by Jess Bryant
His heart thumped hard in his chest as the possibilities loomed.
This was Trent’s fault, he decided instantly. His twin brother had been on his case for weeks to man the fuck up and do what he needed to do. Retire from baseball. Let go of all his dreams. Admit his knee was fucking killing him and go see the doc, let his manager know that every time he squatted behind the plate he had to hope and pray he could get back up.
His days in the big leagues had been numbered and were already long gone. He’d had the drive but not the natural talent. Not at that level. He’d clung to the game the only way he could, taking a spot with the minor-league Titans with the understanding that he would help and guide the young future superstars before they worked their way up to the majors with their affiliate, the Chicago Skylines. But even those days were numbered for him now with the knee injury and his age.
The very thought of quitting baseball was enough to rock him. Adding in what went along with it, the freedom to finally come clean, to be who he really was? Well, it was a lot to deal with and his brother riding his ass about truth and honesty wasn’t helping.
Trent with his new boyfriend living his gay-as-hell happy good life was annoying. Trevor almost wished he’d never reached out and reconnected with the bastard. Which wasn’t really true. He loved his brother. The problem was they were too damn much alike.
Both headstrong, both dominant, both demanding and aggressive. It had led to a ton of fights when they were kids. It had led to one as adults that meant they hadn’t spoken in almost a decade. Trevor regretted that more than he could ever say, because he knew he was the one who had been in the wrong.
Wiping his brother out of his life for admitting who he was was wrong. Being scared to be tied to Trent in case his secret ever got out had been childish. Trying to distance himself from his brother simply because he was gay had been despicable.
Especially considering how much easier Trent’s life would have been if Trevor had done the right thing and stood up with him, stood at his side, had his back, and admitted he was gay too.
But he’d been scared. He’d wanted a career in baseball. He was an athlete. And his judgmental, homophobic father had convinced him he’d never have it if he was gay. Even now, a decade later and the old bastard rotting in the ground, he wasn’t entirely certain he’d have made it as far as he had if he’d come out of the closet. And he was still scared.
Scared of what his life would be without baseball. Scared of what it would be if he admitted he was gay. Scared of the way the man slouched against the wall of the elevator made him feel. He was scared of Rodrigo Cruz because he was everything Trevor had never been and worried he could never be.
Out, proud, warm, happy, and full of life. Cruz was like the sun, and the closer Trevor got to him the harder it was to keep his icy reserve in place.
Which was exactly why he should have kept his distance. It was why he should never have agreed to room with the guy. It was why he shouldn’t have let a true, real friendship form between them. It was why drinking with him had been a terrible idea. Because Trevor had been in a mood, and he’d let his true feelings too close to the surface, close enough that something he’d said or done had triggered Cruz to think it was okay to flirt with him tonight.
And hell, maybe that was what Trevor had wanted.
Maybe he’d wanted Cruz to flirt with him tonight. Maybe he’d thought the alcohol would loosen them both up and make them admit what they really wanted. Maybe he was hoping it would help him make his decision.
The truth was, he honestly didn’t know anymore.
Because in all the months he’d known the guy, in all of their days and nights spent on the road together, spent in cramped hotel rooms and near nakedness in locker rooms, never once had Cruz openly flirted with him. Oh, he looked. Trevor wasn’t oblivious to the way Cruz looked at him. Like he was a buffet and Cruz was on a liquid-only diet. But never, not once had he done more than look.
He’d never made a move. Never once touched Trevor in a way that could have inferred he was crossing the line. Never once had he said a word about wanting Trevor in that way, let alone wanting to kiss his gorgeous face.
Until tonight and somehow, instead of scaring him, the idea of Cruz wanting him that much, so much so he’d finally made the first move, made him smile.
Cruz was drunk. Drunk enough Trevor wouldn’t take advantage. But he couldn’t help but press his friend just to see what else he might say.
“I’m sorry… What did you just call my face? Stupidly gorgeous?”
Cruz snorted and pushed his dark hair off his forehead, “Of course that’s all you heard. I say I want to kiss you, and all you hear is that you’re ridiculously hot. Arrogant asshole.”
