FAST Balls (Balls to the Wall Book 4)

by Tara Lain

  Jerry looked up at Mick. Mick could feel the blush rising. “That’s what Donovan said too. Did you cry?”

  “Just for a minute.”

  Jerry looked like some cat that got a big fat mouse. “Anyway, Cap, I know you don’t encourage fraternization, but we both want to stay here.”

  The captain sighed. “I thought about this. I need both of you. You’re among my best men. Plus, gay firemen can be at risk in some cities. I think it’s in the best interest of the service to keep you both here.”

  Mick couldn’t stop smiling. “Thank you, sir.”

  “And Mick.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Congratulations. That goes for both of you. Now get out of here so I can give this guy his new job.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mick walked out of the office grinning. Was he allowed to have this many things go right for him?

  He walked into the equipment room and pulled out the RIT bag. After the last time, he wanted to check it.

  “Hey, Cassidy.”

  He turned. The rookie, Donovan, smiled up at him. “Jezebel told me about you and Jerry. Congratulations.”

  Mick glanced to the side. Guys were all around. His heart beat so hard he could barely hear over it. “Thanks.” He didn’t lower his voice. “Yeah, I moved in with Jerry yesterday. I hope Jezebel likes the place.”

  “She’s happy as a clam. I took her to dinner last night to celebrate.”

  Son of a gun. “Sounds like she’s got a new life, just like me.”

  “Yeah. I think you’re both extremely brave.”

  “Jerry makes being brave easy.” And that was true.

  One of the other guys, Wilson, stepped up beside Donovan. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but are you and Jerry, uh, an item?”

  Mick nodded. “Yeah. We just moved in together.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that you—uh.”

  Mick felt his shoulders ease a little. “That’s okay, Wilson, I didn’t either.”

  He went to work, but he could practically feel the story spreading around the station. A few guys went up to Jerry and congratulated him. That made sense, since he was so easy to talk to. Mick got little smiles and a few frowns, but hell, that wasn’t too different from usual.

  He’d always been a loner. He looked over at Jerry at his new desk. Not a loner anymore.

  He washed the pumper and sorted through gear until his eyes crossed. He needed a shower.

  Walking toward the locker room, he looked in at the blond head bent over the desk. Jerry was sorting some cards and tapping out a few things on the computer. Mick’s heart didn’t want to stay in his chest. He followed it across the room.

  “Hi.”

  Jerry looked up with his beautiful blue eyes. “Hi, big guy.”

  “I’m gonna go take a shower, but I wanted to say I love you.”

  Jerry beamed at him. That beam lit up the whole room, and every guy in a hundred yards turned to look. “I love you too.”

  And that made the day perfect.

  Mick walked back toward the showers and opened his locker. He pulled off his uniform shirt and started on the belt.

  “Cassidy, how are you, butt fucker? You got your pretty boy out there waiting to suck your disgusting cock?”

  Mick froze. He stared over at TL Durry standing by the entrance to the lockers. He felt his hands ball into fists. Then he looked up. Jerry had just hobbled up behind Durry. Jerry had no idea what the asshole had said. He just gazed at Mick like the sun rose in him.

  Mick stared at TL and started to laugh. He laughed so hard he had to sit down. He finally knew why Jerry had never punched him out when he’d been so hateful. Because Jerry was happy. And finally, so was Mick.

  Exclusive Excerpt

  High Balls

  A Balls to the Wall Romance

  By Tara Lain

  Though only twenty-six, single father Theodore Walters lives with his head in the clouds and his feet firmly planted in reality. At the center of his life is Andy, his seven-year-old son with whom he shares no DNA, though nobody—including his religious fanatic in-laws—knows that, and Theodore will do anything to keep them from finding out. Theodore works hard to get his PhD and the tenure and salary that might follow to make a better life for Andy—but the head of his department thinks his dissertation on Jane Austen and romance novels is frivolous.

