Man, sometimes when life was stressful and you were getting homicidal, it was good to nail the crap out of that grapefruit-sized white ball and relieve some frustration! His shoulders and chest still rang with the force of the swing that had sent the ball out into the stratosphere, and he was going to take the win.
“Thanks so much for playing with us,” Hanford said, extending his hand tentatively. Now that he’d shown the damned ball who was boss, Tenner could relax enough to appreciate Hanford for trying to coach a disparate bunch of nonathletes in a game he wanted to play for fun.
“Thank you for letting me,” he said sincerely. “I look forward to playing for you the rest of the season.”
Hanford’s face—small, sort of plain, round with a pointed chin—lit up like a Christmas tree. “Until June? Oh, that’s wonderful.” He bit his lip. “You wouldn’t want to….” His eyes darted to the parking lot. “We don’t have a budget or anything. It’s just, you know, recreational. But I would love it if you could practice with me and the guys on Sunday. Like, give us some pointers?” His eyes, big and limpid and brown, were his best feature, and they sent a faint tingle to Tenner’s gut. “Please?”
Sunday. “Can I bring my daughter?” he asked, thinking there was a playground he could see from any of the four diamonds at the park. There was even a fountain mat for water play.
“Absolutely.” Hanford really was sort of adorable when he smiled. “My sister’s bringing her kids. They can play together.”
“Your sister?” Tenner asked.
Hanford shrugged. “We all have dinner at my parents’ Sunday night. We’re kind of a tight family.” He gave another one of those puppy-dog looks from those big brown eyes. “I can’t wait to see you Sunday. Bye!”
“Bye,” Tenner called a little wistfully. Sweet kid. Tenner was getting a definite playing-for-Tenner’s team crush vibe from him, and man, didn’t some admiration feel good?
He turned back to put on his regular tennis shoes and shove his cleats in his new equipment bag, shucking his hitting gloves off with them. He still smelled like sweat and dust, but man, had he missed that stench in the last eight or so years.
He’d missed a lot of things.
But at the moment, baseball was the only thing he could have, so he was going to enjoy it.
The last five minutes with Hanford had given the rest of the players time to clear out. He stood up and swung the bag over his shoulder, looking for his car beyond the field in the empty parking lot, when a deep voice behind him almost made him trip.
“Nice fucking catch.”
Oh God. Not this asshole. “Nice fucking chatter,” Tenner told him, coming out of the dugout and barely squeezing by Ross “Stealthy As A Cheetah” McTierney.
“Chatter’s part of the game. Being a superhero is just showing off.”
Tenner was relaxed enough with victory to not mind when McTierney came up alongside him and matched his pace. The sidewalk that ran between the four now-vacant fields also ran behind the snack bar and the restrooms before passing three playgrounds and feeding into the parking lot. Somewhere behind them, the guy who umped the game was walking toward the big pole with the circuit breaker on it to turn off the lights. But other than that, they were alone.
“Oh, and nailing that sucker over the fence in my direction wasn’t showing off?” Tenner retorted. “I watched you set up that hit. You could have sent it over Hanford’s head, like you’d been doing all night, or you could have sent it over mine and… and… that poor kid in right field, bless his heart.”
“You don’t even know his name?” McTierney guffawed.
“No, I don’t know his name! I’ve known this team exactly as long as I’ve known you, but I like them better.”
“Well, then, that’s because you don’t really know me, do you?” McTierney sallied with a cheerful wink. Tenner resisted a hard swallow, because when he wasn’t being an asshole on the field, this guy was actually sort of fun. A slug to the gut, and not a faint tingle, a cocky, strutting asshole with a charming smile.
“Look, just because you’re Patrick’s brother-in-law, that doesn’t mean we’re going to be besties. Wait, what are you—”
They were nearing the bathrooms, and McTierney sped up enough to cut Tenner off, leaning his arm up on the cinderblock wall that provided cover for the entrance of the ladies’ room and grinning directly into Tenner’s face.
“Not talking about Pat,” he said, eyes hooded, lower lip bitten suggestively. “And we don’t need to be besties. But I do think you want to get to know me a little better.”
Oh wow. He was right there. Close enough Tenner could smell the same grass and sweat and dust on Ross McTierney’s body that he could smell on his own.
“I, uh….” It came out as a squeak, and Tenner had to stop and clear his throat. “I don’t have time for this,” he said. It came out a little stronger this time.
Ross’s smirk cranked up to eleven. “We don’t need much time,” he purred, and Tenner was unprepared—so woefully unprepared—for the sucker punch of libido that woke up his cock, balls, nipples, taint, asshole, and all of his skin in one glorious breath.
He could swear his swallow echoed to the parking lot. “You, uhm….”
Ross leaned closer, and he must have spit out his gum, but Tenner could still smell the pop of mint on his breath. “I have wanted that tight little ass since you stepped out on the field, and your snotty little attitude hasn’t changed my mind.”
Time stopped, and Tenner was aware of the width of that long body, the faint twist of that upper lip, and the dare in those sky-blue eyes.
With an audible click, the vast intrusive banks of overhead lights that blessed the field went dark, leaving only the sunspots behind their eyes remaining.
And then it was just him, him and this devastating man, sweaty and alone in the spring dark.
Ross might have advanced first, leaning a little more until Tenner could smell the remnants of aftershave, but Tenner moved the hardest, sealing their mouths together in an explosion of adrenaline and frustration and lust.
Up Against the Wall
DAMN BUT Ross wanted him. No-holds-barred wanted him. He’d worked to piss him off during the game, had practically strained something in his back trying to send that ball over the guy’s head in right field, had been itching to grab that tight little ass from the moment this guy had stalked onto the field with his smoldering brown eyes and “Got better shit to do!” expression.
Ross was going to give him better shit to do, and Tenner was going to by God like it.
And the way he sprang into the kiss, all tongue and teeth and hands rucking up the back of Ross’s shirt—Ross couldn’t see his profile in the dark, but he could feel the guy, his compact frame, his wound-up energy—he wanted to fuck that tight into loose, that power into compliance, that stalk into sprawl.
He reached down and cupped Tenner’s ass, gratified when Tenner hopped up and wrapped his legs around Ross’s waist. Oh God, his cock was erect through his baseball pants and rubbing against Ross’s abdomen, and Ross couldn’t wait to even get to the car.