Scoring With Him Read online

  He knocks my cap off, sending it skittering to the floor, his fingers diving into my hair too.

  We grab, take, devour.

  My God, he tastes so good. Like fantasies becoming real. Like I’ve imagined kissing should be.

  I’ve kissed before, but not like this.

  This feels like sex.

  Especially when he pulls back and lets out a wild groan of pleasure that makes my balls tingle.

  “Love the sounds you make,” I rasp.

  “Yeah?”

  “I do. A lot.” I pant, jerking him close again and slamming my lips back to his.

  “Yes . . .” Declan gasps into my mouth.

  My cock twitches in my jeans, and I’m leaking already. I’m so fucking turned on I don’t even know what to do.

  I can’t stop kissing him. Can’t stop touching him.

  I tug his bottom lip between my teeth, and I moan so damn loudly I’m sure the house at the end of the block can hear. Sure, too, that I don’t care.

  Especially when Declan unleashes a hard, shuddery breath as I lick the corner of his lips, then as I flick my tongue right there, and once again as I dive back in for another hungry, heated round.

  His moans and murmurs are the sexiest noises ever.

  I can only dream of how much louder he’d be if we were fucking. How much more erotic his sounds would be. How fantastically filthy.

  But I guess it’ll have to be okay that we won’t be screwing ever. I don’t know how I’d survive sex with him since kissing him is already the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.

  It feels like I’m fucking his mouth, and he’s fucking mine right back.

  The trouble is this damn console in the middle. The steering wheel by his arm.

  I break the kiss, eyeing the back seat. It’s roomy enough, and I like his BMW even more now.

  He sees my glance and doesn’t hesitate. “Go.”

  “Yes, sir,” I tease and nearly vault up, scrambling between the seats, diving onto the leather, stretching out and kicking his cap from the seat to the floor. He’s right there with me, following me and reaching for the bottom of my shirt. Sitting up, I whip it over my head.

  “Fuck. Yes,” he says, then takes off his. I’m in jeans, he’s in shorts, and this is heaven.

  We slam together again. Side to side, we make out like crazy as he takes over, plundering my mouth with his wicked tongue, kissing me ruthlessly, and jerking me close so our chests touch.

  And then, holy fuck, I nearly come through my clothes when our cocks align.

  “Deck,” I moan, feeling both utterly helpless and completely horny at the same time.

  He growls against my lips, then devours me again as he grinds his erection against mine.

  Pushing.

  Pressing.

  Giving.

  Taking.

  My entire body is short-circuiting from the intensity, from the sheer volume of pleasure annihilating me.

  His strong arm snakes around me, his big hand covering my ass. He hauls me even closer, sending a spike of ball-tightening arousal all the way down to my toes.

  His other hand travels up my chest, stopping at my left pec, where he flicks my nipple piercing.

  “Ahhh,” I gasp, breaking the kiss since I need a moment to let the pleasure radiate.

  “I have wanted to do that since I first saw it.”

  “Do it again,” I beg, desperate.

  Declan does, and desire pummels me in a blissfully beautiful wave. Then he scoots down, kissing my chest as he goes, till his lips make contact with my nipple, and he tugs on the barbell with his teeth.

  Another bolt of lust crashes into me. Another feral moan spills from my lips.

  My cock aches, and I can feel another drop of pre-come on the tip. I’m not far off.

  I want release so badly.

  Want his as well.

  I have no clue where this is going. How far we’re taking a kiss that’s already sped past kissing.

  But I also know I don’t want to have sex in the back of a car.

  And I don’t want to blow him on the side of a road either.

  Back in high school, I messed around with girls in cars before I learned I only wanted to mess around with guys.

  And I don’t want this to feel one bit like confusion.

  Because it’s not.

  It’s clarity.

  It’s intensity, and it’s everything I’ve wanted, and then it’s even better when he slides me under him.

  He pushes up, then stares down at me, lust scorching his irises.

