With a curt nod, I give my okay, settle my shoulders, lift my knee to my waist and swing my arm around with the power of a lightning bolt. The ball came and went, hit my man’s hand with a force that could break a weaker fucker’s palm, but not Echo’s.
The crowd goes crazy, even before the ump has a chance to make his official call, because there’s not a person here who could misread or disagree about that pitch, shit was pure perfection.
Strike three, bitch. I smirk.
Get outta my house, my zone.
As we knew it would be, it’s called in my favor and the pouty fucker, with a sad size seven cleat, throws his bat in the dirt, stomping his sorry ass to the visitors’ dugout.
I didn’t even throw him a changeup. Three strikes, right down the middle, and still this guy, who didn’t strike out a single at bat last season, didn’t hit shit off me today.
None of them did.
“Yeeeaah, boi!” Echo pops up, tossing his catcher’s mask in the dirt, and charges me.
When he’s a foot or so away, I hop into the air, as does he, and we bump shoulders before hitting mitts in celebration.
“And another one!” he shouts with a grin. “This is our fucking year, Cruz!”
More hollers come and we turn to accept the fist bumps and back slaps from our teammates, but I slide through the rowdy, grinning fuckers, straight to the man who has yet to doubt me.
Coach Reid smiles widely, tipping his chin in a prideful nod.
I toss him the ball with a smile of my own. “How was that for showing up to the game, eh, Coach?”
He nods, clamping my shoulder in a tight grip. “Great fucking job tonight, son. Couldn’t ask for more than that. Take your boys to Trivies, tell ‘em I sent you. Tabs on me tonight.”
When my grin widens, his eyes narrow. “Practice is still at seven a.m. Don’t push it. And get in a couple interview questions with the school reporter before you take off, that girl is persistent as all hell.”
With a light chuckle, I pat him on the arm, give him a salute in thanks, then hustle into the tunnel with the rest of my team.
It doesn’t take long to get fresh and clean. The reporter, Kari, Karley, or something of the like, was all too willing to ask her questions from inside the locker room. Pretty sure the swinging and hangin’ dicks persuaded her—girl asked me two questions before the slow rockin’ of our center fielder’s shlong caught her eye on his deliberate, leisurely stride past us in nothing but his birthday suit, towel hanging around his neck.
Yeah, a men’s locker room is not for the weak.
Takes a strong man to stand next to another whose dick is out dicking his own—poor, girthless fuckers.
“Yo!” I bang the metal closest to me as I head for the door, gaining the others’ attention. “Head to Trivies from here, boys, foods covered. You wanna drink? Pay for that shit yourself or Coach’ll know about it.” Some grunt, some agree, some flip me off with a grin.
With that, I walk out, Echo at my side.
He pulls his keys from his pocket, tossing them in the air. “So, we payin’ for our own beer?”
“Nope.”
“Gotta love Coach.” Sharing a laugh, we hop into his ‘Stang. “We gettin’ fucked up tonight?”
“We’re gettin’ fucked up.”
“I can feel you through your jeans.”
I bring my beer to my lips, giving the ball babe a side-glance. “Course you can, you’ve been scratching your nails across my zipper for the last ten minutes.” Tipping my head back, I finish off the bottle and look back to the girl. “If it ain’t hard yet, it ain’t gonna be, babe. Better luck next time.”
She takes a second, deciding if she’s going to be offended or not, but when my boys at the table to our left start laughing, she sets eyes on her next target of the night, and happily skips her fine ass over there—bit skinny for my taste, but fine nonetheless.
But my dick didn’t agree and he knows best.
On to the next.
I bob my head to the music, skimming the room for the perfect figure for tonight. I need something soft to play with.
To be as productive as possible in my pursuit of pleasure, I follow the length of the wall, passing some cheap, ancient booths and an old wooden bar. They don’t update much here but the liquor and the music. Being one of the two bars we have within walking distance from campus, my guess is it’s because they know the crowd they’re getting—a bunch of rowdy students lookin’ to bury stress and blow off steam.
