Page 33 of Wild Pitch
“Are you sore?” Soft brown eyes searching for any hint that we’d gone too far.
“Deliciously sore, I think that’s the phrase,” I said, and my stomach flipped as his mouth tipped up in a smirk.
I reached my hand for the loofah and took a turn washing him, spending a bit more time studying the tattoos in the light of day.
“Are you still hiding these from your family?” I asked, tracing the outlines of the oak tree’s branches, which was the centerpiece on his back—imagery of light and dark, all black ink and swirls.
“Not anymore. After Jack and I got full access to our trusts, the rules no longer existed, and we could be ourselves.”
“Is that why Jack only started dating men recently?” I asked, remembering the media frenzy when Jack Lecompte was first seen out with his partner Craig Rice.
“I would say that was part of it, but he wouldn’t have lost his trust fund for that. My parents are progressive. Players in sports are expected to ascribe to the stereotypical masculine man; there aren’t many ball players who are out, and it’s not because they aren’t gay. Not all men are comfortable around gay men. It’s improved in the last fifteen-plus years, but it’s not great. But when you put up the numbers that Jack does, you can get away with almost anything.”
Luc lathered my hair while I asked, “Have you ever been with a man?”
“That’s a loaded question,” he said with a sigh.
“It’s a yes or no answer,” I said, leaning into the way his fingers massaged my scalp. “And you’re very good at that.” I sighed and leaned into him.
“Thanks, it’s always my intent that you enjoy it when I touch you—but back to the other question,” he paused before speaking as if he were trying to find a way to explain. “Several years ago, Skylar approached me and asked about inviting a third into our relationship. I agreed.”
I waited for Luc to continue, but he had become focused on giving me a scalp massage, and as magical as his hands were, I wasn’t ready to end the discussion without full disclosure.
“And?”
“And it was a mistake, for one. If you’re asking if swords crossed, yes, they did. But the worst part is that Sky developed an emotional connection with Grant. And that, compounded by the fact that I refused to leave baseball, put the final nails in the coffin.”
Realization hit. “She’s marrying Grant…’
“She is,” he answered.
That was about thirty shades of fucked up.
“I don’t share anymore,” he answered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Though if you ever wanted to bring a woman into the bedroom for you, I’d be open to that.”
I turned to face him, and anger flared as I absorbed what he’d just said. “Umm, I’m not sure if I should be insulted or pissed.”
Realizing he’d just stepped in a pile of shit, his eyes grew wide.
“Shit, Kylie. I’m sorry.”
“If you think women are okay because I won’t get attached and it would remain as ‘just sex,’ let me remind you that I’m bisexual, and it’s been the sex part where my relationships died, not my ability to connect emotionally.”
“I understand. I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t value same-sex relationships the same as heterosexual relationships. I had thought Sky and I had a rock-solid foundation, but we didn’t. So, no sharing, okay?”
“No sharing,” I agreed.
Luc turned off the shower and reached around to where he had set us both up with oversized, fluffy bath towels. He took care of me first, then used his towel to dry off and stepped out of the shower.
“Skylar wanted you to quit baseball?” I asked. From the little I knew about Luc, I could see this request would have been divisive in their marriage.
“Yeah, the travel was a strain for her, probably leading her to seek more emotional support from Grant. It’s not for everyone, and not all women can handle the trust that is involved with their partner being away so much of the time.”
“Did you ever cheat?” I asked, unsure if I would get a straight answer. How many men admitted to cheating? Far fewer than the number of men who cheat.
“No, but the reputation ballplayers have is because there are a ton of guys who fit the stereotype.” He pulled on a pair of boxer briefs. “Do you want a pair of shorts? I have some with a drawstring that could work.”
“Yeah, I would rather not head home in last night’s dress.” I had reluctantly put my hair up in a messy bun without brushing it, sure that I would pay for that move later.
