Out of Bounds (Reedsville Roosters #5)

by Holley Trent

  He swallowed hard and put some determination in his spine. “Even if I agree to help you out, you know damn well she’s gonna get suspicious. She’s not stupid. She’s gonna be wondering why I’m talking to her so much and why you’re not doing anything to rein me in.”

  “So, talk to me, too.”

  “What?”

  Dean shrugged. “I mean, she’s used to me not talking back, so…what’s one more person I’m not talking back to?”

  It was a hare-brained scheme, even in Gary’s less-than-valuable opinion, but Dean was looking at him with so damned much earnestness, Gary didn’t want to tell him no.

  He gave Dean’s shoulder a slight push and grinned. “All right. Don’t blame me, though, if shit doesn’t go according to plan. You’re dealing with a wildcard.”

  “Sometimes, that’s the most useful card in the deck.”

  Huh. Gary grunted and went into the room to dress.

  I’m fucking useful. How ’bout that?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dean kept his seat on the bus until Cameron Moreno passed him at the aisle, cutting Gary a withering glower as he went.

  Gary, pinned against the window by Dean, had his hands figuratively tied by his chaperone’s presence. Dean didn’t really want to think the two men would tussle right there in the bus aisle, but after witnessing a day of vicious passive-aggressiveness between the two, he suspected anything was possible. Seemed to Dean, though, that Cameron needed the chaperone more than Gary did. Gary would be in the dugout, minding his own business and sitting at the far end of the bench, and Cameron would be heckling him from the other end.

  Dean knew that because he’d been standing right beside the damned thing for half the day and staring down into the hole. He suspected that the only reason Gary didn’t react was because Dean kept flicking pebbles at him to get him back on task.

  On the field, Gary didn’t need much help, so Dean stayed back near the bleachers. It was when all the players had to clump for some reason that there were problems. And whenever there were problems, Gary’s performance hit the skids.

  He wasn’t unpredictable. He was very predictable, at least in Dean’s opinion. Whether or not Wallace agreed, Dean didn’t know. He’d be happy if he could avoid the man for the rest of his tenure in Reedsville. Wallace was a special kind of clueless.

  Cameron hopped off the bus and headed toward his motel room, casting a look over his shoulder at the bus.

  Gary put his back to the window and shook his head. “Gonna let me out now?”

  “Let him get into his room.”

  “What if he doesn’t go in? What if he stands outside leaning against that wall, and leering?”

  Charles Ecceles, a powerhouse of a second baseman who couldn’t have been much over five-and-a-half feet tall and with eyebrows so pale they were nearly translucent, paused in the aisle next to Dean, and craned his head toward the window. “Looks like exactly what he’s doing. The hell did you do to him last time you were here, Morstad? I was here. I don’t remember there being that much static.”

  “’Cause most of it was in Moreno’s head,” a guy named Marcus Carter said. “He’s always been something of teacher’s pet though, right? He and Wallace are buddy-buddy.”

  “I heard he was trying to hook up with Wallace’s daughter.”

  “Which one?” Gary asked. “Cordy?”

  “Cordy would probably be more likely to tell him yes, but nah. You know damn well Leelah isn’t going to give him the time of day, but I think he’s carrying a torch for her, anyway.”

  “What does this Leelah have against him?” Dean asked. He figured knowing a little something about the guy’s preferences would help him understand the psychology behind Moreno’s antagonism with Gary. He hadn’t expected his short-term volunteer gig to come with legitimate chaperoning duties, but he was confident he’d succeed. He had brothers. He was used to keeping them apart when they needed assisted separation.

  “Leelah, like her big sister Edy, doesn’t actually like baseball players, and certainly not ones who remind her of her father.” Charles scrubbed his hands over his sunburned face and guffawed. “He should have known all that kiss-assing was gonna backfire on him eventually.”

  “You assholes gonna get off the bus, or should I go ahead and dim the lights for the fairy princess slumber party you’re about to have?” the driver called back.

  “We’re goin’, we’re goin’,” Marcus yelled back. He waved Dean and Gary on. “Come on. We’ll walk in a clump like girls do when they go to the bathroom at nightclubs.”

  “Pathetic,” Gary muttered as he stood.

  Charles shrugged and started up the aisle. “Temporary measure, right? Just until you get off Cassavetes’ shit list. Then we’ll all sit back and laugh while hell breaks loose.”

  “So you all knew Gary was coming back?” Dean asked. “Apparently, your captain didn’t.”

