Page 6 of The Battery

Leo

R omo could prattle on for hours. I thought my ears would start to bleed after I hadn’t spoken a word for fifteen minutes straight. The man didn’t take a breath.

We circled the stadium concourse hours before the next game.

They hadn’t let the early visitors in yet.

(Romo loved them, I had come to learn, as he inexhaustibly told me about how special it was to meet each one of them.) Mostly, thankfully , we discussed strategy and the direction he’d like to see the Riders continue to grow.

When asked about his fear of being traded like Hiroshi, he assured me he had a no-trade clause in his contract for at least the next three years.

And by then, he thought he’d be past his prime.

I bit down on my tongue at that. I was two years Romo’s senior. If he thought he’d be past his prime at my age now…

Eventually, after our second circuit, the conversation swung around to the pitching staff.

I let him talk so I could get his unbiased opinion.

I needed a fast forward button on a remote that could control him.

All I wanted was for him to zip through most of the roster until he got to one particular person.

“And then Hill. He confuses me,” Romo admitted.

We had paused at one of the archways. A pizza shack behind us, third base before us.

Romo rested his forearms on the metal banister and I mirrored him.

Together we looked upon the field at a team at practice.

“He’s good. Real good. But he can’t get his emotions in check.

Gotta admit that’s a little frustrating to see. ”

I nodded in understanding. Most of us got to where we are today because of our ability to ignore the cloying nature of overwrought emotions. “I noticed that,” I said. “I think he feels pressure because of Hiroshi’s absence.”

Romo gave an “oh well” look and shrugged his shoulders. “We all do. Though I’m not sure why it’s bad with him. He was never here to experience Hiroshi as our catcher and captain.”

“The man had a rep. If I was on the forty-man and stuck in the minors, I know I’d be looking forward to working with the guy.

” I pushed off from the banister, turned, crossed my arms, and put my back to the field.

I stared at an anthropomorphic pizza slice shaking a pair of maracas.

The hell? Some kinda pizza and Mexican fusion?

“Good point. He needs to figure his issues out, though. It’s getting noticed.”

I felt a pinch in my gut, which made me glower. I didn’t need to have my own cloud of emotions blocking the sun. “Anything I can do?”

I noticed Romo give me a look that I ignored.

After a moment, he spun around and leaned his rear against the banister, extending both arms out for a wide grip.

“A couple of the relievers took to you, which is great to see. Feels like Hill is resisting a bit. Maybe see what that’s about?

” He shook his head. “He’s good. I think he’ll be able to stay if we can just get him on the right track. ”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good.” He jutted his chin toward the pizza shack. “Ever have a pizza-dilla?”

“A what ?”

Romo laughed. “It’s like this pizza that has all the ingredients of a quesadilla. It’s friggin delicious. Fan favorite, in fact.”

My brow dimmed in confusion. “You mean like bread and cheese?”

Romo pushed off from the banister and started walking. “I guess. Gotta run to a meeting with the skipper. I’ll catch ya later?”

I nodded as a response, then turned and walked the opposite direction.

The mid-May air was a perfect low seventies.

My favorite time of year, when I could wear shorts or pants and not worry about being cold or hot.

I wore compression leggings underneath workout shorts, if only for the modesty aspect and my fellow Riders not being ready to see me unleash beast mode.

I wore a Riders-branded t-shirt underneath a sweatshirt I left halfway zipped.

Stuffing my hands into the pockets, I slow-walked as I stared at the field. Movement caught my eye in the bullpen.

At least ten people were there. Three-quarters of the pitching staff and a couple of pitching coaches.

A line had formed and it looked like they were playing a game.

Top That, probably. Who could throw the fastest. I spied Cody somewhere in the middle of the lineup.

Those around him were all smiles and loose stances. Cody appeared stiff. Hat pulled low.

It’s for fun, kid , I thought with a pang of sympathy.

I eventually made my way to the mezzanine overhang that looked down on the bullpen. Raucous laughter, the distinct smack of a fastball hitting the catcher’s mitt. The May sunshine overhead. All the perfect elements to a good day, and poor Cody Hill looked like he wanted to drop through the floor.

And I started to learn why as I observed.

The laughter came at Cody’s expense. Aston and Shoji still hadn’t let go of when Cody pegged me twice.

Now they referred incessantly to his disastrous fifth inning at his last game.

Each reference caused him to drop his head lower and lower.

They had him, they knew it, and they wouldn’t let go.

A third, Levine, stepped in for the kill after Aston and Shoji would make the setup.

I felt heat rise in my chest. Not at the antagonists—that was par for the course.

I had anger toward Cody . How could he stand there and not give it back?

The coaches ignored it, and I didn’t blame them.

There was a degree of competition required to keep these guys aware of their position.

Seeing how they performed under peer pressure was another good indicator of longevity. Cody Hill was failing miserably.

I couldn’t stomach watching more and left the mezzanine.

I couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to help himself.

That heat in my chest ignited a fiery anger that I controlled.

I knew it was unreasonable to be so pissed off about it.

I could not have cared less if one of the other pitchers were being teased like that.

Which gave me pause, mentally and physically.

I came to a stop somewhere in the bowels of the stadium in one of the concrete corridors staff and players used.

I recognized an unhealthy curiosity when it hit.

I wasn’t here for that . I was here to win my fourth pennant. I had to focus on that. Not on…

Cody came around the corner, head lowered, stalking forward like he was ready to fight. The brim of his hat lifted and our eyes met. “Oh come on . Seriously? You’re just everywhere now?”

