Page 8

8

STETSON

I watched Barrett’s back until he disappeared from the clubhouse.

I worked my jaw, staring across the room at a scuff mark on the wall and trying to distract myself by wondering how it got there. It was in vain. Barrett’s words bounced around in my head like a bouncy ball.

“ We both want you, Rookie. ”

It just couldn’t be possible… could it? There’s no way both of them wanted me. Especially Barrett, since we were as good as enemies on the field.

The Thrashers and the Hellbenders had a long, long history of tension. Although, no one was sure why. It was something of an urban legend. But one thing about athletes: we’re insanely superstitious.

If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

Nothing good could ever come out of a Thrasher letting a Hellbender take him to bed, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about it.

I remembered how it felt to be in Levi’s arms, to have him on his knees in front of me. I’d felt a connection, there was no doubt about it. But could I have that with Barrett?

The last of my teammates grabbed their things and left, and I muttered a half-assed goodbye to them before doing the same.

Georgia weather was unpredictable at the best of times but in the spring, it was like rolling dice while wearing a blindfold. All things considered, it was a nice night, so I decided to walk. It was late, nearing midnight, so the streets of Atlanta weren’t too busy. Busy enough, but dwindling significantly from the rush hour nightmares.

As I approached my modest apartment building, something in my chest ached. I longed for the plush mattress and silky sheets that Levi had in his guest bedroom. Then I wondered what his bed would feel like. Banishing that thought, I let myself in.

Given that we were smack in the middle of the GSU campus, the building was typically reserved for college students. But since most of them either lived in student housing or with their parents, I got lucky.

My name may or may not have had something to do with it, but I digress.

Was it the best place? Not even close, but it had everything I needed. I’d toured a few houses and fancier apartments, but none of them felt like home. I could make excuses until I was blue in the face: the water pressure sucked, no room for a gym, or too far from the stadium. But none of those even came close to the truth: they were too big. At least, too big for one person.

I wondered if Levi and Barrett ever got lonely in that house.

I made more noise than necessary unlocking the door of apartment 105. Maverick, my roommate and childhood best friend, had a habit of getting experimental with the people he brought home. It took me longer than I cared to admit to learn that a knock wasn’t always sufficient.

To my surprise, Mav was lounged across the couch when I walked in. His dark, cropped hair was sleep-tousled, as if he hadn’t seen a mirror the entire day. He wore nothing but a pair of sweats and cracked the top on a bottle of beer—alone. Perfect. “Got another one of those?” I asked, eyeing the bottle longingly.

“Help yourself.”

I dropped my bag by the door and grabbed a drink from the fridge, joining Maverick on the couch. Up until that moment, I didn’t mind our place. It was on the smaller side, but neither of us were there much. Maverick played pro football, so his schedule could be just as rigorous as mine. All we needed was a place to eat and sleep, and the two-bedroom apartment served its purpose. Though as I sat there, listening to whatever Maverick had on the TV, I noticed things that I hadn’t before. Like the outdated carpet and the obnoxious noise that the fridge was making. The wallpaper was peeling in the corner of the living room and… was that mold underneath?

My mind had to be making things up now.

I twisted the top off my beer and took a long swig of it, not realizing until I came up for air that I’d chugged almost half. I sensed that I was being watched and glanced sideways, finding Maverick staring at me. “Want to talk about it?”

Yes, I did want to talk about it, but I didn’t know where to begin. I picked at the label on my bottle, shredding it to pieces. “There’s a guy,” I blurted.

“Oh, I know.” I leveled him with a glare, which he ignored. “I picked you up the other day from a McMansion in Buckhead, sexed up and wearing the same clothes from the day before.”

“They were clean!”

“Not the point,” Mav teased. “So who was he?”

“Levi Grant.”

My friend finished off his beer and set the bottle aside. “The agent?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I thought he was with?—”

“Barrett Swindon,” I finished for him. “Catcher for the Hellbenders.”

“So, is that over?”

