15. More Sports With Balls #2
Right. He pushed the side of Ribby’s neck a little bit, very gently, just enough to give the dog the idea of going away.
Somehow, Ribby understood, so Jonathan again had an empty lap and hands available to do his record-keeping job.
The back page of the book had a handy chart about how to make the marks, which would have helped him succeed if he understood the man wearing black and white or could interpret his arm gestures.
Since he could do neither, Jonathan used the boxes marching across from each player’s name to make a very nice tangle drawing. Colored pencils would be next level.
Connor grinned and laughed the whole time he played, whether he was at his position in the field between the bases, or in the dugout waiting to hit. He sent many of those grins and not a few waves in Jonathan’s direction, and Jonathan found himself grinning, and once, waving, in return.
The Queers for Beers were decisively better than the team wearing pinstripes, who appeared to be sponsored by a different bar.
He could deduce the skill differences from first, the quantity of high-fives in the respective team groups, and second, the fact that more players from Connor’s team ran around all the bases to arrive back at the starting spot.
That was how they scored a point, and he should track how many times each team did that, so he started a hash-tally while he chatted with Trixie’s partner and felt like a loser for not remembering her name.
He drank more of his water and peeked under the bleachers to check on Ribby. The water bowl sat empty. Ribby looked at him with big golden eyes and a tilted head, which was not good.
His acute weakness for hazel eyes, inquiring head tilts, and fur was the only possible explanation for why he climbed out of the stands and crouched next to Ribby.
“What is it Connor calls you? A big lump? Well, here.” He emptied his bottle into Ribby’s bowl.
“Don’t dissolve. That only happens to wicked witches like me, not big softies like you.
” Jonathan would survive without more water for however long this game took, and bonus, he wouldn’t have to use the park’s portable bathroom.
He’d missed the action while he was under the bleachers, so he put a few more marks in squares in the statistics book, drew a many-petalled daisy in another square, and let it be.
The sun finally hit an angle where it didn’t require both a hat brim and sunglasses.
People continued to round bases and cheer, and Connor chatted with him through the chain link and slipped out through the gate to deliver an artisanal fizzy bitter lemon drink from the cooler the team kept next to the dugout, as if he’d seen Jonathan eyeing it and considering his chances.
There were now so many marks on the page where Jonathan was supposed to track every swing of every batter, so very many marks in so very many places, that it was hard to remember where to put a hash mark when another person scored.
Honestly, he didn’t care.
Some of the marks on his page looked like penises, which was probably verboten on a team with so many people who did not themselves have one, so he turned them into happy little trees. Naturally, trees required birds.
The game ended abruptly, and Jonathan heard someone mention a mercy rule, which was an excellent concept. His gluteus maximus hadn’t quite been ready to ask for divine intervention, but if he ever came to another game, he would bring something to sit on that wasn’t a bare metal bleacher.
Unfortunately, when the two teams participated in the high-five ritual, the pin-stripe wearing players on Swish Hitters were walking toward Jonathan, denying him a good opportunity to assess the relative merits of their baseball-induced physiques.
Connor’s team was walking away, so he consoled himself with a view of the best of the best.
The refreshments schedule delivered excellent Tibetan steamed dumplings, hand-pulled noodles, and spicy cucumber salad, as promised.
Jonathan chatted with Trixie, her partner, and the rest of the team, which was filled with Beckas of all spellings, a Danny with a y and also a Dani with an i, and other names he didn’t remember.
He had fun with a team full of boisterous jocks, one of whom even crushed an empty can on her forehead. Lots of people wanted to talk about the library, and he helped two different people download the Libby borrowing app, log in, and get on the list for sapphic romance audiobooks.
Win-win.
Throughout the evening, Connor stayed close, introducing him to everyone, touching his elbow, putting his arm around him and pulling him to his side until Jonathan wrinkled his nose at the dirt and sweat.
Much later, after Jonathan followed Connor to his house, after they walked Ribby in the warm night air and Jonathan refused to see the gift left in the grass because bagging that was Connor’s responsibility, after Connor had slowly stripped his dirt-covered uniform directly into the washing machine in the enclosed back porch mud room while Jonathan watched, after they’d drunk more water and filled Ribby’s bowl too, they’d come upstairs to Connor’s large white and blue bathroom.
