Page 29 of Sliding into Love
Part of me wants to put on a show. I want to make it enticing for them—to see if I can truly push their buttons. Maybe swipe some of the melted chocolate over my lips intentionally so I have to lick it off. The creamy vanilla has melted enough to aid in my messy endeavor. If I were brave enough, I might've given it a go.
Then again, I also don’t want to fuck things up. It’s still too soon in this process of transition.
I have to be around, and if I send things sideways by admitting my feelings, I could jeopardize the entire Blue Jays team. I won’t do that to those guys.
I understand what it means to sacrifice yourself for the greater good.
I’m willing to do that, even if it means I miss my chance with Royce.
Two days after our impromptu dinner, Royce and I are on the field watching practice.
It is devil’s-asshole hot out here, and quite frankly, I’m ten minutes away from telling the guys we need to go inside and finish things up. Sweat clings to my skin, soaking through what I was told was moisture-wicking clothing.
Royce was adamant that we be out here with the team. They want to see the process in person. It’s been that way ever since they showed up—every little detail, down to what type of water bottles we buy, is being cataloged in their brain or in the massive spreadsheets they’re such a fan of.
Gil steps up to the plate, bat in hand. He goes through his motions, swinging a few times as he adjusts his positioning.
Luigi steps onto the mound and draws his arm back to throw the pitch.
I watch his form, checking to make sure his old injuries aren’t acting up. It’s not like I would bench him if they were—I’d simply make sure he gets the help he needs.
The second the ball flies out of his hand, I know Gil is going to hit it.
The crack of the ball hitting the bat echoes around us, halting practice. Everyone turns to watch it soar across the field.
Gil whoops loudly and begins to run the bases—run being an exaggerated term. It’s more like he sashays around them.
Royce chuckles beside me.
“He’s a character. Reminds me a bit of Jake.”
I smile at the thought. My memories of Jake Bellport are crystal clear—much like the ones I have of Royce.
“Jake has always been a character, hasn’t he?” I ask.
Royce nods when I glance over. “He has. He’s the best little brother I could ask for, but he’s definitely a handful. It’s the reason he needed two boyfriends to keep him in line.”
Of course, everyone has heard about Jake Bellport’s two boyfriends—the ones who play on the team he bought and manages.
At first, I thought people would be outraged. I should have known better, though. It’s the Bellports. Plus, Jake’s such a character, anyone who’s ever met him wouldn’t be surprised by this outcome.
“They seem like nice guys,” I say.
Royce nods again, reaching up to wipe their forehead. Sweat trickles down the side of their face, and I fight between wanting to swipe it away with my hand and using my tongue to see how salty they taste.
A shiver works through me at the vision of doing just that.
Royce quirks a brow at me. “My entire family is a handful, to be honest.”
Gil makes it back to home plate and does a little dance as the guys cheer and clap for him.
We watch a few more players come up to bat as we wait. The sun beats down on us, and minute by minute, I feel my body weakening.
I know if I’m struggling, then Royce has to be even more so. Their frame is leaner than mine, and I haven’t seen them drink anything all day.
The thought startles me. I spin on my heels and rush to the coolers on the sidelines in the dugout.
Snatching one open, I grab three water bottles. I move back into position beside Royce and hand them one.