  Theodore’s carefully planned life goes off the rails when he walks into a popular Laguna Beach bar and meets the bartender, “Snake” Erasmo, a pierced and tattooed biker who sends Theodore’s imagination—and libido—soaring. Snake has even more secrets than Theodore and couldn’t be a less “appropriate” match, but he might be the only guy with the skills to show Theodore that happily ever after is for real.

  Coming Soon to

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  Chapter One

  “DID YOU remember to bring your homework?” Theodore Walters glanced at his son.

  “Dad.” The word, as usual, had two syllables. “Being at Grandma and Grandpa Anderson’s is lame enough. I’ll finish it on Sunday night.”

  Theodore frowned at Andy as he turned right off Pacific Coast Highway toward the guard gate. “You know how your Grandpa likes to help you with it.”

  Andy peered at him sideways through dark eyes so much like his mom’s—and nothing like Theodore’s brilliant blue. He grinned. “Just kidding. I’d never do that to you—or me.” Was this kid only seven?

  Theodore smiled. “Derp.”

  “Dad.” Two syllables again.

  He reached over and gave Andy a tickle on his skinny ribs as they pulled up to the inspector general. Theodore nodded. “Hi. I’m dropping off Hanson Anderson’s grandson.” Pretty sure they never gave the guard my name.

  “Oh yes, sir.” The guard bent down to look in at Andy and gave him a wave. “Have a great weekend.”

  Andy flashed his best phony grin. “Thanks.”

  They drove into the not-at-all-Laguna-like Laguna neighborhood by the sea. Laguna defined eclectic—small cottages and near shacks next to multi-million dollar homes. But in Ruby Ridge—not so much. The Andersons lived in the less fashionable part of the elegant community on the uphill side of the highway, farther from the ocean. Still, they paid a bundle for their view and short walk to the beach. “If Grandpa likes your homework results, he’ll let you go in the ocean, right?”

  Andy shrugged. “Sometimes. But I can’t go alone, so if he doesn’t feel like going out, I can only go in the pool.”

  “Terrible how you suffer.”

  “Yeah.” He snorted. “But you’ll come and get me early on Sunday, right?”

  Theodore turned onto the Andersons’ street and slowed as they approached the big house. “You know I can’t come until after church.”

  “Dad!”

  “Andy!”

  “Crap, I hate that church.”

  “Watch your language. One visit a month won’t kill you.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  Theodore parked and faced Andy. “Your grandparents love you and are proud of you.”

  Andy stared at the console of the old Toyota. “I guess so. They just have all these things they want me to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like be good and be careful who I make friends with and stuff.”

  Shit. Theodore looked up and saw Hanson Anderson waving from the front porch. Medium height, stocky, he was only in his early fifties. After all, if Esther had lived, she would just have been twenty-six now, a little older than Theodore. “We can talk more about this when you get home, okay? I think if you work at it, you might even have a good time. Grandma Anderson’s a lot better cook than I am, right?”

  “True.” He laughed. “But she’s got to stop reading her romance novels long enough to cook something.”

  Theodore barked a laugh. “Okay, grab your stuff.”

  Theodore crawled out the driver’s side as Andy opened the passenger door and pulled his backp
ack from the seat. Theodore grabbed Andy’s boogie board from the trunk and carried it around the car as Andy ran up the lawn toward Hanson. “Hi, Grandpa.”

  Hanson Anderson leaned down and gave Andy a brief hug. Hanson had the dark hair and eyes of his grandson. Fortunately, Theodore’s blond hair and light eyes generally qualified as recessive, so the fact that Andy looked nothing like his father never came up. “Hey, Hanson.”

  Hanson nodded. “Theodore.” He shook hands with that overly firm grip he maybe always used and maybe reserved for the gay guy. “Thanks for bringing Andrew. You’ll give us enough time for church on Sunday, right?”

  Andy rolled his eyes behind Hanson’s back, but Theodore nodded gravely. “Of course.”

  “You studying for your orals this weekend?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’ll be wonderful for you and Andrew when you get the PhD—a raise, tenure.”

  Theodore smiled like he hadn’t heard those exact words fifty times before, and he only saw Hanson once a month at most. “Yes, sir. That’s why I’m working so hard at it.”