Doing his skin care routine left Jonathan with plenty of attention to spare for watching Connor fidget.
“That was not not fun this evening,” Jonathan said.
Connor removed a technical-looking black brushed-metal insert from his extremely form-fitting white compression shorts and tossed it in the hamper.
Then he drifted closer, apparently more interested in watching Jonathan circle cleanser on his cheeks and forehead than in showering off the dirt that had grimed even into his elbow creases. “You’re saying it was fun?”
“I don’t know if I would stretch it that far.” He bent to splash water from his hands onto his face, using the moments with his mouth closed to consider his answer. “Somewhat fun, though. The people were very nice and dinner was extremely good.”
“I can work with that. People and food are two of the three pillars of sports fandom.” Connor nodded enough times that Jonathan wondered whether he should have counted. “You’ll come back? We play Thursday.”
“What? You play again?” His reflection looked suitably shocked, although he understood that baseball, like hockey, had lots of games close together. He’d also heard everyone saying variations of See you Thursday, but messing with Connor was even better than the post-game spicy chicken dumplings.
“It’s a league. We have five more regular season games and then playoffs.”
Staring and conversing through the mirror felt more connected than he’d expected, and he allowed his lips to curve. “So, just like hockey.”
Connor fake-glared. At least, Jonathan assumed it was fake. “Better than hockey. We’re outdoors with sunshine and good food. Also, do you know how many separate skills are required for baseball? We have to catch, throw, bat, understand strategy—”
“I’m confused. Don’t you play softball? Are they different?”
He watched Connor’s mouth open and close in the mirror, and then Jonathan gave up the struggle to maintain his composure and laughed so hard the back of his head bumped into Connor’s shoulder.
“Hey. None of that ridicule.” Connor’s hands bracketed Jonathan’s hips and he used his bulk to box him against the counter. “Please say you’ll come again.”
“I need to research how to keep the book I was supposed to track things in.” He lowered his chin and looked through his eyelashes at their reflections. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to draw happy little penises hiding in trees.”
“Did you do that?” Connor’s voice dropped. “That sounds—” He stopped, and his mouth opened and closed.
Dirty talk didn’t seem to be one of his competencies. In the pause, he flexed his fingers on the grooves where Jonathan’s legs met his torso. With those large hands weighing on Jonathan’s hips, dirty talk was completely unnecessary.
“Umm, that sounds bad? I know what, you could read that Cat Sebastian book, the baseball one. Goes down very easily.”
Jonathan choked back a snicker. Maybe Connor struggled with dirty talk, but he scored well on puns and innuendo.
“So will you come?”
They locked eyes in the mirror. He couldn’t answer whatever Connor was really asking, because he didn’t know. This was all new, and while he had a clear idea about the next thing they were going to do, he had no fucking clue about what tomorrow would hold.
Connor’s stare hadn’t wavered while he waited for an answer.
Jonathan wrinkled his nose and pretended to misunderstand the question. “Not unless you shower first.”
“Join me?” He still didn’t look like happy-go-lucky Connor.
“I suppose you need me to perform quality control on your body soap usage.”
“Suppose I do.”
After soap had been applied and rinsed, and a suitable pause while hands and mouths had been applied, then more rinsing, they left the lukewarm shower.
Connor crouched to rub a towel along the back of Jonathan’s right leg, from his ankle to the back of his knee.
“So have I convinced you to come to Thursday’s game? ”
“Ugh, you’re rushing me.” Jonathan had to brace himself with one hand on the counter.
He wouldn’t describe his knees as wobbly, but the shower had been hot and they’d stayed a long time.
Maintaining proper hydration was a constant challenge around Connor.
“Trixie specifically said not to rush me. I remember that.”
Connor jerked his gaze up to Jonathan’s. “Dude, I just sucked your dick for like twenty minutes. I was definitely not rushing you.”
“Well, that’s a flattering exaggeration, so thank you.
” It had felt like barely three before he’d been overwhelmed, unmanned, undone, verklempt.
Jonathan ruffled Connor’s wet curls with the hand towel he’d used on his own hair.
“So, what was Trixie going on about with the chill-out warning before the game?”
And that should not have slipped out of his mouth.