Eleven Ben
eleven
Ben
Ben! You made it!” David shot Ben a smile that nearly blinded him.
Ben grinned back. “I hope it’s cool I brought a friend.”
When Ben had told the other cellos he was trying out a queer kickball league, TJ had invited himself along.
The two of them had been getting coffee before rehearsals and shows most days at this little coffee shop down the street from the Kauffman Center.
It took some logistics: Unlike the upright bass players, cellos didn’t get to store their instruments at the Kauffman Center, and Ben refused to leave his in his car, so they either had to show up early and drop off their cellos backstage before walking to the coffee shop, or go to the coffee shop with their cellos on their backs, which was awkward since it wasn’t exactly a huge space.
Ben was getting to know the rest of the musicians in the Philharmonic, but TJ was his first real friend. Thomas was great, too, but he treated Ben more like a little brother—or a surrogate son—even though he wasn’t that much older.
David’s smile only grew brighter. “TJ, right?” He offered a hand, which TJ took. “Trust me, you’re both gonna love it.”
It was a bit of a shock, seeing David out of the suits he always wore at Aspire.
Instead, he stood there in a white raglan with green sleeves, with a huge stylized lion on the chest, and black shorts from an athleisure brand that catered to gay men and mascs.
Ben knew, because he was wearing the same shorts—the five-inch inseam ones that showed off his ass—but in teal.
“Nice shorts,” Ben said.
David chuckled. “Listen. We’re all queer here. Half the team probably have the sluttiest jockstraps imaginable under their shorts.”
TJ guffawed. He had the funniest laugh. “Oh damn, I forgot mine at home. Along with my dick.”
Ben wasn’t sure if TJ made so many jokes about being trans because he was testing if he was safe, or if he was testing people to see if they got uncomfortable. Though maybe they were the same thing. Or maybe TJ just really liked making (lack of) dick jokes.
David didn’t miss a beat, though. “I’ve got a spare in my car if you need.”
TJ guffawed again, even louder.
David flashed another smile. Then his eyes swept past Ben and his smile grew even brighter. “Farzan!”
Another handsome man, with black hair in wavy curls and sepia skin, jogged over. “Farzan, this is Ben and TJ. They’re both regulars at Aspire. And musicians at the Philharmonic. Ben, TJ, this is my boyfriend, Farzan. The best chef in the city.”
Farzan blushed. “Don’t let Chef Brayan hear you say that.”
“He’s a big boy. He knows where my loyalties lie.”
Farzan laughed and offered Ben and TJ fist bumps. “Glad you could join us. Either of you played kickball before?”
TJ shook his head, but Ben said, “Not since fifth grade.”
“Don’t worry, it’s a friendly league. Oh, our captain’s here. Let me introduce you.”
Ben turned and—
You’ve got to be shitting me.
Arya was jogging toward them, also in shorts and a raglan, carrying a mesh bag with a bunch of red bouncy balls over his shoulder. His brow furrowed as he spotted Ben.
“Ben? What’re you doing here?”
This had to be a joke. A big, cosmic joke.
Ben had accepted he’d be seeing Arya again. In very carefully controlled circumstances at Philharmonic Ball committee meetings.
Not here, in a sunlit green park, wearing athletic shorts that cupped his ass and hinted at the swish in his dick, and a raglan that contrasted with the rich, ruddy brown of his skin.
Not now, with him smiling and laughing and coaching the team. Shouting encouragement, clapping at a good kick, cheering when someone scored a run.
At least Arya hadn’t mentioned how they’d really met.
While Ben had stood there tongue-tied, with TJ eyeing him something fierce, Arya had smoothly described how they’d met briefly when Arya was in Napa for an event at Ben’s parents’ winery, and now they were serving on the PhilBall committee together.
“Small world, huh?” Farzan had observed, and that was it.
So now here Ben was, in his own raglan (Arya had a box of them in his trunk and had tossed Ben one while they were warming up), covering third base, with TJ in the outfield behind him, waiting for the kick.
Their pitcher was a white guy named Noah, kind-eyed and deep-voiced, and apparently also friends with Arya.
Did Arya just know all the queer people in town? Was Ben doomed to never escape him?
Their shortstop—a trans woman named Marisol—had taken Ben and TJ under her wing, helping them learn everyone’s names, giving them pointers when Arya was too busy.
“You’ve got to take advantage of the bounce,” she explained after Ben missed a toss back to home base to get David out. “It’s a rubber ball, not a soccer ball. And, TJ, you can keep in closer.”
Ben nodded, cursing at himself. Three missed tosses.