  Then, he tilts his hips and grinds down hard on my cock.

  “Oh God,” I grunt, my dick thumping against my jeans. I wrap my hands around his big biceps and blurt the truth. “You need to stop, or I’m going to come in my pants. I’m that turned on.”

  He releases a sharp, hot breath. Then another. But he listens, moves off me, and mutters, “Wow . . . you are just . . . wow.”

  As I swing my legs to the floor and sit up to rest my head against the seatback, a wild grin plays on my lips.

  I’m wow.

  Holy shit.

  He’s wow.

  I drag a hand through my hair, trying to calm down, to cool off. I glance up at the windows. They’re covered in steam. “Dude, your car is like a sauna.”

  “So am I,” he says.

  “Me too. I’m going to jerk it so hard tonight when I get back to my room.”

  He spreads a hand across my abs. “To me?”

  I laugh. “Yes, dickhead. To you.”

  “Mmm. Your hand on your cock. I would love to see that.”

  “Maybe I’ll show you,” I tease, pushing up.

  My gaze catches the digital display on the clock. It’s close to midnight.

  I flashback to a few nights ago. Coach in the elevator. The mango rice. His midnight snack.

  An alarm rings in my head, and I sit bolt upright. “We need to go. Fisher usually comes back with his mango rice in a few minutes, and I don’t want to run into him.”

  Declan frowns in confusion, and I explain as we grab our shirts and yank them on.

  We climb into the front seats, and Declan wipes the steam from the window before he turns the ignition and peels outta there.

  I comb my fingers through my hair, but when I flip the visor to check out the mirror, my face is whisker burned. “We can’t walk in together like this. Not tonight.”

  “I know. I’ll drop you off a block away so no one sees you get out of my car. Then I’ll park, and you’ll go in first. Put your cap on,” he says, pointing to the floor.

  I grab it, pull it on, then stretch my arm to the backseat. “Same for you. Your hair is a mess.”

  A grin tugs at his sexy mouth. “A good mess,” he says, and that makes my stomach flip. “Put it on me.”

  I put the cap on him as he drives, and the moment is strangely intimate as I adjust it by his ears.

  “If anyone asks, you were out for a walk,” Declan continues. “And just to be safe, I’ll come in a few minutes later. I’ll say I had to go to CVS for something.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  He slows the car as we near the hotel, shooting me a once-over. “Not gonna lie. You look like sex, rookie.”

  I chuckle. “Not gonna lie. I feel like sex too.”

  His sly grin makes me smile too.

  A minute later, he pulls up, and I get out without a second glance, walking the final block to the hotel entrance in the warm Arizona night, my erection finally, finally disappearing.

  The glass doors slide open, and I go inside. The hotel is quiet, but I take the stairs anyway, just to be safe.

  Just in case Coach’s spring training vice lines up timewise with mine.

  When I hit the sixth floor, I turn down the hallway, then blow out a long breath as I reach my room. I shut the door in a daze.

  Did that just happen?

  And what will happen tomorrow?

  No idea, but I know this much. T
onight, there’s something I plan to tell him.

  Because I know now exactly what I want, no matter the risks.

  I haven’t forgotten how forbidden we are. He’s more off-limits than anyone else in the world. And really, of all the queer men on the planet, why does the guy I want so damn badly have to be my teammate?

  I wish I knew.

  But one thing I do know with absolute certainty.

  I want to sleep with Declan. I’m ready.

  There are no questions.

  I take a piss, wash my hands and strip out of my clothes.

  When I sink down on the bed, my mind returns to the car.

  Tonight was the hottest night of my life and he didn’t even touch my dick. As I replay what we did, I’m instantly aroused, and my reaction to the shortstop validates what I’m about to do.

  But first, I’m going to give him what he wants.

  I grab my phone.

  14

  Declan

  I cut the engine, but I don’t get out. I just breathe.

