Playing the Field Volume 2 Box Set

Batter Up-4

As they eat, Mike admits, “I don’t usually do something like this.”

Rob takes a bite of his burger. “Like what?”

Mike dabs a French fry in ketchup and shrugs. “You know, pick up a willing fan for a one-nighter. You’re sort of the first.”

Willing fan. Now’s the time to say something, tell Mike what he was really doing at the Diamond this afternoon, but Rob downs the rest of his beer and lets the moment slip by without comment. The later it gets, the harder it is to admit he plays for the Rebels. It’d ruin whatever intimacy there is blossoming between them and, besides, Mike will find out soon enough when they face off on the field, right?

Right?

Breaking into Rob’s thoughts, Mike asks, “So, do you normally hang around the ballpark looking to score?”

Rob laughs, almost choking on his beer. He feels it burn deep within his nose and swallows it down quickly. “s**t, no, man. I mean, well, I hang around the Diamond all the time, but you’re the first bite I’ve ever had.”

Mike’s grin lights up his whole face and ignites his eyes. “A hottie like you? You can’t tell me no one’s hit on you before.”

“Not at the Diamond,” Rob assures him. “Rather, not any guys. Let the girls look all they want, but I’m not really into all that.”

Mike nods. “I take it you’re not married, then?”

“Me? No.” Rob scoffs and takes another bite of his burger. Warm grease runnels down the back of his hand. Without lowering his gaze from Mike, he licks the juices like a cat grooming itself. Like this? he thinks as Mike’s eyes follow the trail of his tongue. Imagine what it’ll feel like on your wrist, or your chest, or between your legs.

With luck, they’ll find out tonight.

Once his hand is relatively clean, Rob asks, “You?”

“What?” Mike’s eyes have a glazed look to them, and he shakes his head slightly to come back to the present. “Married? No.”

“Got someone at home, then?”

Another shake, slower this time, almost hesitant. Then he explains, “Not anymore.”

Uh-oh. Rob knows he should pull back—if they hope to get it on later this evening, he should turn this conversation around right now. Once exes come into the picture, even the strongest flame has a nasty habit of going out. But his mind is suddenly blank; there’s nothing he can think to ask or mention, nothing to talk about, nothing at all.

As he searches for a new topic, Mike mistakes his silence for an invitation. Before Rob can stop him, he explains, “Last season I was sort of seeing our first baseman. A real sexy baller, let me tell you. Six five, built like a brick shithouse, as they say. Olive skin, dark hair—like yours. Dark eyes. Soulful eyes, you know what I mean?”

Rob doesn’t, but he nods anyway. A voice stutters inside his mind, s**t s**t s**t! Here goes the rest of his evening, down the drain.

Apparently, Mike doesn’t seem to notice. “His name was Lawrence Archer. LA to most people, but the guys on the team all called him Archie. He hated it, of course, which is probably why it stuck.”

Though Rob doesn’t want to ask, he can’t stop the words from tumbling from his mouth. “So you and Archie were together?”

“On and off,” Mike admits. “He had a girlfriend, and I guess I was really just his go-to piece of ass when we were on the road. We always shared a hotel room when the team was traveling, see, and eventually one thing led to another, and…”

Rob finishes off his burger. “Traveling? I don’t remember seeing you guys on the schedule last year.” You weren’t, he adds silently. I’d know if we played you, and we didn’t. “I thought this was your first year playing ball.”

“First year in the double-A class,” Mike explains. “We played triple-A for years as the Sand Sharks. The closest team around here we’d played was the Quioccosin Huguenots.”

“I know them.” Rob eyes the plate of fries between them and doesn’t mention he started pitching with the Huguenots years ago, before the Rebels picked him up. “Are you going to eat any more of those?”

Mike pushes the plate towards him. “Help yourself.”

Rob does, dragging the fries through the ketchup on his plate before popping them into his mouth. “Where’s Archie now?”

With a faint smirk, Mike shakes his head. “Playing in the majors.”

“No s**t!” Rob laughs. “They called him up, eh?”

“He’s one hell of a baller,” Mike says. “Hell of an asshole, too. Didn’t bother telling me he was moving on until after the coach made the announcement. Can you believe it? All the time we were alone together, not one word. The fucker.”

Rob really isn’t going to mention that he plays for the Rebels now. “Why not?”

“Does it matter?” Mike takes a fierce bite of his burger, as if it’s to blame for the heartache he suffered. “He didn’t think enough of our relationship—of me—to tell me himself he was moving on. So screw him to hell and back, you know? f*****g screw him.”

Hoping to diffuse Mike’s sudden anger, Rob offers, “Actually, I was sort of hoping you’d be screwing me tonight.”

Mike stares at him a moment, wide-eyed, speechless. Then he laughs, and under the table, his leg presses against Rob’s, a warm, delicious heaviness alongside his thigh. “Archie’s in the past. I don’t plan on sharing any part of you with his memory tonight.”

Which is just what Rob wants to hear.