He didn’t expect to be the best, but he didn’t want to be the worst. He pulled off his baseball cap and wiped his sleeve across his sweaty brow.
He hadn’t expected to break a sweat. It was kickball.
But it was a warm, sunny spring day, and they had been running back and forth, and it turned out kickball was more challenging than Ben remembered from elementary school.
Over by home plate, Arya pulled up his raglan to wipe his face, exposing his stomach and chest. Ben hadn’t gotten to see much of Arya the night they spent together, aside from his dick. They’d stayed mostly clothed.
So he’d missed the chance to admire the brown plane of Arya’s stomach. The coarse black hair that ran like a river from his belly button to disappear beneath his waistband.
Fuck, Ben was not thirsting over Arya. That had been a one-time thing, never to be repeated.
As if Arya had sensed him, he looked up, catching Ben’s eyes and giving a wink.
Ben rolled his eyes and tugged his hat back on, keeping the bill to the back. Ben knew he looked sexy in baseball caps—which was wild, since he’d never been particularly sporty—and he grinned to himself when Arya swallowed and looked away.
Two could play at this game.
“So, how was it?” Marisol asked as they walked back toward the “dugout,” which was really just a folding bench and a couple of lawn chairs set beneath one of those white nylon pop-up tents, where a few spectators had planted to watch practice.
One of them also seemed to be close with Arya; he was standing in a huddle with Arya and Farzan and David, with his arm wrapped around Noah’s waist.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun in my adult life,” TJ said.
“It was pretty fun,” Ben admitted.
Being out in the sun, touching grass, laughing and running around with a bunch of other queer people felt… healing. Like it was slowly undoing a bunch of middle school trauma or something
At the end of the day, what wasn’t middle school trauma?
Even being around Arya had stopped bothering him, more or less.
Arya was too busy captaining to engage much with Ben, aside from the occasional pointer or shout of encouragement.
And Ben was too focused on practice to worry about whether Arya was looking at him, and whether they were giving off any weird vibes that would tell people they’d hooked up.
Marisol gave him a bright smile, and Ben returned it. Marisol’s two front teeth were a bit crooked, in a way that made her smile all the more charming.
“Good,” she said.
“So when do we find out if we made the team?” TJ asked.
Marisol just laughed. “If you want to be on the team, you’re on it. That’s the whole point of the league. All are welcome.”
“In that case, I have some questions,” TJ said, pausing beneath the shade of a tree. Ben gave TJ and Marisol a wave and kept going toward the dugout to grab a bottle of water.
As Ben approached, he peeled his raglan off.
Ben wasn’t particularly vain about his body, but he did work hard on it, and he knew his chest was pretty nice, especially for being forty.
He had broad, smooth pecs, and had managed to retain the barest hint of abs.
Some of that was just lucky genetics, so he didn’t preen too much about it normally.
He did today, though, as he sensed Arya’s gaze shift toward him.
God, he was turning petty. But he wanted Arya to know what he was missing out on.
Ben grabbed a water bottle and took a long drink, closing his eyes. Kickball practice had kicked his ass.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Arya said.
Ben opened his eyes. Arya had left the huddle of his friends and stood by Ben, chugging his own water.
“Blame David.”
Arya laughed. “Don’t worry, I do.”
Ben nodded and took another swig of water, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. Okay, he wasn’t just petty, he was downright cruel, but it worked, because Arya tracked the movement and swallowed hard.
Then Arya shook himself. “I hope you had fun, though. The league is all about reclaiming sports for queer people.”
“I did. So did TJ.” He gestured back toward the tree, where TJ and Marisol were having an animated discussion. “You need this back, by the way?”
He held up his sweat-soaked raglan.
“Or should I pay you?”
“You joining the team?”
“Yeah.” Ben bit his lip for a second, then admitted, “I need to make friends in town. And this seems like a good group.”
“Then it’s yours. For free. And it really is a good group.” His eyes narrowed. “Well, except Fucking Todd.”
“Fucking Todd?”
Arya cast a dark look toward one of the players headed toward the parking lot, a white guy who’d played first base.
“What’s the deal with Fucking Todd?”
“He used to date my friend Ramin. Turned down a wedding proposal, then tried to get back with Ramin after Ramin had already gotten together with Noah.”
“And Ramin is…”
“The guy in the blue shirt who watched us.”
“Okay, and which one is Noah again?”
“The pitcher.”
“Right.”
Was everyone on the team so… entangled? Just what had Ben gotten himself into?
“Don’t worry, other than that there’s not a lot of drama,” Arya said. “Honestly, I’d have kicked Todd off the team, but Ramin told me not to. He’s too nice.”
“Wow.”