  I rest my head against the back of the seat and stare out the windshield. A desert willow tree looms at the edge of the lot, and as I study the leaves, how they blow faintly in the night breeze, a pair of unblinking eyes watches me from a low branch.

  An owl.

  Rare sighting in Arizona. Rare sighting anywhere.

  But only if you don’t look.

  I always look.

  When I was a little kid, I used to believe the owls were looking out for me. That they’d invite me to their homes, take me under their wings, so to speak.

  It was a vivid childhood fantasy, one I needed for my own escape from my father and his habits.

  My fantasies are different now, but even so, I’m still drawn to birds.

  Some say owls are a sign of wisdom.

  I’m not sure I was wise tonight.

  Others say an owl means you should face your fears, reveal your secrets.

  What was once my biggest secret—liking men—I revealed, so I’ve got no worries there.

  I draw a deep breath, staring at the winged animal. The owl doesn’t look away. His eyes are challenging, like he can see inside me.

  Like he knows my new secret.

  Knows that I am struggling mightily. That kissing the rookie did nada to get him out of my system. I only want more of him.

  And yet, I need to be strong.

  I’ve got to live with this struggle, find a way through it. It can’t be harder than the other shit I’ve dealt with. From my father, to my own fuckups, to being one of the first openly gay athletes in baseball.

  Even to Kyle and the trouble that came with the end of that relationship. The trouble that rattles through my life now and again, like late last season when I ran into him as he was signing up for a membership at my regular gym in San Francisco. He acted surprised that I worked out there. But it turned out my trainer had posted a pic of our workout online as he was hunting for other pro-athlete clients.

  I chatted with Kyle to be polite, and he quickly mentioned he was single again. And did I want to go out for a drink? Or a not-drink, he added, since he knew I didn’t touch the stuff.

  I declined, found a new gym, and hired a new trainer.

  But that’s the last I heard from Kyle. As for Nathan, he never tried to get in touch with me after that epic fight on my front steps earlier this year. Emma told me in a text that his show was renewed and he was going to start shooting in Georgia next week, once he finished his family time in Florida.

  They’re both in the past, where exes belong.

  Now, I need to do better. Be better.

  I’m here, living the good life.

  I can’t just risk it all because Grant would be a good lay.

  Ah hell, he’d be a great lay.

  My skin burns as the images flash past me.

  That man.

  That sexy, flirty, outgoing man.

  I let out a long, heavy sigh.

  The owl hoots, the sound reminding me that some say owls are harbingers. They warn you of trouble.

  Thanks, owl. But I can see the trouble clearly myself.

  I unbuckle and get out of the car.

  Sometimes an owl is just an owl.

  But either way, I need to cool it. I need to resist Grant.

  Tonight needs to be in the past.

  Tomorrow I’ll reset.

  Keeping my shit together is my specialty.

  But as I cross the lot, tossing my keys up and down in my palm, my gaze strays to the hotel windows. I count up to the sixth floor, wondering where Grant is, what room he’s in, and if he’s taking matters into his own hands right now.

  My cock twitches at the thought right as my phone bleeps.

  Grabbing it from my shorts pocket, I slide a thumb across the screen. A notification pops up from the man who commands my thoughts.

  My messaging app shows a preview of his text.

  * * *

  Grant: You’ve got to check out this movie clip. It’s the one you wanted to see.

  * * *

  My skin tingles. My mouth waters. I’m Pavlov’s dog.

  I stop in my tracks, shove a hand in my pocket, hunting for my AirPods but coming up short.

  If this is what I think it is . . .

  I hustle to the lobby, my thumb hovering over the screen, eager, so damn eager to play it.

  My room is too far away.

  It’s going to take forever to get there.

  I want to see this clip now.

  But I can’t take a chance.

  Nope.

  I jam the phone in my pocket, stuffing it deep, but I keep my hand on it, protecting it. Like it’s a treasure, a precious artifact I’ve discovered.

