Page 19 of Hiding in the Outfield

He wouldn’t. Paulie is blinded by his protective nature. But…I’m fairly certain Maddy sees some of the same things I see in Olander. I don’t know how anyone can miss the loneliness lurking in those blue eyes.

I let him drag me away, but only because it’s the first time I’ve ever seen a flash of worry on Pao Pao’s face around Dev, like he’s actually nervous Dev will retaliate. I slide in next to Maddox, and he hands me my drink. Such a doll.

The bartender slides the toadface his whiskey. Dev grabs it and turns a scathing look on me. “I’d back off if this one could go five seconds without making someone uncomfortable with his creepy remarks.”

“You mean, like you do with the women here?” Jed throws out.

Zingggg! Jed Stone throwing stones. Direct hit.

Dev’s jaw tightens, but he turns and stalks off.

“It’s okay,” I call loudly. “He’s just jealous because he’s the only man here I wouldn’t be caught dead flirting with.” I take a sip of my Campari. “I’m not picky, but I wouldn’t touch that with a fucking ten-foot pole.”

Olander clears his throat, eyebrows pinched tight. “Sorry about him.”

He says it to everyone, but his eyes are on me. He places an order for shots and then comes over our way.

It’s a bummer Devereux is here tonight. I haven’t forgotten the night Ollie-baby and I spent with our legs tangled together underneath the table at this very bar. This man wants out of his closet, but he’s petrified.

And my heart aches for him.

“Hey, Barnes.”

Maddy dips his chin. “Olander.”

They do their cute little bro greeting. Athletes are just so adorable with their huggy greetings and butt slaps.

“I don’t get a hug?” I bat my lashes.

Olander freezes. “Uh… Um.”

He looks at Maddy, eyes wide. I can see the question there. Am I supposed to hug him?

Maddy bursts out laughing. “He’s teasing, Olander.” He collects himself. “Though, I guarantee a few of the guys here would squeeze the shit out of him just to tease him right back.”

I grin. “Like that time Araujo picked me up and spun me around?” I let out a dreamy sigh. “So strong. And ohmygosh that man smells like fucking vanilla frosting. He’s lucky I didn’t lick him.”

Maddy dissolves into laughter again. Olander, on the other hand, just stares at me. At my mouth, more specifically. I cock my head and bite my lip, slowly letting my teeth skate over it until it pops free. His gaze follows the movement.

Oh, Ollie-baby. You can have a taste, love. I won’t tell anyone.

The tray of shots appears, and Olander practically stumbles in his haste to get it. “Let’s go!”

“I feel like this is a horrible idea,” Jed mutters.

“We don’t have a game tomorrow,” Olander calls over his shoulder and settles at the table of Clippers players.

“I’m pretty sure I’m too old for this,” Paulie says as we approach the table. “Is that bad? I’m twenty-five, and I think I’m too old to do shots.”

I snort. “Clearly, you’re not cool.” I’m twenty-eight and not too old for shots.

Olander lifts a shot to his lips. I snatch it and down it, eyes locked on him. And dear fucking Mary above, what the literal dogshit is this stuff. “Ooooh,” I say with a shiver and a grimace. It’s like fucking battery acid. “Terrible. You ball fondlers have no taste.” I lied. I’m too old for these shots.

“Ball players.” Paulie rolls his eyes at me.

“Oh, puh-leaze. I’ve seen how pitchers massage their balls. And didn’t you tell me the team literally has someone who massages all new balls to get them ready for use? You are professional ball fondlers. I won’t believe otherwise.”

Baseball is an extremely dirty sport. When a guy gets a home run, they all cheer he took him deep! Him, as in the pitcher. And have you seen the Clippers’ pitchers? I’d take them all deep given the chance. Well, I’d prefer they take me deep.