  “Just don’t get sidetracked.”

  “I try not to.” He forced a smile. When the fucking hell would he have time to get sidetracked? Of course, Hanson had very specific ideas about what sidetracked looked like.

  “Sorry Grace’s not here to greet you, but she has a new romance novel.” He sighed, then smiled. “Can’t get her away from her great literature.”

  Theodore made a face that might say I know how that is.

  “Well, thanks again.” Hanson shook Theodore’s hand and guided Andy toward the front door.

  Theodore waved at Andy and walked slowly back toward the car. Grace Anderson might have a new romance read, or her minister’s sermon might have focused on the evils of homosexuality that week. He released the breath he never seemed to be able to expel anywhere around the Andersons. In the almost eight years since that fateful day he’d spontaneously jumped in to help a friend—and radically altered every detail of his life—he’d become one damned practiced tightrope walker. Back then, the balancing act had been a fun challenge he and Esther shared.

  Now his whole life depended on it.

  He wound his way slowly toward the gate, careful not to speed. Why he’d agreed to late afternoon counseling, he couldn’t quite remember, but he had two students to see.

  He flipped on some Chopin and let it seep into his bloodstream like antistress pills. Such a weird feeling he got each month when Andy visited his grandparents. Kind of lost. Aimless. Sure, he had hella studying to do, but he did that every night, curled in his chair, sometimes with Andy on his lap figuring out his homework. When he sat for his orals, he’d probably start quoting second grade spelling instead of defending his dissertation on the modern romance novel as the inheritor of the tradition of Jane Austen. But that’s how life was supposed to be. His life, anyway—all based on one decision made almost on the spur of the moment when he was eighteen years old.

  He stopped at the light at Pacific Coast Highway. The traffic going north wasn’t too bad yet, but the south lane toward Laguna already backed up to Ruby Ridge. The drivers had that Friday-afternoon look of combined relief and weariness.

  A rumbling roar sounded, and Theodore jumped. Threading through traffic came a shiny Harley, moving with more assurance than such a big machine should muster. But the motorcycle definitely took second place to the rider. The guy stopped and put his foot down just yards from where Theodore waited, the booted foot attached to a long, long leg with thigh muscles that challenged the black denim covering them. Unlike a lot of Harley drivers, this man had no fat of any kind; his long-sleeved T-shirt hugged a narrow waist and broad shoulders. Theodore strained to see his face, but a dark-visored helmet hid it, although strands of shaggy dark hair escaped the bottom. Most of all, Theodore noticed the tattoos that crawled in beautiful winding patterns up the guy’s forearms where they showed below his pushed-up sleeves. Whoa. Just the energy of the rider screamed free. One of those tats had to say I don’t give a shit.

  It was like Theodore could feel the vibration of the bike all the way across the street and deep in his balls. What would it be like to live so unrestrained? Go and do what you want and not worry about anyone else? His cock rose like sunrise on a summer day.

  A beep behind him woke him up. Shit. Quit dreaming, idiot. He stepped on the accelerator and pulled out into the northbound lane just as the rider turned his head toward Theodore. Theodore’s foot faltered, he craned his neck to see the guy’s face—just a glimpse—and got the squeal of tires and another, more pissed-off beep for his trouble.

  Hell! He stepped on it and sprang—to the extent the Toyota had any spring left—toward the college. The buzz of his phone made him jump again. He glanced at the screen and answered. “Hi, Mary.”

  “Hiiii.” With Mary, every word chirped. Despite a PhD in astrophysics, her worldview managed to be unerringly optimistic. “How’s my favorite scholar?”

  “Doing okay, thanks, dear.”

  “You sound shaky. What’s wrong?”

  “Just missed a traffic accident.” He neglected to say he’d almost caused it.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good. Am I correct that this is your weekend without Andy?”

  “Yep, just dropped him off.”

  “Oh, lovely.” She giggled. “Not that we don’t adore the little critter, but I have someone I want you to meet.”

  Oh shit. What would a Mary fixup look like? “Uh, I’ve got a lot of studying.”

