Page 24 of The Battery

Cody

W e ate dinner that night at a classic Boston tavern.

I pushed the limits of what I was comfortable with spending, despite Leo’s insistence.

I would be locked into pre-arbitration for the first three years while playing for the Riders.

After that, my salary would be open to negotiation.

Not that almost three-quarters of a million a year was awful.

Already I was making money people could only dream of.

Leo sensed my hesitation toward the end of the afternoon, when the trunk of the Mercedes was really piling up.

Leo took us to a spot called Corner Wharf Tavern, a place along the Harborwalk in the North End.

Apparently, his assistant had called ahead and secured us a spot.

With the July heat and the setting sun, the place was bound to be jammed with people.

We arrived in our new clothes after changing at one of the stores.

Leo wore beige chinos that hugged every inch of his powerful legs, the hem ending just above his ankles.

Bright, white sneakers covered his feet.

Up top he wore a midnight-blue button-down linen shirt; long-sleeved to cover his tattoos like the pants, but with the top three buttons undone because Leo was Leo and liked to show a little.

He even popped into a barbershop to refresh the fade of his hair and beard.

I, on the other hand, wore brand new shorts that were too short for my liking, and a short-sleeved button-down the color of the sky.

I had a feeling Leo wanted to at least lean into anonymity, since he was far more popular than I was.

Not to mention a former Brawler and likely a bitter enemy of many New England fans for years.

He slipped on a black ballcap as we approached the tavern, ruining his perfectly coiffed hair.

We wedged into the corner of the bar where massive, open windows gave view to Boston Harbor.

AC pumped out something fierce despite the open windows, and a turbulent mix of heat and cool swirled around us.

I wasn’t mad about it. The tavern itself was seemingly carved out of a single chunk of dark wood, the horseshoe bar a comfortable place to sit with cushioned stools.

Leo had me sit at the very last one against the window, with him next to me, as if he would protect me from the rest of the bar.

I would have called it chivalrous but this most certainly was not a date. So.

We both ordered lite beer and burgers with pub fries.

While waiting for the food to come, we drained two pints each.

I blamed it on the heat. Life was feeling mighty fine by the time the third pint showed up.

That was when we received a polite interruption.

Both of us turned to see a young kid and his mother wedged between the open-windowed wall behind us and the occupied stools next to us.

The boy, who could not have been older than eight, held a baseball in one hand and a pen in the other. Leo spun and said, “Hey there, little man.” I about melted at his lightened tone.

“Mr. Papadopoulos,” the kid said without fumbling through Leo’s last name, “will you sign my baseball?”

“Of course I will,” Leo said as he reached down to take up the item and sign. “So you guys don’t hate me then, right?”

“Aw, no way,” the kid said, his eyes glued to the ball. “You’ve been so awesome. I watch every game to see if you’re gonna fight someone.”

Leo snickered at that and handed the ball and pen back. “I only do that if someone deserves it. Do you think the other players have deserved it yet?”

The boy handed the pen to his mother, who tucked it into her purse. “Um… no?” He looked up to his mother, as if she could provide the right answer.

She mouthed a “ thank you ” to both of us and turned the boy around to get absorbed back into the crowd of the tavern.

Leo spun on his stool to take a sip of his beer. Caught me staring. Then lowered the beer.

“What?”

I shrugged a little. “Nothing. That was adorable.”

He raised the beer back to his lips. “Give it a year and you’ll be in the same boat.” He chugged a few swallows. “Don’t get me started on the ones obsessed with selfies, though.” He shook his head. “I’ll take a kid with a ball and pen any day over all those fucking pictures.”

I didn’t realize it but I had scooted closer to him despite the stools.

My thigh pressed along his. Circumstances begged me to rethink the posturing but a need in my core rejected those superego demands.

Leo didn’t seem to mind. In fact, by the time our food arrived, he had hooked one of his feet around my ankle, as if he could secure me to him.

The tavern was packed with patrons by the time we finished our food.

A band had set up in the main room while the family-oriented folks drained out, replaced by a younger crowd closer to my age than Leo’s.

We stayed for our fourth beer to listen to a local ska band play pop hits with a flare of saxophones, offbeat rhythm, and walking bass lines.

The crowd sang boisterously and cheered at every opening measure in recognition of a song.

My vision was swimming when I paid the tab—something I insisted on doing to demonstrate my newfound ability to spend.

We got up to leave. I noticed the sweat stain all along Leo’s back.

The poor guy must have been dying in the heat.

He scrunched against the open wall and did an awkward lean to let me lead the way.

I squeezed by and struck out into the churning crowd surging against the stage.

There was no way in hell any of this was to fire code.

The press of bodies made it difficult to weave my way through and it was slow going.

Then he was there. I knew it was him. He had the front of his body pressed against my back.

I could smell that alluring cologne of his.

