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LEVI

Late May

Little did I know how long it would be before the three of us had any private time. It had been nearly a month since that night. Making two busy schedules work was hell, but three was damn near impossible.

That was all going to change tonight though.

I’d been looking forward to this game all season. The Thrashers were facing off against the Hellbenders again, but this time the Hellbenders were hosting. With both my men in New York, I didn’t hesitate to jump on a plane. A two-hour flight was nothing when it meant I got to see them at the end of it, even if I did have to sit through a grueling game first. The change of scenery was just what I needed. With Barrett in practice and Stetson still on his flight, I leisurely strolled through Central Park.

My phone chimed, and I stepped to the side to check it.

Daddy, please…

I smiled. That night Stetson got bold and jacked off without permission, we all crashed the second he got home. We hadn’t had a chance to discuss punishment, much less act on anything. One thing I could control, however, was making sure it didn’t happen again.

Stetson had been under strict instructions for three weeks: no orgasms. He could touch himself enough to edge, but only if he let me watch—and I controlled the moment his hand stopped. It didn’t take long for me to recognize the signs. The way he bit his lip, the way his thighs trembled. Most importantly, how he begged. Damn, my boy could beg.

At first, I thought he’d break instantly. But he surprised me. I guess the feeling of knowing he’d broken the rules was enough to keep him from doing it again, but he still tested his limits. The video that followed his text proved that. I connected my headphones and hit play. Stetson was hiding in an airport bathroom. He whimpered, grasping the bulge that tested the thin material of his suit pants.

The sight was mouth-watering.

Not yet, sweetheart.

He had a game to play first, and the sexual frustration would make him even more of an animal on the field. I had faith that Barrett could keep up, but I wondered if the rest of the Hellbenders knew what they were in for. I responded to the pouting emoji he sent me with a kissing one of my own, telling him I’d see him after the game.

In a stroke of luck, both men had the next day off. We had nothing stopping us from squirreling away in our hotel room and spending the night tangled up in each other. The past few weeks of fleeting visits and stolen moments between flights had only given me more time to plan.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket, biding my time until I knew I could enter the stadium unnoticed.

When the news broke of my relationship with Barrett, our pictures were plastered everywhere. I could hardly leave the house without being interrogated or glared at. But five years was a long time in the world of sports and since Barrett terminated our contract, everyone had all but forgotten that our relationship was ever forbidden in the first place.

However, that didn’t stop me from being tagged as Barrett Swindon’s boyfriend. Being arm candy for the Hellbenders’s most popular player came with its own set of challenges.

Did that also come with perks? Hell yeah, it did. And as I entered the stadium and made my way to my seat behind home plate, I welcomed every single benefit. I would have a perfect view for the entire game. Both teams were already on the field warming up. Like a beacon, each of my guys drew my attention. Barrett first, the number ten on the back of his jersey seeming much bigger than the others. He was tossing a ball around to a teammate without actually looking at the other player or the ball. Noting the way his brows knit together, I followed his gaze right to Stetson. My boy jogged in the opposite direction, and the twelve on his back seemed just as prominent. He hit the edge of the field and as if he could sense me staring, his eyes found mine in the stands. I let my lips curl into a grin, earning a heart-stopping smile in return. I swore that even from the distance, I saw his blue eyes sparkling.

I found Barrett again, and blew him a kiss when I saw him watching. Thankfully, the small gesture seemed to relax him. He took a deep breath, and the tension melted from his body. Navigating a polyamorous relationship was tricky enough. Managing a workplace relationship? That spelled trouble. But when two of those people were as good as enemies in said workplace? Well, needless to say I respected both of them, but didn’t envy them at all.

It went without saying that they had to be careful. The three of us weren’t exactly hiding anything, but we weren’t offering up the information either.

Stetson could let his temper fly at any given moment. He spoke his mind, and he didn’t care much who got caught in the firing zone. Barrett could wear his heart on his sleeve, but was also incredible at masking. The moment you asked him what was wrong, that charming smile was in place, convincing you that nothing was ever wrong. And as he suited up and took his position behind home plate, that’s exactly what happened. There was no more room for emotions.

With a sigh, I sat back in my seat and buckled in for what was sure to be a wild ride. But even I couldn’t have predicted the tension that game would bring.

For a full nine innings, it was anyone’s game. Just when it seemed like the Hellbenders would be able to pull ahead, the Thrashers would throw in their secret weapon: Stetson. When he was at bat, he locked onto that ball like Harry Potter with the golden snitch. Usually resigned to outfield, this time he was pitching. And when he was on the mound, he had an arm that rivaled Babe Ruth himself. You could feel the energy in the stands, with each and every fan practically holding their breath every time the ball was in the air.

By the bottom of the ninth inning, one run could make or break the game. Everyone was exhausted. Stetson walked onto the mound, rolling out his neck. The Hellbenders were down by one, and the bases were loaded. It all came down to one batter: Barrett. He stepped up to the plate, and their eyes locked. I didn’t miss the slight quirk of Stetson’s lips before he schooled himself. No one around me suspected anything more than a tense baseball game, but I felt like I was watching a Western standoff. I didn’t need to see Barrett’s face to see the determination there, the same heat that matched Stetson’s. It wasn’t unlike the way they looked at each other off the field. Only this time, there was much more at stake. Each of them had a nearly thirty-man team counting on them and with the playoffs in sight, the pressure was on.

Stetson was young, but he was skilled. He didn’t get to this point based off luck alone. But where Stetson had skill, Barrett had experience. I had to admit that watching the two of them face off had my stomach twisting in a way I never expected.

And regardless of the outcome of the game, I couldn’t wait to get them both alone.

Stetson wound up, and the ball flew to home plate.

Barrett missed.

He shook his head, no doubt muttering a curse and readied himself for the next pitch.

Refocused, Stetson shifted the ball around in his hand, masked by his glove.

Swing.

Strike.

Every Hellbender fan in the place let out a groan, and Barrett paced around in a circle. This was it. Either Barrett hit the next ball and the Hellbenders had a fair shot, or he missed, and the Thrashers would win once again.

The stadium was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Stetson was laser-focused on the catcher’s glove. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, the intensity there sent a shiver down my spine. I sat forward, elbows on my knees. I felt… lost. I wanted both of them to win, and it hurt like hell that it wasn’t an option.

Stetson took a moment to steady himself. His gaze fell to the catcher. The ball rotated in his hand. Every eye in the place was on the two most important men in my life.

I didn’t have time to pause and think about what that meant for me and Stetson.

He wound up, and pitched.

Time seemed to slow. The ball moved in slow motion.

Barrett swung.

And the ball thunked into the catcher’s glove.

Strike three.

Barrett was out, and the Thrashers had beat the Hellbenders once again.

I stood with the rest of the New York fans but instead of applauding, I shoved my hands in my pockets. Barrett found me, giving me a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. When he took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair, I knew it had nothing to do with peeling it away from his face. Behind him, the Thrashers celebrated. Stetson found me as well, beaming ear to ear. I did my best to return it, but it was bittersweet.

Around me, fans started to gather their things and leave. I waited until the players disappeared into their clubhouses, and then went in search of my men.