Page 13 of Built to Last

“The Walruses are playing?” He perked up again.

“Actually, I got a call earlier from another team, the Flamingos. They’re short a man tonight, since Bobby O’Connell’s wife just had a baby, so they need me to play catcher for them.”

“So you’re a pitcher and a catcher? You play both positions?” He winked.

I blushed, because he wasn’t wrong with either guess. “It’s not like MLB. We all fill in where we can,” I answered, ignoring the innuendo part of his questioning.

“Very noble of you,” Marco said with a nod. “Some other time, then?”

“I don’t⁠—”

“Sorry,” he said, raising his hands. “If you’re not out, you’re not out. It’s not my business to push anything you’re not ready for.”

“Thanks,” I said woodenly, unsure how I felt about anything anymore. Marco was too nice for his own good, and too perceptive on top of that.

“I’ll give you a call about getting into the shop to start setting up,” he said as he stepped back, heading for the door. “And I’d love to talk to you about signage as well. I have a sign maker in mind, but I want to see if there are any requirements for the strip before I order anything.”

That was the end of that conversation. Once Marco was out the door, I sank into one of the chairs and splayed, eyes closed, groaning over how awkward the whole thing had been. I had no idea how I’d gotten myself into such a fix, but I had to get out of it as soon as possible.

I cleared my head by finishing up work for the day, then drove the RV back over to Copper Beech Park for the game. Some of the team was already there by the time I arrived and made my way to the diamond to check in with Warren, the team captain, and to grab a borrowed, hot pink t-shirt with the Flamingos’ logo on it.

“It’ll be a tough game tonight,” Warren told me with a slap on the back. “That’s why I called you in. The Barracudas are the best team in the league.”

“We’re playing the Barracudas?” I asked, dread pooling in my stomach.

One glance across to the other team’s bench, and there was Gilbert, looking just as hot as Marco had said he looked. Hot and ready to kick ass on the baseball diamond.

Great. Just what I needed.

He looked up in the middle of talking to one of his teammates, saw me, and stopped talking. The intensity in his eyes was all I needed to see that the kiss was still on his mind, too.

“Alright, team, let’s play ball!” Warren called out, clapping his hands and getting us all to focus on him. I wrenched my hopeless gaze away from Gilbert. “The Barracudas are a tough bunch, but we’ve got Kyle on loan from the Walruses here to catch for us, so I think we have a real chance.”

“Yeah, Kyle!” Grace, one of the Flamingos whooped, thumping me on the back.

I grinned, but underneath my pretend bravado, I couldn’t imagine Grace being quite so thrilled if she knew what I’d been feeling moments before, if she knew I’d kissed Gilbert.

“Let’s do this,” I said in my best competitive athlete voice.

“Grace, I want you on first. Neil, you’re playing shortstop,” Warren rattled off the assignments.

A few minutes later, the game began. Just like the game I’d played against Gilbert’s team the week before, things were competitive and tight. Both teams managed to keep the other from scoring for the first few innings, then we each logged a few runs before the seventh inning. Gilbert was the star hitter for the Barracudas, of course, but some of the other guys did a great job, too.

I wish I played better. I didn’t do much when it was my turn at bat, but at least I did a decent job as a catcher. I hadn’t yet reached the age when my knees would start to give out, like my dad’s did in his late thirties, so I was able to make a few great saves and get people out at home.

And then came the bottom of the eighth.

Gilbert and I had more or less ignored each other all night. It was harder when he was up to bat, since his butt was almost right in my face. It wouldn’t have bothered me at any other time, but with the way my libido had been jumping around since the kiss, any part of Gilbert’s body that came near mine was enough of a temptation. His juicy ass was way too much.

“See something you like, Jameson?” he called me out as Dave, the Flamingos’ pitcher got ready to throw the ball.

Frustration and heat gripped me as the ball came hurling at me. I held up my glove and braced for impact, but Gilbert swung and smacked the ball so hard that it went sailing out over left field, over the head of the fielder waiting there.

“Dammit,” I growled, standing and following the flight of the ball, then the fielder’s run as he scrambled after it.

Gilbert made it past first and second and landed safely on third, not daring to make the attempt to run home as the fielder threw the ball in. Both teams applauded for the amazing hit, since we were that kind of league. I didn’t appreciate the smug look Gilbert sent my way as he positioned himself on third to run as soon as he had a chance.

What was he thinking? Competitiveness was one thing, but if I didn’t know any better, I would have said he was luring me into making some sort of move that would broadcast to all the guys around us that there was something going on between us. Why the hell would he do that?