Trevor stifled a chuckle as Cruz pouted adorably. Fuck, he was beautiful. Trevor had always thought so. From the moment the young phenom had been introduced to him in the Titans locker room, he hadn’t been able to look away. Everything about him made Trevor’s nerve endings spark.
The mess of tousled dark curls that was always just a little too long. The way he constantly pushed it back off his forehead and out of his eyes. The dark stubble that permanently coated his sharp jawline and framed soft lips that turned upward at the corners, as if he always had a secret he was dying to share.
Tall and lithe, strong and athletic, Trevor had seen Cruz all but naked in locker rooms and hotel rooms. But right now he hated every stitch of clothing that covered that beautiful body. Right now, he wanted to see all of that honey-brown skin completely naked for once. He wanted to trace it with his hands, learn it with his lips.
Never had he wanted to kiss Cruz more than he did in that moment. Those full, pouting lips were like a siren’s call all but luring Trevor closer to the rocks that would flay him if he wasn’t careful. And damn if he didn’t find the pouty behavior irresistible.
Sassy little fucker. Cruz had been jealous in the bar. He was being bitchy and dramatic because he was drunk but also because he was jealous. And God, that made Trevor dangerously happy.
“Oh, I heard you.” Trevor chuckled. “You want to kiss my stupidly gorgeous face.”
Cruz’s dark eyes rose slowly, meeting his. “You think it’s funny?”
“I think only you could possibly insult me and compliment me at the same time.”
“It’s not funny.” Cruz huffed.
“It’s not?”
“No. It’s not.” Cruz pushed up from the wall faster than Trevor had been expecting, all agile athleticism even in his drunken state. He crossed the distance between them in two steps, cornering Trevor and boxing him in as he leaned close. “The things I want to do to you, they’re not funny.”
Trevor raised a hand, preparing to push Cruz back a step, to give himself space before he did something stupid like smash their lips together. But Cruz was younger, faster, and he knew what he wanted. He caught Trevor by the wrist and pinned his arm to the wall of the elevator. When he tried to raise his other hand, it got the same treatment, and his cock twitched for reasons he couldn’t explain.
Cruz had him pinned. He hadn’t expected the bold move. He was usually the dominant one, but he’d forgotten how aggressive Cruz could be on the field. Apparently that passion translated off the field as well, and he couldn’t help it; his hips shifted, pressing them together, and that, finally, seemed to knock Cruz out of the moment.
He gasped and his eyes went wide. In the moment of hesitation, Trevor spun. He reversed their position, pinning Cruz to the wall of the elevator in one smooth move. Dark-brown eyes met his, still glassy but with a dawning sense of understanding.
Trevor was hard. Cruz had felt it. There was no more denying what Cruz did to him. He wanted Cruz just as much as Cruz wanted him. He’d just turned the tables, and damn if it didn’t feel good taking control not just of the situation but of his own life.
“Does it feel like I’m laughing?” he muttered, their mouths so close he could smell the tequila Cruz had been drinking.
Cruz shook his head.
“You think you’re the only one who wants to do things, Cruz?” He lowered his hips again, unable to resist the friction or the feel of that hard, sculpted body against his own.
Heat curled low in his belly. Lightning zipped down his spine. His balls felt heavy, and his jeans were growing more uncomfortable by the second. He was playing a dangerous game, and it only upped his adrenaline. This was…fun. Dammit. Playing with Cruz was fun, and he knew, he just knew if he gave in to the moment and gave them both what they wanted that it would be more than fun. It would be fucking explosive.
“I…I…” Cruz made a noise in the back of his throat, a sweet little whine that nearly unraveled the last threads of Trevor’s control.
“Well, would you look at that…Rodrigo Cruz at a loss for words?” He smirked playfully, his bad mood completely forgotten.
“Shut up and kiss me,” Cruz demanded, pushing against the restraint Trevor had put on him, trying to get closer, trying to press their lips together, but Trevor dodged him easily and shook his head.
“Not like this.”
