2. Fox
Greyson Webber issex on legs. Damn, if I’d had any clue how fucking sexy he is… shit, I wouldn’t have done anything because we play halfway across the country from each other, but fuck.
He’s gorgeous.
Tallish, but still short enough to be agile on the hot corner. He plays mostly shortstop and third base when he fills in on the starters’ nights off or when guys are injured. I wasn’t bullshitting him about the snag from last season. Jonesy whined about it for days.
His dark hair is cropped short from what I can tell underneath his cowboy hat.
Yes. A fucking cowboy hat. Because apparently, he’s a hometown boy. As much as you can be in Texas, anyway. This state’s too damn big. Of course, anything is big when you grow up in New England.
His jeans mold to his thighs, and his short-sleeve Henley doesn’t hide a fucking ripple in his chest and abs.
God. Damn. I want to lick him. Everywhere.
“Hand me your phone?” I ask.
His head ticks to the side as he slides his phone from his pocket, unlocks it, and hands it to me. I pull up his contacts and tap the button to add a new entry. Handing it back, I ask again.
“So, a drink?”
He nods. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
“Not so fast,” I say, reaching out and wrapping my fingers around his forearm – his very thick, muscled forearm. I grunt – involuntarily, I swear. Turning to Jackson, I say, “Go run the bases for a minute.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not an idiot, ya know. I know you’re gay, Uncle Jon.”
“I know you know that, but you’re still only ten years old, so go run the bases for a minute while I have an adult conversation. Please?”
The huff that comes out of this kid… my sister is in for it in a few years when puberty hits.
“Fiinnnee,” he says, dragging out the word and running towards first base.
I watch him for a second and turn back to Webber. Taking a step closer, our height difference stands out a little more. I’m three or four inches taller than him, and I can’t lie.
I like it.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I need your number, too.”
“Need it?” he shoots back immediately.
“Among other things,” I answer.
He smiles and says, “Phone,” as he holds out his hand.
“Gladly.”
I watch as he types in his number and hands it back. I text him before I lock it and put it back in my pocket. When his phone dings, I smile, glad he gave me the real number.
“Didn’t trust me, Fox? That doesn’t seem like a good start to this… whatever this is.”
“Not that I didn’t trust you. I just don’t want you to get away.”
He laughs at that, turning to watch my nephew trot around the bases. “How can I get away if you haven’t got me?”
The growl that rumbles in my chest dilates his pupils. “That’s one problem I can rectify very quickly, Webber.”
“Greyson,” he says.
“Not Grey?” I ask.
“Not yet.”
“Mmm, I really like the sound of that.”
He flicks his eyes down my body, one eyebrow quirking up when he sees the effect he has on me. “Might wanna get that under control before the kid sees it.”
“Fuck,” I say, stepping closer to him and using his body as a shield as I press the heel of my palm against the fucking rod behind my zipper.
“Did you know? Before today?” he asks, staring straight into my eyes.
“That you’re gay?”
He nods.
“I’d heard chatter.”
Another nod. Then, “I’m out.”
“So am I,” I say.
One final nod and he taps his index finger against my sternum. “Text me. About that drink.”
I watch him walk away, and Jack skids to a stop on home plate. “He’s saaffeee!” he yells in his umpire impression.
The innocence of youth and the absence of one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen deflate the situation in my pants, and I turn to Jack. “Let’s go, knucklehead. It’s hot.”
“It’s Texas, Uncle Jon. It’s always hot!”
I laugh and hook him around the neck again as we make our way back to his mom’s.
“Look, Mom!” Jackson says, bursting through the back door. “Greyson Webber signed my hat at the park!”
“Whoa! He did? That’s so cool, bud,” my sister, Makenna, answers.
“He’s pretty cool.”
“He is?” she asks.
“Yep. I think he’s gay, too.”
“Jackson Foxworth, what have we talked about?!”
Jack hangs his head and mutters, “We don’t assume anything, about anyone, at any time.”
“Not cool, kid.”
“But, Mom, you should have seen those two,” Jack says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at me.
My sister’s eyes meet mine, eyebrows lifted and a half-smirk on her face. “Yeah?” she asks Jack while she stares at me.
I roll my eyes and stick out my tongue at her line of questioning. I technically have a rule about dating other baseball players. Primarily because there aren’t that many male-attracted guys in the league… at least not the ones who are honest with themselves and the world about it. But also because it has the potential to get messy.
And I don’t do messy.
“Yeah,” Jack says. “They were all schmoopy, staring at each other. At one point, Uncle Jon covered my ears and leaned in closer to him to say something. And they’re going to get a drink while they’re both in town.”
“Jesus, Jackson. Ever consider a career in journalism?” I ask, cackling at his retelling of the earlier events.
Makenna laughs with me and turns Jack around and pushes lightly towards the stairs. “Go get cleaned up for dinner, please.”
“Fine,” he huffs.
“So…” Makenna says.
“Don’t start, Mak.”
She holds her hands up in innocence. “As long as you’re happy, little bro.”
“In what world am I your little brother?”
“In the world where you were born four years after me. I assume you won’t eat with us for dinner.”
“If it goes the way I hope, don’t count on me for breakfast either.”