  When I step into the lobby, a basketball hurls my way. Instinct kicks in, and I palm it, then look up at the shooter.

  “Nice reflexes, shortstop,” Chance says, striding in from the outdoor pool, Crosby by his side. They are wearing swim trunks.

  I grimace privately.

  Love these guys, but I want to be alone with this . . . message ASAP. I toss the ball back to Chance. “I do my best to keep them up. You playing Marco Polo?”

  Crosby mimes dunking a shot. “Nope. We found a way to combine pool and basketball because we’re brilliant like that.”

  “Maybe you’ll even start a league,” I toss out.

  “Goals,” Crosby jokes.

  “Feel free to join us tomorrow, man,” Chance offers.

  Saved by the bell.

  “I’m there,” I say. It’ll be good for me to spend time with them, rather than obsessing over the catcher I want to eat for an appetizer, dinner, and then dessert.

  Crosby furrows his brow, then tips his forehead to the doors. “What are you up to? Hot date, Mr. No Dating During Spring Training?”

  “Ooh, busted,” Chance says with a grin.

  A worm of annoyance wiggles through me. I’m about to lie. I abhor lies. They’re everything I strive to avoid.

  My chest squeezes and I ball my fists, thinking of that owl.

  Just like I did when I was younger. When I had to tell lies about my father. Lies when he missed my games. Lies when I was late to practice.

  But I couldn’t lie anymore when he showed up at my games drunk. When he practically stumbled onto the field, reeking of tequila sometimes, beer others.

  I hate lying.

  But then, if I were seeing some guy in town, would I tell Crosby and Chance? If I were dating River, would I advertise them of that?

  I decide I would not.

  So, this is not a lie.

  “Just went to CVS to get some shit,” I say, though I’m empty-handed. For all he knows I bought condoms and they’re in my pocket.

  Which reminds me . . .

  “Anyway,” I say, pushing out a yawn. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  They say goodbye and amble down the hall. I stab the button for the elevator, and it arrives instantly.

  Anticipation winds through
me as the doors close. I’m a horse at the gates. I’m champing at the bit.

  Once the elevator chugs upward, I grab my phone, turn it to mute, and click open the message, hitting play.

  One second in, I go up in flames.

  “Oh, fuck me,” I mutter as the video plays.

  I shut it down right away so I’m not sporting a raging boner as I walk along the hall. But I write back quickly.

  * * *

  Declan: Gonna watch this in 30 seconds. But I need to know—did you finish? If not, wait for me. I’ll send you something in a couple of minutes. Something you can finish to.

  * * *

  Grant: It’s Dirty Christmas morning! I’ll stroke it slow and easy, but don’t make me wait long. I’m dying here.

  * * *

  Declan: You have my filthy word.

  * * *

  A minute later, I’m in my room, shorts unzipped, hand in my boxer briefs, stroking my cock as I watch the sexiest video ever.

  Grant is a goddamn porn auteur.

  Has he done this before? Shot videos of himself? The dragon of envy thrashes inside me again.

  But screw jealousy.

  This video is mine.

  And it is off the chain.

  His fist curls nice and tight around his thick cock. He’s all lubed up, slick and hot. One hand slides up and down that fantastic shaft, slow and sexy, gripping the base, then squeezing his way up the head, sliding over his crown, pushing out a drop of liquid arousal on a guttural grunt.

  “Yes, rookie. Stroke that beautiful cock,” I urge as I watch his moves, as my own hand travels up and down my pulsing length.

  He moans and pants as he works his shaft, shiny with the lube, making it feel even better for him, I’m sure, and making me think of lubing him up and guiding him into me.

  I shudder, a groan ripping through me as I jack harder.

  The video lasts forty-five filthy seconds, and I am halfway there already, hard and horny and utterly amazed at this guy’s guts, at his confidence, at his ballsiness.

  And speaking of balls, oh yes, do I ever want to get my mouth on his.

  I write back, dictating because I don’t want to stop touching myself.