“Please…” Cruz whined, making him chuckle again.
“Not like this,” he repeated, allowing himself to skim his lips over Cruz’s jaw before pulling back. “Not drunk. Not in an elevator. When I kiss you for the first time, you’re damn sure going to be sober enough to remember it.”
Cruz opened his mouth to say something, most likely to whine or beg or try to cajole Trevor into giving him what he wanted. Luckily, the ding of the elevator stopping on their floor interrupted him. Lucky because Trevor had never been very good at ignoring Cruz when he wanted something from him; whether it was a bite of his burger or the window seat on the bus, he usually gave it to him. He consoled himself with the unshakeable truth he could no longer deny. He was going to give Cruz the kiss they both wanted too, just not right now.
Not tonight.
“Come on.” He pushed away from Cruz and moved toward the door of the elevator. “Time for bed.”
A half-smirking smile tipped up one side of Cruz’s lips. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”
Trevor chuckled again. “You’re going to sleep. Alone.”
Cruz pouted again, and Trevor dragged him out of the elevator and down the hallway. It wasn’t easy. Cruz was drunk and horny. He kept trying to pull Trevor back toward him, to pin him to the wall or slip his hands around his waist. Trevor was still trying to get the key card to work when he felt Cruz hug him from behind. He smiled because he knew Cruz couldn’t see it. More than anything he wanted to slide a hand down and thread their fingers together, especially when Cruz rubbed his cheek against the muscles in Trevor’s back. It wasn’t just sexual. It was intimate. Hugging, cuddling, it was about more than just the possibility of sex.
“I knew it,” Cruz whispered softly from behind him. “I knew it couldn’t just be me.”
The ding of the elevator at the end of the hall knocked Trevor back into reality before he could reply. Reality. Where anyone could come through those doors when they opened and see them like this. See them wrapped around each other. And even if Trevor had always been careful, Cruz had never hidden who he was. The rumors would be swift and brutal, and Trevor hadn’t decided if he was ready for that or not.
He groaned and pulled away, opening the door and shoving Cruz inside unceremoniously. He shouldn’t have led Cruz on in the elevator. Not when he hadn’t made his decision yet.
He couldn’t continue to play baseball and be gay. Cruz got away with it because he was bisexual, because he was young and flashy and signaled a new era in the league. Trevor was old school. He was on his way out. He was at the end of his career, and he’d been lying to his fans for years about who he was. They’d never accept he was gay, so he had to decide.
Retire and let himself have Cruz? Or keep playing the game he loved and let the man that might be his soulmate go once and for all?
“Trevor?”
“Hmm?” He guided Cruz toward his bed, but their legs ended up twisted all together and he groaned as Cruz managed to pull him down on top of him as they collapsed to the bed. “Dammit…”
“Sleep with me.”
“No.”
“Why?” Cruz whined, shifting his hips and grinding them together.
“Because you’re drunk.”
Trevor paused in the midst of admiring the way Cruz’s full lips pouted beautifully. Drunk. Cruz was drunk. He’d never seen Cruz drunk, not like this. And as his own fog cleared he couldn’t help but wonder why that was.
“Cruz?”
“Mmm. Like the way you say my name.” Cruz smiled from beneath droopy lids. Adorably, cuddly drunk. He was hugging Trevor again, rubbing his face against his shoulder. As if he could mark Trevor by leaving his scent on him. Trevor ignored the way that thought made his chest flutter.
“Why are you so drunk?”
“Because tequila’s a bitch?” Cruz snorted, but Trevor didn’t laugh.
“I’m serious. Why’d you get so drunk tonight? I thought we were just having a drink or two… What happened?”
Cruz stared up at him, his eyes dark and mysterious, and Trevor held his breath. He didn’t know what he expected Cruz to say. But when Cruz finally spoke, he should have known it would be nothing but the truth. Cruz didn’t know any other way to live.
“I don’t like seeing you upset. I thought a drink would make you feel better, but it just made me feel worse.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone else got to touch you. The waitress and the other guys, and it didn’t matter if they were just giving you high fives or smacking you on the back; you smiled at them, and I wanted it to be me. I want to be the one that makes you smile.”