The foods good, and beers cold, though, so the look of the place doesn’t matter.
A chick with a killer smile winks my way and I sit up a little straighter when she angles her body to show me her profile. She’s got thick thighs, just the way I like ‘em, like she’s played softball all her life, but she’s not on the team. Those girls won’t come here.
Nothing but trouble if we mix our competitive edge with theirs. They usually take up at Screwed Over Rocks with the football team. Apparently, we baseball guys are over the top and hard to handle.
The girl waves her fingers my way, and slowly, purposefully, licks her full lips. That alone should have me solid, but my boy ain’t even twitching, and this is beauty number two.
Today’s game was intense. I guess I need to wind down more, slow the adrenaline before I speed it up again, so I signal for the bartender to bring me another, and the girl turns back to her friends.
The third beer does nothing, so I push to my feet, but not wanting to give in so soon, I scan the room once more. As expected, not a damn thing piques my interest, just like nothing did last night or the night before or the week be-fucking-fore.
I’m off my game.
My dick game, that is. The poor fucker hasn’t seen the sun in a hot minute.
It’s sad ass shit, like a bad BJ where there’s no fire above my groin and no curling of my toes in my Timbs.
Yeah, guys’ toes curl just the same as girls’ do.
If a dude’s toes don’t curve when his dicks down a nice warm throat, he’s getting eighty percent and needs to ask for more dedication.
It’ll work, in time, but it won’t satisfy.
Even if I did find a girl to get me going, I’d still have to go home and handle myself or go to bed aching.
Nothing satisfies anymore.
The perfect shade of golden brown flashes in my mind, and if I wasn’t keenly aware of where I am, I’d swear I could smell a very specific hint of vanilla. A spicy, baggy-sweater-wearing kind.
I swallow a frustrated sigh, my eyes narrowing in on nothing.
I need to get a fucking grip.
Echo and Xavier are headed for the exit as I reach them, and together, we make our way out front.
“Once again, my man’s leaving empty-handed.” Echo grins.
I flip him off and he chuckles.
“We’re going to the team house, you coming?”
“Why the fuck not.” I shrug. “Nothing better to do.”
“I’m touched, asshole.” X chuckles, stuffing his phone in his pocket and pulling out his keys.
“By who, Neo?” I tease. “I knew you two were more than besties.”
Xavier comes out with a grin, wrapping his arms around my middle in an attempt to bring me down, but I quickly spin out of it.
It’s bullshit, everybody knows he’s hot for his boy’s little sister, even if nobody says it out loud. I just like to give him a hard time.
“Shit, I forgot to get my card back from the bartender.” Echo dashes back inside.
“Yeah, I need to take a piss real quick,” X says, on his tail through the door.
I walk over to Echo’s ride, lean my ass against it, and wait.
Closing my eyes, I drop my head back with a heavy exhale, the long day catching up with me, but soon as I quiet my mind, something has my eyes popping open again.
A shadow catches my attention just beyond the parking lot, and I squint, attempting to see better.
Hustling across the street with both hands full is Meyer.
Something falls from her bags, and she bends, rushing to grab the item before continuing to cross the dark road, only to drop down on an empty bus stop bench.
At eleven thirty at fucking night.
Across the street from a bar.
A bar full of young dumbasses.
What kind of shit is that?
I make my way across the street.
Before I reach the divider, Meyer pushes to her feet, lifts her bags, and begins walking toward the school.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
She yelps, jumping a good two feet, her crap spilling onto the ground again.
Her eyes fly to mine, wide with alarm, but they quickly narrow once she realizes it’s me.
She quickly disregards my presence, retrieving her fallen items once more.
Oookay. No hello, I guess.
“Nice to see you, too. Again, what the hell are you doing?”
She stands tall and pushes forward. “Going home.”
“Uh-huh.” I hurry to reach her side and keep in step with her. “And why exactly are you walking around by yourself late at night?”
“Why are you walking by yourself?” she counters.
“I’m a dude.”
