Chapter 5
Rhys leaned against the bathroom door, closing his eyes. He let the events of the last however long—twelve hours? It seemed like the last twelve minutes lasted at least that long—wash away down the drain.
For a brief moment when he woke, he hadn’t been sure where he was or who he’d gone home with the night before. Not his apartment. He’d known he wasn’t in his bed. A moment, no longer, and it came crashing back on him.
The bar. Drinking. Dancing. That back room. Alfie being right there when he needed him. Because he wasn’t a disastrous mess. When Rhys had been falling apart in bed, he’d been there as well. Holding him. Kissing him until Rhys begged for more.
Alfie had given it.
Just like he always did. Whatever Rhys needed. Except for Alfie to actually want him. With the way he’d kissed him the night before, the way he’d whispered to him. Rhys might not have understood the words, but he swore he’d felt the emotion behind them. He’d wanted… so much. It terrified him.
Alfie had still been with him this morning, stirring against his back. Rhys had thought…
It’s not like it was the first time he’d been wrong about the way someone felt. He was sure it wouldn’t be the last, either.
He was never able to learn a single lesson.
Rhys shoved away from the door and switched on the water in the shower. His clothes were out on the floor between their beds, so he didn’t even have to get undressed. Just step under the water. It shouldn’t be that difficult, but every muscle felt like he’d just gone through a punishing workout.
Instead of waking up in his best friend’s arms. Who then proceeded to reject him, once again. Maybe his foster families had been right. He really was a lost cause.
Rhys finally stepped into the shower and let the spray beat down on him. He wished it would drum some of these thoughts out of his head. Instead all he could think about was the way Alfie’s arm had been wrapped around him.
It was one of the first times he’d woken up and almost felt… content. Even as his body felt like it was revving up. Alfie’s touch always did that to him. Even thinking of it had his body responding.
He ran a hand down his stomach and wrapped his fingers around his own cock. He’d never had a good enough imagination to picture his own hand as someone else’s, but that didn’t keep his thoughts from drifting to Alfie, to the way he’d touched Rhys the night before.
Not gently, like Rhys might break. With just enough firmness to take Rhys out of his own head for a short time. Not enough to make him feel like he didn’t have control over what happened. It was a fine line to walk, but it was one more thing Alfie seemed to be adept at.
Something Rhys couldn’t ever seem to get a handle on.
His breathing came quicker as he slid his hand up and down his cock, and he got closer to the edge. He pressed his forehead to the shower wall and reached down to squeeze his balls and let out a sharp gasp as he fell over into his climax.
Even as he panted and waited for his heartrate to come down, he felt unsatisfied.
God, couldn’t he ever be happy with anything?
He finished washing up then snapped the water off and grabbed a towel.
When Rhys came out of the bathroom, Alfie sat on the bed, as if he’d been watching the bathroom door the whole time Rhys had been in there.
Which was ridiculous. He had better things to spend his time on than thinking about Rhys.
His gaze seemed to lock on Rhys’s chest, but certainly that couldn’t be the case.
Rhys turned away from him, but he caught Alfie scrubbing a hand over his face.
He didn’t know what that was about. Maybe Alfie was still trying to wake up.
Not that it mattered. Alfie had made his feelings perfectly clear already.
He didn’t want any of this. Rhys would have to learn to be okay with that. He started to unwind his towel, and Alfie shoved off the bed. He mumbled about getting his shower then hurried into the bathroom. The bathroom door clicked shut, and Rhys let out a long breath.
Everything would be fine. It had to be.
“What’s wrong with you today?”
Rhys glanced over at Oscar Turner, one of the team’s backup catchers, as they both stretched out on the grass of the outfield.
He had to squint against the glare of the sun, though his sunglasses and the brim of his hat should have blocked it.
He hadn’t realized how bad his head was throbbing until he’d stepped out of the hotel earlier.
He’d tried to get the headache to go away with coffee and some Advil, but maybe sweating the effects of the alcohol out of his system was the only thing that would work.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Rhys said. “Whatever could be wrong with me? I’m perfect.”
Oscar snorted as he lunged out over his left leg then back toward the right. Rhys didn’t see why it mattered. It’s not like he was playing tonight. He’d been right about that assumption the night before. He would still warm up and dress just in case they needed him.
Sitting on the bench wasn’t the same as being benched. There was a chance he’d be on the lineup as the designated hitter, since Tavell had been limping a bit. If the skipper thought he was off his game, he wouldn’t be playing at all.
“That is definitely not true,” Oscar said, “no matter what you seem to think.”
Rhys thought he’d said some of that out loud, but then he realized Oscar was still on the same train of thought unlike Rhys who jumped from track to track and sometimes circled back to where it started. Though that was never a given.
“Of course it is.” Rhys sat on the ground and pressed the flat of his feet together, lowering his knees toward the ground.
He could feel the stretch along both hips, and he eased up on the stretch, moving his feet out and alternating twisting each leg to the outside.
“How could any of this”—he gestured down his body—“be deemed less than perfection?”
Oscar held out a hand to help Rhys to his feet as the skipper called for them to come toward the infield. “You know,” Oscar said, “I really don’t think you’re nearly as full of yourself as you pretend to be.”
“I’d like to be full of some—" His words came to a stop as he saw Alfie standing a little ways away, just watching him, those dark brown eyes inscrutable.
He caught Oscar looking between him and Alfie and jerked his gaze away. That didn’t wipe away the furrows in Oscar’s forehead.
“You are going to keep the balls in front of you today, right?” Rhys hoped it would distract Oscar from whatever path his thoughts were going down.
He didn’t think it had worked. Oscar just stared at him, then he let out a barking laugh. “You’re such a shit sometimes, Molson.”
Rhys grinned then jostled between Caleb and Brock as the skipper started talking. He let that wash over him. Tavell was still on the lineup card as designated hitter, which meant he’d be sitting on the bench for the game, unless a substitution needed to be made.
Which meant he got to be alone with his thoughts. Oh joy!
He headed into the clubhouse until it was time to take the field for their pre-game warmup. He caught a glimpse of Alfie, but Rhys turned away. It would be better overall if he kept to himself. Before he showed the rest of the team how not even close to perfect he really was.