Cruz turned his head away and closed his eyes, as if the admission had drained the last of his energy. Trevor bit his lip. Dammit. Cruz was always so damn honest, and Trevor didn’t understand how he let himself be so vulnerable like this. But he loved him for that too. Because he was all of the things that Trevor had never let himself be.
“You do make me smile. All the time.” He leaned down and carefully brushed his lips against Cruz’s cheek. “Now sleep. Sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow before the game.”
“Game?”
“Yeah, we have a game tomorrow. Remember?”
“Oh God…” Cruz groaned and Trevor chuckled.
“Good night.”
“Mmm, good night.”
Trevor brushed aside Cruz’s hair, and then he forced himself to push up off of him. He dragged himself to his feet and spent far too long staring at his suddenly unconscious friend. They’d have to talk tomorrow which meant Trevor would have to make his decision soon.
Cruz or baseball? He loved them both. But he could only have one.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and went to get a water out of the mini-fridge. Sober up. Think. Because tomorrow was going to be a really, really long day.
Chapter Three
CRUZ COULD HEAR the sound of his name. Somewhere far away. From somewhere, through the fog of his dreams, he heard his name in a deep, demanding voice. It floated in over the incredible dream he was having, one in which the man of his dreams shoved him against a wall and ground their bodies together, whispered dirty things in his ear that made him moan. Then his name came again, louder, and Trevor’s mouth in his dream was too busy gliding down his throat to have said it. Cruz’s brain whirled in confusion a second before something heavy and damp smacked him in the face.
“What the hell?” Cruz sat upright with a jolt and then winced and slammed his eyes shut when the world shifted all around him. His stomach twisted, and bile rose in the back of his throat. He curled in on himself and rubbed at his temples. “What the hell?”
“Cruz.” Trevor repeated his name again. “Time to get up.”
“Wha—no.” Cruz squinted one eye open enough to look at what had fallen in his lap, a damp towel, and frowned. “Why a
re you throwing things at me?”
“Because I’ve said your name twenty fucking times and I let you sleep as long as I could. Get up and take a shower. Sober up and do it fast. We’re gonna be late.”
Cruz continued to massage his temples but twisted his head enough to catch a glimpse of Trevor. His body instantly came awake at the sight before him. The damp towel made sense now, and he had to resist the urge to pull it back up over his face, to smell it to see if it smelled like freshly showered, naked Trevor.
Not that Trevor was naked. Unfortunately. He had a second towel slung low around his hips. Droplets of water still slid down the hard planes of his chest, finding the valleys between his abs and the golden trail of hair that led to that damn towel. His hair was still damp and sticking up all over the place from where he’d shoved the towel through it before throwing it at Cruz. Steam billowed out of the bathroom behind him, and more than anything Cruz wanted to drag Trevor back into the shower and get him dirty all over again.
Instead, he forced his eyes away before Trevor caught him gawking. “Why does my head feel like I slammed it in a door?”
“Because tequila is a bitch?”
He snorted at the words that sounded oddly familiar. He agreed. Completely. In fact, he’d sworn off tequila after his twenty-first birthday. It had a tendency to make him black out and forget…everything. He wasn’t sure why he’d decided to drink it last night instead of sticking to beer like he normally did. Especially considering they had a game today.
It was stupid, and he tried not to be stupid these days.
“Cruz?”
“Huh?” He forced his eyes back open, hardly realizing he’d even closed them again.
“Shower. Now.” Trevor used his commanding tone of voice, and before Cruz had registered the order his body was moving, complying.
Confused and more than a little sick to his stomach, Cruz trudged across the room. He slid past Trevor, careful not to brush against him. His morning wood was barely concealed in his boxers. It wasn’t as if Trevor hadn’t seen it before considering the locker rooms they’d shared. But for some reason he couldn’t explain, it felt awkward this morning. He shot a glance over his shoulder, caught Trevor watching him from beneath furrowed brows, and retreated to the bathroom.