easton’s face. “Dawww, babe. I love you, too.”
All animosity evaporates from Maddox, and he walks over and presses a gentle kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. “Love you too.” He spins around, his brow set as his head sweeps the room. “All right, boys.” He turns to Shelby. “And woman. We’re going clubbing. Frankie, can I count on you?”
“Of course, babe. My closet is your wonderland.”
“Wait,” Shane says, head pinging back and forth between Maddox and Frankie. “Is there a dress code or something?”
An evil look passes between Maddox and Frankie, then Maddox grabs Shane by the arm and pulls him off the couch. “Come on. Let’s go. Shelbs, you too. The four of us are picking out outfits. These fun suckers won’t know what hit them when we’re done.”
“Seriously,” Frankie says, leading the way up the stairs. “Just stand there, he says. On a dance floor? Who are these people?”
Shane scrambles after them. “Fun suckers doesn’t actually sound that bad.” His voice fades as they disappear from view.
I blink at Winters and Nebiolo. The silence stretches out. What…just happened?
“I’m slightly afraid of what they’re going to come back with,” Winters murmurs. His cheeks tinge pink. “But also kind of excited.”
I breathe out a laugh. Knowing Shane? Knowing those four together. Yeah, I feel the same way. I have a feeling that, whatever he chooses, there’s a very real chance my heart won’t survive it.
“Isn’t it risky…” Easton asks hesitantly, “going to a gay bar?”
I shake my head. “Not really. We’re still pretty invisible right now.
I go to gay bars and clubs all the time.
I have had someone recognize me on maybe…
two?…occasions. And they were much more interested in getting into my pants than trying to spread gossip.
Reporters and journalists are catching us around the field.
No one’s staking out the sidewalk of a run-of-the-mill club, snapping pictures of every person who walks in. ”
“Once we’re inside, it’ll be dark as hell,” Paulie adds. “You can’t tell who anyone is unless you’ve got your tongue down their throat.”
“Plus.” I point to Paulie. “Straight people go to queer places.”
Paulie nods. “I go all the time with Frank. Not necessarily clubbing, but we hang out at the bar level. Alf, the bartender, is mad chill.”
Winters doesn’t look reassured in the least. I pause and really think it over from his perspective. It’s not something I think twice over usually, because it’s of little concern if word gets out about me.
It was something my dad and I talked about at length when he found out about me being into guys.
He was adamant that what I wanted mattered most, that it wasn’t a decision to make lightly.
He didn’t want me to do something I wasn’t comfortable with.
But he reminded me of how privileged we were, of the extra layer of protection I wore being his son.
Imagine what other kids like you will think when they see you representing them. You’ll show them they belong too. You belong just as you are, JJ.
That really stuck with me. So, at eighteen, I sat down with Dad’s agent, and we came up with a plan. I might no longer have my dad standing beside me, but I have an amazing agent and the Jetties’ PR department, ready for when word gets out.
All of that is because I’m privileged. Not everyone else has that.
Not all clubhouses stand behind the inclusivity they preach.
It’s a fact that players have been blackballed from baseball for their sexual orientation.
The fear Easton holds is real, even with the strides the sport has made.
Billy Bean, who came out after he retired from the big leagues, was significant in promoting LGBTQ+ representation within baseball before he passed.
But we have a long fucking way to go. If it were so easy, there’d be a hell of a lot of queer ballplayers out right now.
“I’ll text Alf,” I say. “I’ll have him let us in the side-door. We can go right up to the club and skip the line and any curious onlookers.
“Okay.” Easton finally looks mollified. Sort of. He bites his lip. “So…what do we wear?”
“We’re going to wear indecently tight jeans—but stretchy enough for a full squat. If I’ve gleaned anything about your boyfriend, you’re going to need to be able to drop it low if you want to keep up with him. Then for a shirt…” I grin. “Odds are it comes off within five minutes.”
“I like to go with a button-up and just don’t button it,” Paulie says.
“Always a good option,” I say. “I like cut-out tanks, ones with super-thin straps. Easy to take off. Shows off the nipple piercing, which guys love.”
Easton groans. “I hate these kinds of things.”
“Easton, I promise you have nothing to be nervous about,” I say. “Just wear a tight white tee. Done. You don’t have to get decked out. It’s all personal preference.”
“Yeah, man,” Paulie adds. “You’re literally going to have a sweaty Madz grinding on you all night.
You’ll be in heaven. The three of us can sit back and have some drinks when we get there, let those four”—he points to the ceiling—“get a little of their excess energy out. Then join them on the dance floor.”
I smirk. “Or, if you’re still really nervous, Maddox can take you to the back room and blow you.”
Easton’s eyes stretch wide. “O-oh. Um. That doesn’t sound so bad then.”
Paulie and I burst out laughing.
Swaying hips. Pulsing lights. Bare thighs. Throbbing bass. Flexing Muscles.
The dance floor is a mass of bodies writhing in time to the bass-heavy DJ set. It’s not easy to make out people in the dim lighting, even with the sporadic flash of neon lights. But I’ve always been able to see my Sunshine. My boyfriend. Damn.
“Fuck me,” I growl.
Nebs laughs at my side. “I cannot get over those shorts, man.”
Me either. I’m trying to be good. I’m trying to let Shane have this experience before I steal him for myself. But those criminally short rainbow popsicle shorts are making it really. Fucking. Hard.
They’re making a lot of things really fucking hard.
So are his abs rippling in the neon glow.
He’s wearing a loosely woven black button-up, hanging open to reveal all of that Florida-tanned skin.
Those small pink nipples. I bite my cheek.
Urgh. His golden curls are tied back with a rainbow scarf.
He’s rocking his hippie vibe, and I’m digging it.
I’d like to make some free love with him.
Winters whines next to me. “I know. Those shorts are almost enough to get me out there.”
He’s not referring to Shane’s, though. Maddox is also in sinfully short shorts.
His are denim cutoffs that are scandalously shredded, so threadbare and loose I’ve definitely glimpsed a peek of asscheek.
Easton has jerked toward the dance floor multiple times since we settled at a table with a tray of shots.
Those four downed a few tequila shots and booked it for the dance floor.
A choked noise comes from Easton. My gaze flicks to his wide-eyed one, then darts to what it’s locked on.
Oh, fuck. Inch by fucking inch, Maddy peels off his crop top, gaze glued to East. The look he’s sending East’s way…
that’s just fucking cruel. It’s a taunt.
It’s a challenge. He tucks his shirt into his back pocket and bites his lip, then pulls Frankie in tight behind him and does the filthiest grind.
“Fucking nope. Nopenopenope.” Easton bolts for the dance floor.
“Funny how the one who was most nervous is the first of us on the dance floor,” Nebs muses. “We should probably head out there too.”