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With a snort of laughter, Javier returned from the refrigerator with the hot sauce. “No, I remember that you eat spicy food in the morning and complain about your stomach ache all day.”
As he sat the bottle on the counter, his warm brown eyes fixed on Zach’s. Attraction arced between them like electricity. Just like old times, Zach’s sense and reason warned him. But the old times hadn’t been so bad, and as Javier leaned closer, smelling like shampoo and fresh laundry, Zach couldn’t think of a single good reason not to let it just happen.
Javier’s mouth fell on his, hungry and demanding. Javier hadn’t shaved, and the stubble reminded Zach of all those mornings they’d woken up together. Zach rose from his seat, pushing into the kiss with more desperation than he’d wanted to give. Every part of his body remembered every part of Javier’s and wanted to get thoroughly reacquainted, right there on the kitchen floor. They’d been apart for way too long, not speaking even as friends, not so much as a nod or wave on the field. Now, things felt exactly as they used to, with Javier’s hands gripping his hips as they bumped together against the refrigerator door.
Nothing was more painful than history because it couldn’t be rewritten.
And then Zach thought of the history he was writing for Domenic. It would be one thing, Zach figured, if he was just trying to get laid, but feelings he’d never gotten overcame roaring back to him under Javier’s mouth. Maybe Domenic was okay with that, but Zach wasn’t. He certainly wasn’t okay with Domenic being okay with it.
He was about to push Javier away, say, “This is a mistake,” but Javier beat him to the punch, placing a hand on Zach’s chest and pushing firmly. “No. You don’t want to do this.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Zach said, stepping far clear of Javier.
“No apology necessary. From you, anyway.” Javier ran a hand over his short, dark hair. “I was totally out of line.”
“I think this whole ‘being friends’ thing would go a lot better if we kept it hands-off.” Zach tried to make a joke of it, but he swallowed hard, and when he sat down and reached for his plate, his hand trembled and he dropped his fork loudly.
They ate in strained politeness, chatting mostly about the team and how the season had been going. Nice, safe topics of conversation, until they were done joylessly eating eggs and could get into the car and go. At the bar, they said a quick, friendly goodbye, and that was it. There was no agreement to hang out again sometime soon, not even a “see you later”. Hopefully, they wouldn’t even sit near each other on the plane that night.
Back in his suite, Zach sat in the feeble daylight from the one window in the sitting area, examining what the hell had actually happened. When Javier had broken things off with him, he’d been nothing short of destroyed. Teenage girls had been less dramatic over breakups. He’d been way more manly than a teenage girl, of course, and he’d limited his bouts of very manly crying to the privacy of his own apartment, but it had taken a lot to face the start of the season that year. Every inch of that ballpark had held memories of their relationship. The pain was inescapable and indescribable.
Yet here he was, about to fall into the same trap as he had the last time. Javier knew he was with someone, so the kiss couldn’t have meant as much as Zach might, shamefully, want to believe it had. It was pretty much a guarantee that it had meant nothing other than Zach was safe, familiar, and kind of available. It didn’t mean Javier wanted him back.
Besides, there was Domenic. When Zach had met Domenic, he’d still been a mess. Through his patience and understanding—he’d recently been through the bad end of a relationship, himself—Domenic had helped Zach heal from the damage Javier had left in his wake. Now, Zach was about to run headlong into the damage, again.
Resting his head on the back of the couch, he examined the popcorn ceiling. He hated this hotel room, but he didn’t long for home the way he had been doing for days. Such was the danger of Javier.
Zach would keep this one to himself, and never repeat this stupidity again. He’d just have to steer clear of temptation. How difficult would that be?
Chapter Four
Playing in Miami in June was like playing in the devil’s armpit. It was unbelievably hot, the air was stupid moist and unbreathable, and the visiting team clubhouse smelled like there’d been a nationwide deodorant shortage.
It was hellish in other ways, too, Javier thought, squinting across the infield at Zach. The sun picked out coppery highlights in his hair, and his arms were red despite the 50 SPF sunblock he kept slathering on in the dugout. The smell of that sunblock did weird things to Javier. Like distract him when he should be focused on the game.
