Page 3 of Totally Played (Love In Play #5)

Chapter three

Calvin

Tony is up to bat, and he looks like shit.

He’s red and sweaty, and he hasn’t even started to play yet.

Stubborn shit. He puts on a good front for the crowd as his intro song plays and he break-dances his way to the box.

Ryan throws a curveball, and it’s wide for ball one, which is lucky because Tony swung a good second after the ball hit Dave’s catcher’s mitt.

“You don’t look so hot, little bro,” I yell but the crowd is loud, and he doesn’t hear me, or he’s ignoring me as he readies for the next pitch.

Ryan is on fire tonight, his pitches as fast as they’ve ever been, but as shit as Tony looks, he manages to connect with this one and the ball flies out to center where Beau Hogan our newest recruit tries for a behind the back catch.

Shit. It falls past his mitt to the grass.

Scrambling to pick it up, he throws it to second before Tony can make a run for there, but he’s safe on first, and Alan jogs across home plate, scoring a run for Animal Control. Fuck.

Stevie Peterson is up to bat now, his cocky cartwheel backflip entrance is a crowd favorite, but Ryan wastes no time when he steps into the box and sends the first ball in for a strike.

I keep my eye on Tony, too. He loves getting in a sneaky base when we’re not paying close enough attention.

On Ryan’s next ball Stevie hits a soft tapper, the ball bounces back toward Ryan, and he quickly gets hold of it, and sends a prime backhander to Pat on first, he scoops it, but he’s off the bag.

The first base umpire shakes his head confirming Pat took his foot off first, Stevie is safe and Tony is breathing heavy on second. Double fuck.

“Seriously, bro, are you okay?”

“I don’t think so, but I’m still going to get home,” he replies with a forced smile.

“You should be at home,” I reply, and he scrunches up his nose at my suggestion.

I should call for a medic or the coach, I should tell them Tony’s not well and shouldn’t be out here.

Mom would kill me if she knew that I knew he wasn’t well and said nothing, but Tony will kill me if I do say something, and as much as I love my mom, he’s my ride or die.

“The second you’re across that plate, you get off the field. Got it?”

He coughs, and I can tell it hurts.

“No arguments here,” he replies, changing his stance to be ready to run the second the bat connects.

Ryan dances with Duckie and Tim on the mound, a routine they practiced only three times, but they nail it, and as the music stops, Ryan pitches his fast ball.

Benny G swings and hits it, soaring over left field.

Duckie is scrambling to get across the field and under it, but it’s going, going, gone.

It lands in the stands and all three runners cross home plate. Triple fuck.

I glare at Tony. He better be heading in to rest and talk to one of the medics.

After a brief eye roll and flipping me the middle finger, he nods, then walks directly over to his coach.

They exchange words, the coach steps back like he’s got the plague, and points to the player entrance.

I guess he might as well have the plague.

The last thing they need is for Tony to share whatever he’s got and put the whole team out.

***

We lose the game by two points and when I get out of the showers I go to find Tony to head home.

I check the Animal Control locker room, but there is no one in here. Maybe he’s still in with the doc?

“He’s already been dropped home,” Seth, one of the team doctors, tells me as I jog past his office door. I come to a halt in his doorway.

“How?”

“I dropped him about twenty minutes ago. He’s going to need bed rest, plenty of fluids, and sleep, and no training, gym, or any other strenuous activities,” he says with a raised brow.

“I’m guessing he made some joke about being happy to stay in bed if he got to share it.” I chuckle.

“Something like that. You try to stay clear as best you can. I know you won’t sleep somewhere else—”

“Yeah, fuck no, he’s my brother.”

“Yeah, he said you’d say as much. Look, just be vigilant with hygiene then. Don’t share anything, wash your hands, sleep in separate rooms.”

I laugh.

“We’re brothers, not lovers. I have my own room.”

“I didn’t want to assume. For all I know, you two have the same bunk beds you grew up with in that apartment of yours.”

“Wouldn’t fit through the door,” I reply, and I swear he believes me. Fucking doctors, always so serious.

“Look, I’ll be fine, but how long do you think he’s out for?”

“At least the week. If he can pass a respiratory test before the game next week, he can play, but if it’s even down a little, he’ll miss that one, too.”

“Got it. Fluids, sleep, no hanky-panky, I can handle that.”

He throws me a look like he doesn’t quite believe me, but he’ll listen to me. If not, I know where he keeps the handcuffs he bought last year and they’re the kind that need a key to open.

“He’ll follow orders, if I have to cuff him to the bed to see to it,” I say, and he laughs like I’m joking.

I grab my stuff and head to the bodega to grab a few things before going home.

I load up the cart with a dozen vitamin waters, a few packets of throat lozenges, a wheat pack, because the last time he used a hot water bottle it resulted in third-degree burns to two of his fingers and a month on the bench.

I grab a few soups, simple cup ones that he just has to peel the lid back a touch and microwave.

Pumpkin, chicken, and tomato, all his favorites.