She picks up her pace and I swear the girl rolls her eyes, but it’s dark, so I can’t say for sure.
I feel like she did.
“Man, you’re in a hurry. What, Jonny Boy send you out for some condoms and now you gotta rush back before the Viagra wears off?”
“Oh yeah, you hit the nail on the head.” She shakes her head.
My brows snap together. “Wait, really?”
She stops in her tracks, whipping around to face me. “No, not really!”
I try to take her bags from her hand, but she tears them away, so I lift my palms into the air and start walking when she does. “I mean, if you were, you should know that there’s condom vending machines on campus. Unless you’re coming back from the dude’s house …” I turn toward her with a frown. “And you know what, if a man’s making you walk home—”
“Stop.”
“I’m serious. You should kick his ass.”
“Tobias, enough.”
“Okay, okay.” I face forward. “But for real, what kind of dude—”
“There is no dude, Jesus!” She nearly groans.
That shouldn’t make me grin.
Why am I grinning?
“All right, fine. No dude.” I nod to myself, then peek at her from the side. “Not even a shitty one?”
“Oh my god, Tobias!” she shouts, cutting her head my way. “Stop talking,” she says, but there’s a slight bit of something in her usually crisp tone.
“Hold up.” I angle my head playfully. “Was that … are you amused by me?”
“No.”
“I think you are.”
“I definitely am not.”
“Oh, yes, you are.” I jump in front of her, walking backward so we can face each other. “It was tiny, I’m talking statue cock tiny, but it was there.”
Her lips curve into a smile, but she pulls them together to try and hide it.
“Ha!” I shout, calling her out, but then I stumble over a curb she didn’t warn me was coming and fall onto my ass. And it’s not because of my semi sort of buzz I’ve got going on.
Now, though, there’s no denying.
The girl’s laughing at me.
Full-on laughing and you know what?
I ain’t mad about it.
She’s cute when she laughs.
I stretch my arms over my bent knees, playing cool for a second before I hop to my feet.
“You chose not to warn me, didn’t you?”
Her shrug is coy, but she drops her eyes to the grass soon after and when she looks back up, a hint of dejection creeps over her.
She straightens, switches the bags from one hand to the next, and starts walking again.
We walk in silence for a solid two minutes before her eyes flick to mine. “You should go back to your friends—”
“Look, Tutor Girl,” I cut her off with a grin. “It’s late, it’s dark, you’re not walking by yourself.”
She’s quiet a moment before she speaks again.
“I don’t want to walk with you,” she whispers, her frown is focused forward.
Just like that, the bit of fun is fucked off into the night.
“Yeah, well. Too bad.” I don’t look her way, unsure why a flare of disappointment washes over me. “I’m walking home just the same now, so only makes sense I walk with you. Which dorm do you live in?”
“I don’t live in the dorms.”
“Okay, what housing are you in?” I take off ahead of her this time, ignoring the small huff she lets out. “Front side or back side?”
“I’m not in housing either.”
I glance back. “All right, so then where do you live?”
“Let’s not talk, okay?”
Man, I don’t get this chick.
I offer to walk her home and she basically tells me to fuck right off, or that’s what I heard anyway.
How does one even respond to that?
I have no fucking clue, so all she gets is a mumbled ‘whatever’ and we walk the last few blocks in silence. I continue past campus, and she pauses to ask the security patrol what I’m assuming is something random for the sole purpose of breaking away from me, so I leave her to him.
Home now, I take a quick shower, and flop onto my bed in nothing but my birthday suit, my sleepwear of choice.
That’s when it hits me and I chuckle to myself.
Of course.
It’s obvious now.
Tutor Girl got upset, maybe even insulted, at my offer to walk her home because I didn’t offer to take her back to mine.
Maybe the poor girl felt rejected.
Yeah, that could be it.
Maybe.
It’s also the reason I text her an hour later to make sure she got home safe.
When she doesn’t respond, I decide I don’t give a shit.
I frown at the spackled ceiling.
Sleep can take over anytime now.