“Nope,” I said, popping the “p.”

“Wait.” While Mav paused the TV and situated himself for the tea to be spilled, I finished off my drink. He spun to face me, sitting cross-legged on the couch. “Explain.”

So I told him everything, conveniently omitting the part where my temper almost ended my career. By the time I finished the story, my beer bottle was clean and scraps of paper littered the floor. Not that the place needed any help looking messy.

“You’re leaving something out,” Mav accused.

I sighed and tossed the empty bottle to the table, the thick glass clattering against the surface. I knew better than to attempt lying to him. We’d been friends since we were in diapers. We shared every aspect of our lives: first steps, first games. All the way to coming out and first loves. Which also meant we frequented the same circles as we got older. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and scrubbing my hands over my face. “He’s a Daddy.”

Met with silence, I peered at Maverick through my fingers. He simply watched me with scrutinizing green eyes. The refrigerator continued making that infuriating knocking noise. A low, aggravating hum sounded from somewhere else in the apartment. I pulled my hands away from my face. “Please say something.”

“I’m waiting for you to tell me what the problem is.”

“I expected a bigger reaction.”

Mav rolled his eyes. “Boy, you’re the biggest brat I know. Every time we’re at the clubs, you turn the heads of every Daddy and Dom in the place. Everyone wants a piece of you. Except for me, of course.”

I scoffed. “You think I could do it? Be someone’s boy?”

“No, I think you’ll have to be dragged into submission kicking and screaming. But you’re also the biggest thing to come out of our hometown, and your already massive ego has gotten even bigger. I think it’ll do you some good to have someone kick you into gear.”

Grimacing, I picked at my fingers. “Have I been that bad?”

“Stetson, everyone in this building knows your name because the night we moved in, you got wasted and shouted through the hallways that ‘Stetson Holloway got drafted by the Thrashers!’”

I bit my lip to stifle laughter. That was a fun night.

“You’re proving my point,” Mav said. “And if you didn’t want to do this, you would have said so.”

“But what about Barrett?”

“What about him?”

“They can’t both want me.”

“What happened to that ego I was just talking about?” I yelped, Mav grabbing my cheeks and turning me to face him. “Listen to me, Stetson. You might be an absolute trash fire but you’re hot. You’re wicked smart and you have one of the best histories of any player in the MLB. Not one, but two equally hot, older men want you. If you don’t run with that shit, I will.”

Oh, hell no. My eyes must have reflected that, because Maverick laughed and released me. “That’s what I thought.”

He sat back and resumed his show without saying another word. Though the smug smile on his face said everything it needed to.

Fucker.

* * *

April

Two weeks later, I was no closer to making a decision.

Luckily, I had the high from back-to-back wins to distract me. Twelve games into the season and not a single loss. We’d just returned to Atlanta following an adrenaline-filled game in Washington. The rain there fit the somber mood left behind as Georgia ran off into the sunset with the win.

That night, I found myself at Harrison’s place downtown. We had a home game the next day, so we risked staying up a bit later. Unfortunately, that risk came with Harrison discovering a bottle of Cuervo in his freezer. Clearly, my last encounter with tequila wasn’t fresh enough in my mind for me to turn it down.

A few shots in, I had a decent buzz going. Enough to be coherent enough to turn away the next double shot slid my way.

Too bad I didn’t listen to that voice in the back of my head telling me to clean up my act. I knocked that shot back like I was getting paid to do so.

And it was that shot that had me grinning like a fool when Harrison handed me his phone, showing me a video of a dare the college students had been doing. “Fuck it,” I said. “Let’s do it.” My slurring should have concerned me, but I was past the point of making good decisions.

Harrison’s mouth curled into a wicked grin. His tolerance was lower than mine, so he was already well beyond wasted. “Hell yeah!”

I eyed the bottle of tequila on the table. There was barely anything left, but enough for one more shot each. I licked my lips, still tasting the salt from my last. Harrison nudged the bottle my way. “Dare you to chug.”