7. Webber
“Webber!”
Jimmy Fordham, the manager for the Revolution, calls my name across the clubhouse after an eleven-inning game where I played the last three.
“Yeah?” I yell back.
“Need to see you.”
Shit.
The trade deadline looms over me like a black cloud, and yes, I realize how ominous and ridiculous that sounds, but it does.
I’ve been a utility player for San Antonio for a few years, but even though the third base and shortstop position have shuffled around with trades and retirements and injuries, I’ve never been offered a starting position.
I’m beginning to wonder if I ever will.
“Yes, sir?” I say as I enter his office and sit down in front of his desk.
“We’re sending Farrell down to triple-A for a few weeks to rehab his left elbow. Need you on second until he gets back. You’ll be batting sixth in his spot.”
Farrell took a grounder to the arm earlier on a bad hop. I feel bad for the guy. “Anything you need.”
Coach nods and waves towards the door. “Much obliged,” he says in dismissal.
Walking out of the office, I run into Farrell. “Hey, man. Hope you’re back soon.”
He nods at me. “Keep the bag warm for me. I’ll be back before you know it.”
We bump fists and part ways. I grab my bag from my locker and head for the door. Tossing my bag into the backseat of my truck, I dig my phone out of the side pocket and climb behind the wheel.
Swiping the screen, I see a text from Jonathan. Their series in San Francisco has been riddled with weather delays. They have a double-header tomorrow to make up the first game, and their game today was an afternoon game. He must already be back in his hotel if he’s shooting the shit with me over text.
Fox
Favorite shortstop ever?
I smile and think for a second. That’s a tough question, but I go with my gut reaction.
Webber
Rafael Furcal
Fox
Really?
Webber
Yeah
Agility and speed were really underrated on that dude. Plus I just loved watching him play. He was always happy.
Fox
Fair. He had some wheels, for sure.
I toss my phone onto the console and pull out of the players’ lot, heading for my condo. As soon as I drop my bag in the entryway, my phone buzzes in my hand.
Fox
Favorite ice cream flavor?
Webber
What is this? Some sort of random ass 20 questions?
Fox
Just trying to get to know the man who has my dick on strike. Sue me…
Webber
LOL you’re ridiculous
But my favorite ice cream is a plain vanilla cone from Dairy Queen
Fox
Never pegged you for a vanilla guy
Webber
You pegged me plenty
Fox
Ooooh… good one.
Annnnd now I have to go jack off
I laugh at him and head upstairs. An idea pops in my head, and I run with it before I second guess myself.
I yank my shirt over my head and throw it into the hamper with my shorts and compression shorts I wore to practice. Turning on the shower, I prop my phone on the ledge out of the spray of the shower head.
Stepping into the steam, I pull up Jonathan’s contact and press the video call button. It rings twice before his surprised face enters the frame.
“Grey?” he asks. “Did you mean to call me?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “I figure there’s no need for you to come by yourself.”
“Fuck, are you in the shower?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Two seconds,” he says, and the phone starts bouncing around so much I’m thankful I don’t get motion sick.
I chuckle at his obvious scramble to get into the hotel shower, and he growls at the phone.
“Don’t laugh at me. You sprung this on me, Webber. I wasn’t prepared!”
“You’re telling me you’re not hard for me right now?”
“Oh, baby, I’m fucking hard as stone for you, but this is so much better.”
My eyebrows raise at the sweet term, trying to decide if I like it or not. I do… I think. As long as it doesn’t become a habit, I guess.
“Show me that cock I love to suck,” he says.
I step out of the spray and grab my phone, angling it down until my hardening dick comes into view.
“Shiiitt,” he moans. “I want it in my mouth, Grey.”
“Nobody wants that more than me,” I groan as I stroke myself to the sound of his voice.
“Yeah, that’s it. Stroke it for me.”
We stand in our respective showers, showing each other our hard dicks, stroking ourselves and moaning wordlessly until I whisper, “I’m close.”
“Come for me, Grey. Please. Please.”
It’s that last please that sends me, and I spurt all over the shower wall and my hand.
“Fuck, Jon. So good,” I mutter.
“I’m coming,” he grunts out through a clenched jaw, and I lift my eyes just in time to see him paint his abs with come.
“Best idea I’ve had in a while,” I say, winking at him once our phone cameras are pointed back at our faces.
“Best one since the one that brought you to the park that day,” Jonathan says with a sweet smile.
I sink to the seat in my shower and lean my head back against the tile.
“Let me see you next month,” he says.
“I don’t hear a question in there,” I tease.
“That’s because there’s not one.”
We stare at each other, neither giving an inch, until I finally nod.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice dropping an octave and sending a shiver down my spine.
“You’re welcome,” I answer and end the call before I say something else.
Something ridiculous.
Something that leans a little too hard into feelings.