  “Yeah, we knew,” Marcus said. “In fact, I’m the one who told Wallace he’d be stupid to not try to get a couple of more years out of him. If Moreno didn’t know, that was by design. Wallace wouldn’t want his favorite kiss-ass to have his fee-fees hurt.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Gary muttered as he descended the stairs behind Dean.

  “This team’s got more drama than Lo’s beauty parlor,” Dean said over his shoulder.

  Gary walked beside him and draped his cleats, knotted at the laces, over his shoulder. Dean had asked why he hadn’t left them in the field house, and Gary had mumbled something about a past incident involving shaving cream and thumbtacks. “Well, don’t start popping the popcorn yet. We’ve still got two hours until curfew. Who knows what’ll happen?”

  “I won’t let anything happen. At least nothing that Lo could see.”

  “And after she leaves?”

  “Depends on the circumstances. Some things, I might turn a blind eye to.”

  “Careful,” Marcus said. “Moreno might overhear. You wouldn’t want him to go tattle.”

  Dean already wanted to shake the hell out of the man for that. He had ran to Wallace first thing in the morning and told the manager that there was a girl in Gary’s room. Of course, that girl was Lo, and Lo was Dean’s, and Wallace already knew about her. Dean wished he could have seen the egg on Cameron Moreno’s face when Wallace had informed of that. Instead, he’d had to rely on second-hand commentary from Charles, who’d happened to be in Wallace’s office at the time.

  The sweaty foursome poured onto the walkway at the wall’s opening, and Marcus and Charles surged Cameron—catching him in a headlock and mussing his telenovela star-quality hair aggressively as Gary fumbled to get his room door open.

  “How does he get every single hair to stay in place through an entire day of workouts?” Marcus asked.

  “Maybe he shellacs it.” Gary finally got the door open, and stepped in without another word with Dean on his heels.

  Dean shut the door behind him, watched Gary flop onto his bed, and then quickly scanned the room for signs of Lo.

  No Lo.

  “I’d better call her,” Dean muttered. “I wonder where she is.”

  Gary expelled a tired-sounding gust of air through his open mouth and strained to sit up. “Maybe that cousin she was trying to get in touch with called her back.”

  “Maybe.”

  Dean rooted the phone out of his pocket, typed in her number, and then hovered his thumb over the call button. “I could just text her.”

  “Call her. Those ‘Where are you?’ text messages are creepy as hell.”

  “You know that from experience?”

  “I was a manservant, and occasionally a man-whore when I was really broke. I’ve had more phone numbers than all the Kardashians and Jenners combined because the needy ladies wouldn’t stop hounding me.”

  “Man-whore?”

  “High-priced one, naturally.”

  Dean blinked at him. Not even Lo with her quick wit would have had a good response for that.

&
nbsp; “Don’t worry,” Gary said airily. “I don’t have cooties. No more than most folks, anyway. I’m cleaner than a nun’s virtue, not counting the jock itch I’m certain is going to be burning my crotch by tomorrow. Was fucking hot out there today, man, and I forgot how much wearing a cup sucks.”

  “You were scratching a lot, that’s for sure.”

  “Only because Cameron was watching.” Gary shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. “Call your wife.”

  Dean hit the button before he could talk himself out of doing so.

  “Deeeeeean!” she answered in her usual characteristic chirp.

  “Shit, I can hear her all the way from over here,” Gary said from the sink.

  “Tell Gary to shut up,” she said.

  “She says to shut up,” Dean said.

  Gary leaned into the doorway and made a turning motion with his hand—telling Dean to get on with it.

  “What should I say?” Dean mouthed.

  Gary laid his head to the side and mouthed back, “Really?”

  Dean shrugged.

  Gary put his mouth close to the phone and said, “Where are you? We’re hungry.”

  Dean hit the speaker button in time to hear Lo say, “So go eat. I’ll be back after your curfew.”

  “You, uh, met up with your cousin?” Dean asked.

  “Cousins,” she corrected. “Three of them, and they talk even more than me. The only reason you can’t hear them right now is because they went to the bathroom.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’re at a drive-up annoying the carhops by taking too long to eat. So much to catch up on, you know? Nice seeing them.”

  “Well, you’ve got a few more days,” he said.

  “Yeah, but…I don’t know. I came down here to be with you.”

  “You’re still sleeping with me, right?”

  “Damn right I am. Keep Gary on his side of the room.”

  Dean chuckled. “I’ll try. Don’t rush back. We’ll figure something out for dinner.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you keep the miserable wretch out of trouble today?”

  “You know you’re on speakerphone, right?” Gary asked.

  “No,” Lo said, “but I would have said the same thing even if I had known. So there.”

  “You’re so mean to me.”