He continued forward and I stepped in his path, shot out a hand, and slammed a flat palm against the cool concrete to bar his way. “The fuck is your problem?” I used another voice, one that came from the diaphragm. Deep, resonant. Cody stopped short with wide eyes.

We were alone in the narrow space. I hadn’t memorized the layout yet. I had been wandering through the rabbit’s warren of tunnels to eventually get to the clubhouse. The way behind me led only to the utility rooms. Why was Cody heading in that direction?

“Look, I just need space. I’m pissed and I need to calm down,” Cody said with as much venom as he could muster, which wasn’t a lot.

I wanted more. I wanted to observe him come alive with anger to see if he even cared.

“Pissed because you got your feelings hurt?” I said. I didn’t move my arm, and I was wide enough at the shoulders that he would have to make a concerted effort to go around me. “Poor little baby.”

Cody took in a sharp breath and retreated half a pace. “That’s… I’m not a…”

I cocked my head. A little voice told me I was going to push this too far but I didn’t care to listen. “Yes. You are. It’s exactly what’s happening. You can’t handle other people being critical? It’s pathetic, Hill. How did you make it this far being so sensitive?”

“I’m not sensitive.” There, more volume in his voice. A flash of anger on his face.

“Oh fuck off. Yes you are. You’re gonna let that rattle you when you’re on the field? Because that’s what’s gonna take place. Then it’s adios majors and you lose probably the one chance at—”

“Shut up you asshole ,” Cody said.

Finally.

Then he tried to move past me, but this conversation was far from over. Now that I saw his tipping point, I needed to drive my message home. I used my size to my advantage.

As Cody attempted to slink by, I barred his way again.

But this time, I used my left hand to grab a handful of his shirt and then press him against the wall of the corridor.

I didn’t shove him hard, but with enough force to snap his attention.

With wide eyes, he stared in disbelief. I raised my right hand to point a finger two inches from his face.

“You’ve got talent, Cody. Real talent. But you’re letting your emotions get the best of you and it pisses me off to watch talent succumb to baser instincts.

You need to get that shit in check fast .

You could be an asset to this team if you just get control of yourself.

I saw it. The fourth inning against the Winds? You…”

In my tirade I had lost track of myself. I thought I pushed too far. Cody’s wide eyes showed too much fear. I lost the balance of what I was trying to accomplish and now I’d scared the poor guy into…

Oh.

No.

That wasn’t fear.

His pupils had blown wide. His body was relaxed against my grip. His eyes moved between the tip of my finger in his face, to my lips, to my own eyes. Rapid bouncing between all three, as if he had a critical decision to make.

I felt my own breath catch. The moment went from a lecture to the potential for something physical in the span of an eye blink. I froze in the moment, warring between a desire for companionship and a need to win. Those two were not a pair bond.

Cody made the decision for me. His lips trembled as his mouth parted a fraction.

He blinked, carefully jutting his head forward.

My eyebrows climbed as his mouth opened, tongue extending to capture the tip of my finger.

I exhaled, still frozen, as Cody let out a light, barely perceptible moan when he sucked my finger to the first knuckle, pulling my hand forward.

Then farther, past the second knuckle. Down to the webbing.

My index finger danced with his tongue inside his mouth, hot and wet.

He had his eyes closed as if he savored the taste of me.

I tightened the grip of my left hand in refusal to let go.

I pressed the bulk of my body against his.

I felt him growing harder by the second and my reaction mirrored his.

He sucked so hard on my finger I thought he’d pull the thing off.

I stayed locked in the moment now that my surprise of his action abated.

He opened his eyes, saw my hunger and determination. My dominance.

I yanked my finger from his mouth, hooked my left hand against his neck, and brought our lips together in a fury of connection.

His mouth was open before we met, that dancing tongue of his ready and willing to meet mine.

I drove myself down and into him, extending my tongue as far as it could go to taste him fully.

Cinnamon. A lot of cinnamon. I savored it.

On a whim of desire, I snaked my right hand around his back and sank it into his workout shorts.

He let out a small tut of surprise that I swallowed in my mouth.

He grabbed two handfuls of my biceps as I dipped my spit-soaked finger between his ass, then fish-hooked it at just the right spot.

Cody took in a sharp breath as I pressed inside him.

A louder moan escaped his mouth and echoed down the concrete corridor.

I pulled my left hand away from his neck and smacked the palm against his mouth.

His eyes grew wide, now disconnected from our kiss and focused on another touch.

I drove my finger in farther and a louder sound rushed out of him, now muffled by my hand.

“ Shh ,” I said as I worked my finger. He wiggled his hips, still moaning.

“ Shut the fuck up. ” Though I said it, I no way in hell meant it.

I hadn’t been this turned-on in months. “You gonna be quiet?” I asked as I removed my hand a fraction.

He nodded. “Good.” I twirled my finger, then pumped it in and out.

Cody’s head slammed against the concrete.

He exhaled a heaving breath. Parted his closed eyes. Looked right at me.

He opened his mouth to say something, but a door slamming somewhere in the distance made both of us jump.

Like cockroaches with light, we both scattered. I pulled out of him, turned, and beelined it in one direction while Cody went the other. I didn’t look back at him. Just lowered my head and pulled out my phone in feigned ignorance of the maintenance worker walking by.

I adjusted my stiff cock before I reached the clubhouse.

The thing wouldn’t go down. I knew it wouldn’t if I didn’t take care of it.

The thought of Cody’s mouth, his ass, carried me to the privacy of a restroom stall.

I let my fantasy run wild with what he might be doing in the moment. Hopefully the same.