When I get home, I expect to find him lying in bed, asleep, or moaning miserably, but instead he’s in my underwear, pulling clothes out of the closet.

“Finally, where the fuck have you been?” he asks, and I hold up the bags.

“Getting you stuff. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I don’t need all that crap, just a shower and a good eight-hour sleep.”

“The fact you’re in nothing but underwear when it would be lucky to be sixty in here says otherwise. Did you turn the heat off?”

“I wasn’t cold.”

“Clearly another indication that you’re sick. Doc told me you’re going to stay in bed, so get your ass in bed.”

“But I matched with a five. I can’t miss this date.”

“Reschedule.”

“You don’t reschedule a five. I’ll lose points.”

“Seriously, this is messed up. They can’t expect you to just be free when they tell you to be.”

“No, we put in our available days. I didn’t get a chance to update mine and Ashley matched.”

“You’re not going on a date tonight; you’re getting into bed.”

“Then you have to go for me.”

“What now?” He can’t mean what I think he does. Surely he doesn’t want me to pretend to be him.

“You can go in my place.”

Oh my god, he does. How high is his temperature?

“I’m not going on your date for you.” I laugh like it’s some big joke, only his deadpan expression tells me I am very wrong.

“Come on, we used to pretend to be each other all the time. I know I’m the better looking of us two, but we can fix your hair and fancy you up a bit. I’m sure you can pull it off. The restaurant is a sports bar so it will be darker, you’ll be fine. Here, throw this on.”

He tosses me one of his shirts, and I say his, because while we share most of our clothes, he owns a few things I will never ever wear, like the green net top he just tossed at me.

I didn’t even reach for it, I just let it fall sadly to the floor where it will stay because I am not putting that on.

Shit. Am I actually considering this? No.

It’s crazy. I’m not pretending to be my brother on a date.

Even though it’s been forever since I’ve been out with anyone except him and the guys from the team.

I refuse to get on those apps he has. I just want to meet someone the regular way.

Not after reading through a bio and flicking through highly filtered photos with way too many duck lips.

“We were kids then, we’re twenty-six. We have to grow up at some point.”

“Not today we don’t. Come on, I’ll get into bed and won’t get up until you say I can. Not even to pee.”

He looks like shit, and he’s wobbled twice while rummaging through the clothes on the end of his bed.

If I say no, he’s going to probably try to go himself, and then best-case scenario, this chick bails when she sees how sick he is, or worst case, he passes out or ends up hospitalized and he’s out for weeks instead of what’s hopefully only a couple of games.

Fuck. I think I’m actually going to have to say yes.

I sigh. “You can get up to pee.”

“So you’ll do it?”

I roll my eyes and nod, because what else can I do? I’ve never really been able to say no to my brother. It’s like when the egg was divided or whatever, it left a link between us that made it impossible for me to want to disappoint him. Like I said. He’s my ride or die.

“I’m not putting gel in my hair.”

“Yes, you are, but you can pick the shirt.”

“And the pants,” I say as he reaches for his skinniest pair of jeans, another thing I won’t wear.

“Fine, but be nice, be me, flirty but fun and please take this seriously because if this guy rates me good, I might get the bump into the fives.”

Wait, he didn’t just say guy, did he?

“You never said it was a guy.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“No, you said it was a date with Ashley,” I say, a tightness in my chest all of a sudden.

“Ashley is a guy’s name.”

“And a girl. You might swing both ways brother, but I’m as straight as an arrow, remember?”

He scrunches up his nose, shaking his head like he’s thinking of a way to disagree, but he can’t. I’ve only ever dated girls. I wouldn’t even know how to date a guy. What do guys talk about on dates with other guys?

“You’re in your head, aren’t you?” he asks, walking closer, but I take a step back and cover my mouth. “Dude, really?”

“Doc said to keep my distance, the last thing we need is for both of us to be out, or worse, we spread it through the teams.”

“Yeah, the coach was pissed I played. I got us a point, though, and we won, so he can’t stay mad for long.”

“Yes, he can, and you won by two so they didn’t need your point. You should have stayed home.”

“Well, I’m home now, so get your ass into some denim and pick a shirt, then you have to do your hair, because no way will anyone believe you’re me with that mop, did you even blow-dry it after showering?”

“Why would I do that? The air dries it just fine.”

“We are going to have to alter your definition of fine. I’ll get the gel. Get moving, you’ve got twenty minutes.”

I pop a soup in the microwave and pull on my best jeans, the ones without holes, and a dark blue Henley. We both inherited our father’s gray-blue eyes, and they look even better when we wear blue. Not that I want to look attractive to the guy he’s supposed to be meeting. This is messed up.

“Nice, I’d fuck you,” Tony says, tossing me the gel. “You know, if I wasn’t your brother.”

“This isn’t like a Grindr hookup app, is it?” I ask, my heart suddenly jackhammering at the thought this guy might be expecting more than dinner from me.

“Ha, no, but hey, brother, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”