  “You owe me, so deal with it. Bye, Dean. Love you. Gotta go. My cousins are coming back, and if I’m on the phone, they’ll want to talk too, and they barely know you.”

  Dean shuddered, and somehow managed to say love you, too before she disconnected.

  “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Gary stepped into the bathroom and pulled his sweaty shirt over his head.

  “No, but you were standing there filling the voids.”

  “Most of that was all you, bud. Good job. I’ll grade you a B-minus for that performance.”

  “What do I have to do to get a B?” Dean asked.

  “Being the first one to say ‘I love you’ wouldn’t hurt.” Gary stepped out of his shorts, taking his briefs down with them, and then toed off his socks.

  Dean rustled up a little common sense and moved away from the door. There was no damn reason for him to be standing in the doorway ogling, even if Gary didn’t seem to give a shit.

  “God damn.” Gary’s voice echoed in the small room, and Dean suspected he must have stepped into the shower. “Lo was right about this soap. It’s like sand encased in slowly dissolving plastic.

  “Says ‘luxury’ on the wrapper,” Dean said.

  “You believe everything you read?”

  “Maybe I’m too trusting.”

  “Shit’s gonna scratch me up and draw blood,” Gary whined. “I’d skip the suds, but I don’t think anyone should have to be so close to me under-bathed after a workout.”

  “You don’t smell that bad.”

  “I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, Dean.”

  Dean chuckled, then flopped back onto his and Lo’s bed and closed his eyes. The sun had been beating down on his head since it’d done its peek-a-boo from behind a large cloud at around ten a.m. He was utterly drained and could probably sleep for a day.

  He closed his eyes, and was about to start doing just that when Gary called out from the bathroom, “Is this a tick? For fuck’s sake, Dean. Look at this. Tell me this isn’t a tick.”

  “Where the hell would you have picked up a tick?”

  “Did you see how high the grass was in the outfield?”

  “It was high, but not so high you would have picked up a tick anywhere unusual.”

  “Except those two times I dove for balls. I was practically swimming in the grass, and doing all that damn nut scratching. Please come look. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t know. I won’t be able to stop thinking about it, and you’re going to get mad if I don’t shut up. You don’t understand. Please.”

  “Ugh.” Dean rolled off the bed, padded back to the bathroom, and found Gary poking his head out of the shower curtain.

  “Thanks. Since I stopped taking my meds, I fixate on shit sometimes and I can’t let go of the compulsion unless someone helps me.”

  “Your meds?”

  Gary waved him over. “This’ll take just a minute.”

  “All right.” Dean pulled the curtain aside.

  Gary put one foot up on the tub’s edge, put his hand over his junk, and then lifted everything. “Check the crease, please.”

  Dean bent and leaned a bit sideways looking for any sign of an insect intruder, but he wasn’t seeing anything that wasn’t supposed to be there.

  “Why are making that face? There’s a tick there, isn’t it? Oh my God. Get it the fuck off me!”

  “Gary, there’s no tick.”

  “Are you sure? Look closer.”

  “Hard to get much closer without my eyes crossing.”

  “Touch the skin there. See if you can feel a bump, or find me a couple of mirrors or something and I’ll try to eyeball it myself.”

  Sighing, Dean ran his index finger along the seam between Gary’s thigh and balls and felt not a damned thing besides a little raised freckle. He poked at it. “You mean this?”

  Gary put his finger beside Dean’s and wriggled it. “Yeah! Wait. You’re pushing the tick in. Quit that!”

  “That’s not a tick. That’s a freckle, or a mole, or whatever.”

  “Why’s it so bumpy, then?”

  “Probably because you’ve been scratching your junk all day.” Dean flicked a little water in Gary’s frowning face and leaned against the narrow stretch of wall between the shower and toilet. “I think you were right about getting a rash.”

  Gary dropped his hand, sucked in his gut, and jutted his hips forward, staring at his crotch. “Fuck. Gonna have to go out and get some cream or powder or something. I can’t believe I don’t have any.”

  Itchy crotch or not, his cock was in a semi-erect state that indicated that either Gary wasn’t as uncomfortable as he let on or that he had a hair trigger.

  Dean closed his eyes. He didn’t have to look. He didn’t have to think about Gary’s hair trigger and whether or not Dean had caused it to go off.

  “Maybe one of the other guys have some,” Dean said.

  “Can you go ask them? I’d go, but…”

  “Yeah. I’m sure Cameron’s got his door wide open, waiting for you to creep past. Think about what you want for dinner while I’m gone.”

  Dean opened his eyes in time to see Gary’s comically wide grin.

  “What?” