by Nicole Dykes
I just can’t.
I couldn’t seven years ago, and I can’t today.
“Hold on a second.” He holds up his hand, and his face doesn’t really say grossed-out, more stunned. “You’re gay?”
“Yes.” I’m not going to lie. Not to him. Not to the people who are actually in my life. At least not if they ask me outright.
“But . . .” He looks like he’s going to be sick now.
That’s just great. “I’m not ashamed of it. You can let yourself out.”
I try to walk away again, but the asshole reaches out and grips my arm.
Again.
My eyes slice to where he’s gripping my bare flesh but then roam to his face. He looks pale. “I’ve seen you with girls.”
I roll my eyes and push his hand away. “Who?”
“Maggie. I saw you two at that party our junior year.”
I cringe, thinking about that night. How drunk I was and trying to suppress the feelings that were still raging from seeing Grady in the locker room shower earlier that day. “She was a good kisser but a little soft for me.”
“So wait . . .” He’s processing, and I’m growing tired of it. But I also let him ask, “If you’re gay, why the hell did you freak out about kissing a guy?”
I scoff at that, the sound leaving my lips before I could reel it in. “Not a guy. You. My best friend.”
“That’s fucking worse, asshole. You could have told me.” Now he’s angry. Seriously? “You know I’m not some homophobic asshole. I would have been fine with it.”
“Fine?” I laugh coldly, “Gee thanks, Grady.”
“You know what I mean. I wouldn’t have been a dick. But you just left.”
Okay, now he looks hurt. Fuck, I hate that pout. “I was kind of dealing with some shit. You were the first guy I’d kissed. Up until then, I wasn’t even totally sure.”
His right eyebrow lifts with no caution as a sly grin slowly forms on his lips. “So, I turned you?”
“Holy Christ, you’re an idiot.” But damn if it doesn’t make me laugh. “No. I just wasn’t totally sure. When I kissed you, it felt right. Better than with any girl I’d ever tried to kiss.”
“Holy shit.” He runs a hand over his chin, and I notice his hand has tattoos on it. Tattoos I want to spend time exploring which only proves to me how fast I need to get him out of here.
“Right. So, you can go. Mystery solved.”
I start to walk off, but instead of grabbing my arm, the fucker actually grabs both my wrists and slams my body against the wall, pinning me there. “Stop walking away from me.”
Holy. Shit. I haven’t been this close to him in so goddamn long, but my body remembers, wanting to react. I’m grateful for the space his long, lanky arms allow between our bodies. “Let me go.”
“Not until you tell me why the fuck you didn’t tell me you were gay.”
I’m bigger than him. I still have a few inches on him and at least thirty pounds, but I don’t push him away. Always the glutton for punishment. “I couldn’t take that sick, disgusted look on your face. It’s going to be burned into my brain, so thanks for that.”
His brows pinch together in confusion as he continues to plaster my wrists to the wall. “Disgusted? I’m not fucking disgusted. I’m pissed off that you wasted seven years due to a stupid fucking reason. I’m pissed you didn’t just tell me you were gay or thought you might be. I don’t care who you fuck. I care about you, asshole.”
I swallow hard, begging my body not to react to his close proximity, but I can’t stop the sharp, jolting pants that are heaving from my chest. Shame heats my cheeks because I know this isn’t the full story I’m telling him. It’s all so damn humiliating, and he’s so relaxed about the whole thing.
I know that Grady isn’t an asshole, not like that. I knew then he wouldn’t care that I was gay. But the rest of it? Pining after his straight ass? Yeah. No.
But I can’t tell him that. “I was dealing with a lot of shit, okay? Plus, we were both leaving. I just did it early.”
“We weren’t planning on not seeing each other. Jesus, man. You wouldn’t answer my calls or anything.”
I hate the hurt I can see in his eyes now as he drops his hold on my wrists and steps away. “I’m sorry. I know it was shitty.”
“It was.” His eyes lock on mine. “I’m not my father.”
I wince, knowing what a sore subject his prick of a father is. “I know.” His father has spent years preaching about love and yet condoning hatred toward anything that he sees as a sin, especially homosexuality.
Then Grady surprises me yet again. “I’m assuming you have a break now that you’re a champion?”
“Huh?” I try to get control of my breathing, hating that my physical attraction to him hasn’t missed a beat. If anything, it’s grown. “Yeah. I have a parade and a couple of appearances, but they’re all local. Why?”
He shrugs his shoulders with a cocky grin that’s so damn familiar to me. “I have three weeks off too. I think you should invite me to stay.”
“What?” I nearly choke out through my shock. “Stay where?”
He makes a show of looking around the grand foyer and then spreads his arms out wide. “Here. It’s not like you don’t have plenty of room.”
“You’re insane. We may as well be strangers.”
He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me to him, his forehead resting against mine in a gesture that makes me ache from missing it and him so damn much. “We’ll never be strangers. I don’t care if you push me away for fifty years. I’ll always be Bell, and you’ll always be Bailey.”
“This is a bad idea,” I barely whisper.
“I missed you. I want to catch up, and you have a bigass mansion.”
“My agent will hate it.”
He scoffs at that, stepping back and releasing me. “Are you kidding? Childhood best friends reuniting at the World Series? That’s an agent and publicist’s wet dream. The media will eat that shit up.”
“I try to avoid the media.”
“So I’ve noticed.” He smiles, flashing the grin that has probably dropped many, many panties over the years. “Come on, Ry.”
Fuck.
“Fine.”
“I’m going to go get my bags.”
I follow after him as he strides toward the front door. “Wait. You planned this? To come and stay with me after seven years of nothing?”
“No.” He grins over his shoulder. “But I had to get out of that hotel they had me in last night and hadn’t decided where to stay tonight yet.”
I roll my eyes because that’s just so fucking Grady.
But I know I’m right, and this is a bad, bad idea.
I’m not sure what came over me, inviting myself to stay with Ry for a few weeks. But it’s always been a gaping hole left in my life. When he left, I was broken. Far more than I ever allowed myself to admit to anyone, even myself.
Now that he’s right here, in front of me. I couldn’t resist.
He’s gay. I couldn’t give a fuck. He’s still Ryan Bailey.
But I recognize the sad longing in his eyes. It’s one I can’t and won’t ignore. One I see when I’ve looked at my own reflection for the last seven years.
I grab my bag from the car and walk confidently inside his house where he’s still waiting with that same serious scowl on his face. “You’re really going to stay here?”
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t?”
I can see him searching his brain for a reason but just push past him, making sure to nudge his bigass shoulder as I walk by.
“So, where’s my room?”
I hear a quick laugh from behind me, and he walks in front of me. “You’re still a goddamn asshole.”
“Always. Where?”
He nods his head toward the stairs. “There are three guest rooms up there. Take your pick.”
“Thanks.” I start toward the stairs. “I’ll be right back. Then we’ll catch up.”
&n
bsp; I hear him grumbling something about how he was about to go to bed, but I ignore it. He’s twenty-five. He can stay up past ten. I go upstairs and find a pristine guest room I’m nearly positive no one has ever stayed in, placing my bag down before leaving the room to go find Bailey.
When I reach the bottom stair, I follow the sounds of glass being moved around which guides me to a large kitchen decorated in stainless steel and where Ry is standing at the fridge. He hands me a beer, unscrewing the lid on his own. “If we’re going to catch up, I’m going to need alcohol.”
I chuckle at that, twisting the top off mine and taking a much-needed drink. “Damn, that’s good.”
He’s looking at me strangely when I lower the bottle and lock eyes on his. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
I grin and nod toward the glass patio door. “You have a pool.”
He looks behind him and nods. “What’s a mansion without a pool?”
I grin, thinking about all the times we talked about the things we’d buy when we were famous. Ry always wanted a hot tub. I wanted an underground pool. “What about a hot tub?”
He grins wryly. “Of course. Have to soak my muscles as often as I can.”
I’m not sure if he did that on purpose or not, but when he mentions his muscles, I can’t stop my eyes from roaming down over his sculpted chest and stomach. Motherfucker is carved out of stone. I’m not sure that’s really a requirement in baseball. His sweats hang low on his hips, and my gaze lingers a little too long on the prominent V of his obliques.
“You okay?”
Fuck. I was not just checking out Ryan Bailey’s body.
“I’m fine. How about we go out there to talk? It’s a nice night.”
“I was in bed.”
I grin and start toward the door. “Now you’re not.”
He grumbles but follows me out onto the patio. We take our seats by the pool. We both sip our beer in quiet contemplation, and I decide to just dive in. Because why not? We’ve lost seven years.
“So, how the hell did I not know you were gay?”
His look turns into a glare as he turns his head toward me. “What does that mean?”
I roll my eyes when I see he’s offended. “Don’t get your boxers in a twist. I just mean I can’t walk out my door without a fucking camera in my face. They know my every mood. How is it that you fuck dudes and the world doesn’t know?”
His shoulders noticeably relax now as he takes a drink of his beer. “I’m not a rockstar, man. They usually report about my stats, not my dating life.”
“Yeah, that’s total bullshit. I’ve seen that ugly mug of yours posted all over the fucking place. Hottest bachelor in baseball. Who’s going to bag him?”
He rolls his eyes at my recount of the articles printed about him in the last years. “Stalking me on the internet, huh?”
I grin into my beer. “As if you haven’t Googled me.”
He doesn’t deny it and shrugs, going back to drinking his beer in silence.
I look up at the night sky, glad it’s still warm out. “So do you just not fuck?”
He nearly chokes on his beer, which makes me laugh as he shakes his head. “Jesus, still no fucking filter on you.”
“I told you I wanted to get to know you again, and I’m curious. There has to be a reason the media doesn’t know about you being gay.”
“Jesus, fuck.” He runs his hand through his short blond hair, huffing out a breath in frustration. “Not all of us flaunt our hookups.”
I hold the beer bottle by the neck and tip it in his direction. “But if there were any hookups whatsoever, they’d be on it.”
He sighs, settling further back into the lounge chair, pulling one arm up to place it behind his head. “NDAs.”
My brow crinkles. “You trust them to keep their word because they sign a contract?”
His large shoulder shrugs before he takes another drink of his beer. “I’ve done my part by having them sign it.”
I turn in my chair, studying him for a moment. “What does that mean? Do you want them to out you?”
He doesn’t move, his body staying stiff and tense as he looks straight ahead before he finally answers, “I wouldn’t say that. But if it happens, it happens. I’m fucking sick of hiding who I am.”
My gut hurts, thinking about my best friend living a lie for so long. It’s not fucking fair, and he shouldn’t have to. “So why not just come out already?”
He scoffs at that like I’m ridiculous. “There’s no need. It’s nobody’s business who I want to fuck.”
“Fine, but you shouldn’t have to fucking hide.”
I watch his jaw tick, and then his already huge chest puffs up and fills with air before he turns to me. “Drop it.”
Touchy subject. I get it, but it stings. There was a time I thought nothing was off-limits with us. “Fine.”
I turn back in my chair and away from him. He does the same, but he isn’t silent. “What about you? Are you really Mr. Commitment now?”
I grin and turn my head in his direction again. “Spying on me too, it seems.”
“I may have seen something about you in a long-term relationship. You’re really faithful?”
The doubt in his tone pisses me off, but I suppose it’s warranted. I’ve never been committed to anyone in my life. “No, but I have NDAs too.”
“That’s fucking nice.”
I try not to get defensive. The last thing I want is a knockout fight with Ry. The prick has gotten even bigger since the last time either of us has thrown a punch. Most of the time, it was all in good fun, but he could still take my ass out if he wanted to.
“Things with Vicky aren’t really as they seem.”
“What does that mean?”
I trust Ry, but I can’t betray Vicky. “I can’t say. But it’s pretty much all fake.”
He snorts and shakes his head, not looking at all surprised. “Who knew all the shit that came with fame?” He looks up at the sky. “You think if we would have known then what we know now, we would have wasted so much time dreaming about it?”
I hear the raw vulnerability in his voice and feel the pain laced inside the words. “I’m not sure.”
I hate this tense moment. I don’t really know how to deal with it, so I go all Grady on him and blurt out something completely inappropriate.
“So, you catch or pitch? You know, off the field?”
I caught him off guard, and he turns to me all wide-eyed and freaked-out. “Jesus, fuck. Did you really just ask me that? As if I’m a fucking top or a bottom?”
I shrug my shoulder, having heard those terms before but still thinking it’s strange coming from Ry.
Who really is totally fucking gay.
Huh. Who knew?
“I’m just catching up. Is that not an acceptable question?”
He laughs, shaking his head and in the moment, looking like the old Ryan, the one I grew up with. Younger and freer even if he’s still all in his head. “Not really. No.”
“Oh, come on. I’m just curious, man. I know you’re a damn good catcher.
He finishes his beer and places the bottle on the ground. I’m certain he’s gonna throw a punch or kick my ass out, but he speaks, “On the field I’m solely a catcher, but off . . .” His eyes meet mine, making me squirm for some unknown reason. “In bed, I like to switch it up.”
I gape at him. I have no idea what I thought he was going to say, but the fact that he takes and receives . . . Yeah, I didn’t see that coming.
I take a large drink of my beer and lean back in my seat. “I’m sorry you didn’t think you could tell me the truth.”
“About being versatile in the sack?”
“What?” I turn to him, and it’s his turn to laugh at me.
“It’s fine, Grady. We were kids. I’m over it.”
I don’t believe that, but I don’t push him. “So, you didn’t have sex with anyone in high school?”
“Nope. I was a virgin until my sophomore
year of college.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him who, but a dark part deep inside keeps me from doing it, and I know it’s because I’m not certain I can handle the answer. Thinking about a guy with Ryan, pinning him down and thrusting inside . . .
Okay. That’s enough of that.
What the fuck is wrong with me today?
I shake that thought, but it’s Ryan who speaks next, answering my unasked question. “My roommate—they put me in the athletic dorms—it was his cousin.”
“Wasn’t that risky?”
He shrugs. “I was tired of having no experience by that point. My roommate was cool, but I didn’t tell him or anyone else. But when his cousin stayed with us a few days, I instantly got a flirty vibe from him. It just sort of happened when Roman went out with the rest of the guys and left us alone.”
I hate that his first time was out of desperation. “So, you just jumped the first gay guy you met?”
He punches me in the arm, and I wince but know it wasn’t nearly as hard as he could have hit me. “Asshole.” He grins. “No. He was good-looking and charming and knew who he was. I was attracted to him.”
“Doesn’t sound like a love story.”
He studies me for an uncomfortable minute but then shrugs his large shoulders. “Nah, but it was decent. Gave me some experience I wanted.”
“What about your parents? What do Greg and Cindy say about this?”
He cringes, and my hackles rise. Were they assholes about it? He recovers, but I can still see the hurt in his eyes. “They um . . .”
“Do they know?”
He nods. “They know. They just ignore it.”
I sit up, facing him again. “What do you mean they ignore it?”
“They just keep hoping I’ll bring a nice girl home someday.” He tries to laugh it off, but it’s not fucking funny.
“That’s some serious bullshit.”
He winces, and I feel like an asshole, but I know I’m not wrong. “It’s fine, Grady.”
“It’s not though. What the fuck is their problem?”
He sits up too, on the edge of his seat, ready to bail. “It could be so much worse. You know where we come from. What they fucking preach relentlessly. They didn’t disown me.”