  “Yes, and tomorrow you also have to eat. So you’ll be meeting me and Burt and our friend, Jimothy, for dinner at Laguna House at seven. Don’t try to weasel out. It’s not more than ten minutes from your apartment. You don’t even have to dress up.”

  Did she say Jimothy? “Were you a member of the Borg in your last life?” They shared a love of old Star Trek episodes.

  “Yes, resistance is futile. See you there at seven tomorrow. Expect good things. Bye.” She hung up.

  Good things? What the fuck would he do with a good thing if he met one?

  He glanced in the rearview mirror. That motorcycle rider sure looked like a good thing. Right. A thing designed to wreck his career and get his son taken from him. His pubescent fantasies—the ones he had in lieu of having had any real gay adolescence—were going to ruin his life.

  He took the right-hand turn up the hill and, eleven minutes later, pulled into the Fairhaven College parking lot next to the English Department.

  He took a quick look in the rearview mirror to be sure his hair hadn’t turned into a fright wig in the sea air, ran a hand through it to fight it back, then gave up and hauled his papers out of the back seat and walked into the building. One female student waved. “Hey, Mr. Walters, you’re going the wrong way. It’s Friday, remember?”

  He smiled and pointed toward his armload of test papers. She made a face as she stepped into the evening sun while he entered the more subdued lighting of the entry hall to the building. He could practically hear its old air-conditioning system straining against the late-spring heat.

  He bounded up the steps and down the hall toward his office—aka broom closet with a desk. Hell, no complaints. As a teaching assistant, he was lucky to get a space of his own. Of course, he’d completed his dissertation and now just had to get through his orals. Well, just wasn’t exactly the right descriptor. Crap, it scared him witless.

  As he approached his door, Sean Rance came toward him in all his slick-haired glory—the other senior TA in the program. Theodore wanted to like Sean. Never quite got there. Sean carried a set of golf clubs over his shoulder. “Hey, Ted.”

  Theodore slowly gritted his teeth. Only Sean called him Ted. Shit, even his mother called him Theo. Purposefully, he looked all around him.

  Sean clamped a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just didn’t see anyone else here.” He raised his eyebrow. “You know, like so
mebody named Ted.”

  Sean laughed. “You’re funny.”

  “So, headed out for a game?”

  “Yeah, I think I can fit in eight holes before it gets too late.”

  “Have a good one.”

  “What are you up to?”

  “I’ve got some student appointments.”

  “Damn, man, you gotta learn how to relax. Have some fun. Find yourself a cute guy.” His eyes glittered with that sort of prurient fascination he seemed to have with Theodore’s homosexuality.

  “You’re not the first to say it.” He stepped toward his door. “See ya.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Rance. Mr. Walters.”

  Theodore looked over his shoulder at the head of the department, Dr. Ashworth, walking down the steps from the third floor where the offices of the senior academic staff lined the halls.

  Sean sprang to life. “Good evening, sir. Going home?”

  “No, just going to get a bite before my faculty planning meeting.” He nodded at Theodore. “Heading back to the office, Mr. Walters?”

  “Yes, sir. I have a few student appointments this evening. I had to pick up my son at school and take him to his grandparents.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry you weren’t able to just go straight home.”

  “I didn’t plan my time well.” Theodore shrugged.

  “Efficiency, Mr. Walters. Makes everything possible.” Dr. Ashworth eyed Sean’s clubs. “Getting in a few holes, Mr. Rance?”

  “Uh, well, I was, sir. But a student texted that he needs help, so I came back.”

  What? Theodore stared at him. Wasn’t he just leaving when he walked up?

  “Well, I’m impressed to see both our TAs so dedicated to your positions. Have a productive evening, gentlemen.” He glanced at Sean’s clubs. “Looks like an excellent set, Mr. Rance. You’ll have to tell me about them sometime. I’m an enthusiastic golfer, if not very skilled.” He gave Sean a slap on the shoulder. “See you in church.”

  So they went to the same church? Theodore shoved the key in his door and opened it. Why did he feel like someone had just shoved something into him—and not in a good way?