Page 43 of The Battery
Adorable.
A part of me hated that thought. The other hated the part that hated it.
Cody seemed to settle as we hit cruising speed. He lightly slapped his knees and said, “All right. You haven’t said where we’re going. Just some amorphous ‘shopping’ excursion.”
“I’m buying you a suit,” I told him. That surprised him. “Veterans used to do that for rookies back in the day. These days, they usually buy some fancy bag. I always thought suits were better.”
He nodded his head in appreciation. “Wow. Thank you, Leo.”
“Also, you need to update your style. The khakis and t-shirts aren’t going to work.”
Cody snorted and looked out my window, as if there was an audience for my apparent funniness. “Um, okay. But, you don’t have to—”
“I said I’m buying the suit, not the other clothes,” I informed him. “I’m just here to help you say ‘no’ to pretty much everything you’ll want to get.” He beamed at that. So I gave him a little more light with which to shine. “You make league minimum now and your star is rising, not falling. Don’t live like you’ll be back in the minors. You can spend some of that money you’ve worked your ass off to make, Hill.”
He needed to hear it. I saw his face go red as he turned to look out his own window. I stayed quiet to give him a moment. This car, the shopping, seeing my house, it was all a taste of things to come, so long as he stayed the course.
This was one of my favorite things. Yes, I was gruff and mean and rude and a dick. But helping out rookies and those who had the talent to exceed? To show them the endgame of their potential? It was worth more than all the fancy things that success could buy.
“You’re still an ass,” he said eventually. He got a smile out of me for that one. I knew he treasured them, since it was difficult to get one out of me.
“Yeah, well,” was all I knew how to say.
Cody forced me into idle chitchat for the duration of the drive, something I had already mentally prepared for. He had an impressive intuition not to ask me further questions about my personal life. Whatever he knew about me came from Uncle Andy. I kept my personal life so wrapped up that even the prying bloggers, vloggers, and sports tabloids folks couldn’t dive too deep. He knew—was certain, I’m sure—that I withheld something from him and yet he didn’t try kicking down the door. It was impressive. Admirable.
Alluring, honestly. All my one-night stands or playthings in the past had tried to crack the concrete that I poured over my soul. All of them had failed. Then here this rookie was, a fun toy, then not, respecting my need for privacy. It was enticing, to be honest. How far was he willingnotto go? And how much of that would make me want to tell him everything?
We arrived on Newbury Street where the driver deftly parked in a parallel spot. I insisted he stay in the car and didn’t have to pull the door open—I liked nice things but wasn’tthatbougie.
“Good. We’re on time,” I told Cody as I led us toward a custom suit shop.
Converted, historic brownstones lined either side of the street, many reconstructed to fit a modern appeal. Nothing rose above three stories and each was a splash of the current occupant’s flavor. Lush and blooming magnolia trees dotted the entire street, each with a bed of rich black soil beneath. People wearing summer clothes laughed and chatted as they strode down the sidewalks, a slow and steady stream of traffic rolling by.
I brought us to a tailor, the entrance up a flight of stairs where a bell chimed overhead at our arrival. An elderly gentleman wearing a three-piece suit greeted us, by name, at the door. This surprised Cody, even more so when the man offered him a glass of champagne. He politely declined, as did I, and instead I asked for sparkling mineral water.
Thus, the late morning kicked off with Cody standing on a velveteen platform in front of a trifold mirror. The tailor—orhaberdasher, as Cody jokingly called him with a horrible British accent—took his measurements and brought in round after round of fabric to match his skin tone, eyes, and hair. We walked through the various styles and fits. We settled on a two-piece linen blend in a timeless navy-blue color. I sat in the corner and popped to my feet when specific sartorial advice was needed.Other than that, I let Cody lean into the experience, calling the shots like he would from the mound. I supposed, to some extent he was, standing there on that platform.
The tailor disappeared to record measurements and preferences and said he’d be a few minutes. I stood from the chair and stepped up beside Cody. On the platform, he reached my height. It was…
I swallowed and ignored the swelling of hunger.
“Good fit? Not too snug?” I asked. It was only a sample, but it would give him an idea of the real thing. I put my hands at the base of his neck and moved my palms slowly along his shoulders. Down his arms. I wanted it to seem like I was checking for the fit, but in truth… he just looked so sharp in the jacket.
Cody rolled his neck and adjusted the lapels like some kind of 1920s gangster. I wanted to laugh but held back. “Good fit, yeah. Not sure I’ll be pitching in this, so the snugness seems right.”
My hands continued to trace his body. I had this odd sense of seclusion. Where once I had full access to this man’s body, I now had none. Which made me want it even more. Suddenly what lay beneath the fabric became an unknown. New territory to be mapped by the tips of my fingers. Funny—I had ample opportunity before to do so but rejected the idea, to keep him at arm’s length.
I circled around the platform, my hands never leaving the jacket. I heard him take shaky breaths. He made a valiant attempt at watching himself in the mirror, but his eyes kept darting to me.
I have complete control, I thought. My hand slipped inside his jacket to “feel” for the fit. My thumb delicately moved along his ribs. He shivered.
He’d do anything for me. All I have to say is what and when.
I slipped my hand out. Ran them both up the lapels of his jacket and made pretend adjustments to it, as if I knew what I was doing. All I wanted was for my hands to remain in contact. Noticeably, his pants began to bulge. To tease him, I slung my thumb along the waist band and tugged.
“Not too tight?”
“Good. It’s…” The words came out a jumble, breathy and hot on my neck as I feigned an inspection. I looked at him. Measured.
