Page 32 of Tagging Bases

“Busy with what?” I push, genuinely curious. He rarely talks about his day-to-day life. I figure it’s because he doesn’t want to brag about all the cool stuff he’s getting up to.

“You know, this and that.”

I laugh. “Come on, man, give me something. Are you seeing anyone? How’s the gym? Did you finish that book I recommended?”

He clears his throat and nods. “The gym’s good. Been going most mornings. And the book…yeah, it was interesting.”

Interesting.That was Roy-speak for terrible.

“It’s cool if you don’t want to share every detail of your fascinating life with me.”

I stand up from the bathroom floor, my legs wobbly from kneeling for so long, and flush the toilet. After washing my hands, I open the door and pad down the hallway, thehardwood floor cool beneath my bare feet. Rounding the corner into the living room, I come to a dead stop.

There, bent over with his head stuck in the fridge, is Daniel. His boxers ride low over his ass, revealing a bit of crack. I grin, flipping my phone’s camera to show Roy.

He groans. “Dude, it’s way too early to be seeing a full moon.”

I laugh so hard that the camera shakes.

“Charlie,” he warns with a sigh, but I can’t stop cackling.

Daniel hears me and turns around with a carton of milk in his hand. I howl when I see that he’s sporting some serious morning wood.

Roy groans again. “I’ve seen enough.” He hangs up.

“What’s so funny?” Daniel asks.

“Nothing,” I say, wiping a tear from my eye. “Just showing Roy your cute outfit.”

“Bet he loved that.”

“Oh, yeah. Made his day.”

Daniel takes a swig of milk straight from the carton and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why are you up this early? Freaking out about the game again?”

“I was…until I saw your monster boner.”

He glances down at himself and shrugs, completely unfazed. “It means good luck in some cultures.”

“What cultures?”

“Mine.” He sets the milk on the counter and stretches his arms above his head. The move makes his tree-trunk thighs flex in ways that should be illegal.

“Youcouldput on some pants, you know,” I suggest, knowing full well that he won’t.

Plopping down on the couch, I grab a pillow to hug against my chest and throw my feet up on the coffee table, legs crossed at the ankles. “Is it too early for cartoons?”

Daniel flops down next to me, jostling my entire body with his weight. “Bro, seriously? It’s never too early for cartoons.”

We spend the next hour watching reruns ofScooby-Doowithout a care in the world. It’s exactly what I need right now. Something familiar and silly to keep my mind off how important today is. But, of course, like all good things, the peaceful distraction ends when my stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything since last night’s leftover pizza binge.

I pause the show and stretch my arms above my head, groaning as my joints pop. “Hey, want to check out that new healthy place down the street for lunch? I could go for a wrap right about now.”

Daniel yawns and nods. “Sure, I could eat.” He eyes me suspiciously. “Since when are you into ‘healthy’ food, though? Thought you were more of a burger and fry kind of guy.”

I shrug, trying to play it cool. “I don’t know, just thought I should fuel up properly before the big game, you know? Can’t be sluggish out there on the mound.”

The real reason is that my anxiety is still simmering under the surface, and I’m worried that greasy food will upset my stomach even more. But I don’t want to admit that to Daniel. He already thinks I’m being a neurotic mess about this whole thing.

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