The sticky sweat of his body already seeping through my clothes.

I didn’t care. I wanted to run my bare skin against it, to feel the hardness of his muscle coated in the slickness of sweat.

Together we moved slowly as a single entity through the crowd.

It moved and undulated like a wave, knocking me a bit off-kilter.

Leo’s arm went over and around me like a seat belt.

My hands held onto his forearm as if for safety, pretending like I needed the big man to help guide me through a crowd.

I felt his beard tickling the back of my neck and I wanted to drop my head back to expose my throat to him.

The heat of his body pressed against mine made for slow going toward the exit.

I wanted to absorb the moment and savor it.

At one point his other hand went to my waist, like it had at the tailor.

He urged his hips forward, rubbing into me like we were grinding to music.

Our ambling was awkward in a discombobulated attempt at reaching the exit but surreptitiously enjoying each other’s bodies.

Unashamedly, I slowed our pace and backed my ass into him at every opportunity. I could feel how hard he grew.

The crowd spewed us out eventually and the welcome blast of free air cooled me down.

The short shorts did not help the rising temperature of my body.

Leo sidled up next to me and slung an arm around my neck as we left the tavern and hit the Harborwalk.

The embrace felt bro-y, like two drunk frat brothers surveying the lay of the land after leaving a party.

He kept me locked in like that for a few minutes, then slid his arm back so that his hand rested at the base of my neck.

His thumb traced along the nape and all the hair there shot straight up.

I glanced sideways at him. Still that classic stare of his, eyes forward, determined and defensive all at the same time.

His expressive hands belied the face he presented to the world.

We were back in the SUV in no time, where a bottle of champagne was chilling in a freaking refrigerator in the damn car.

I had no idea the compartment was there.

The driver wasn’t allowed to tell us to open it, but he did say there was a bottle there.

Leo raised his brow as he pulled the bottle out and looked at me.

I shrugged. “Why not?”

A pop filled the car, followed by the careful filling of two glass flutes that had their own special holder in the compartment between us.

We both only had that single glass after all the beer we drank.

It tasted delicious and I enjoyed champagne, but my head and my body wouldn’t let me have any more than I should.

Light, easy conversation passed between us.

We discussed previous strategies that had worked for Leo in the past during his time with the Brawlers.

I told him about fun memories from my time with the Mariners and how I should reach out to those colleagues to let them know how I was doing.

The bucket seats prevented either of us from staying physically connected and I was truly thankful for that.

It had been easy in the bar because of proximity.

Here, in the stillness of the luxury vehicle and the noticeable gap between the seats, any direct contact requiring effort would violate that stupid rule we imposed.

No strings, for him.

An apology for his excoriation, for me.

The driver dropped me off at my house. I’d pick up my car tomorrow from Leo’s.

I was too drunk to drive it anyway. Leo helped sort through my bags in the back and then shared the delivery inside the house.

He hadn’t been there since he dressed me down, when I attempted to create something that he clearly wanted but didn’t allow himself the pleasure of.

We discarded the bags in the hallway. I dropped my cell phone, wallet, and keys in a bowl beneath a horizontal mirror.

The diffuse headlights through the semi-closed front door provided the only light.

I hadn’t slapped the hallway switch yet.

“Best day I’ve had in a while,” I told Leo as the Awkward Goodbye crept up like a spider to its web. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

What a classic Leo response.

I moved to embrace him. I went for the usual buddy hug, with diagonal arms. Leo moved in faster and put his arms around my waist, forcing mine to go up around his neck.

He sank his head to my neck. My nose went to his.

Cologne. Sweat. Him. I took it in and my head swam, this time not from the alcohol.

We stayed there for a moment. Then, Leo squeezed me tighter, as if he could merge us.

I let out a mumbled sigh and tightened my embrace.

His mouth opened, either to speak or more, and I felt his lips brush my neck.

We rotated, though I wasn’t sure who made that move first. My back pressed against the hallway wall as he pressed deeper into me.

It felt distinctly like making out, yet our lips never touched.

He ground into me as if he could fight against his own demons, his own protective walls that only he had the ability to tumble.

I gasped as my body came alive with desire.

I ran my face along his neck, one of my legs hitching up along his waist. Leo exhaled into me, partially lifting me along the wall.

I felt how hard he had grown as our waists pressed together.

He ground upward in a slow buck after another growled exhalation onto my neck.

Then, the flat of his palm hit the wall. Hard. I jumped from the suddenness of it. I felt no fear from the outburst of anger, only regret. We pushed this too far.

He balled his hand into a fist and pounded it against the wall again in his frustration, this time noticeably lighter. He pulled away from me and stalked down the hallway without a word. He was out the front door and in the car as I stood there, chest heaving, trying to calm myself down.

I’m right here , I thought as the headlights left the driveway. All you have to do is show me you’re worth it.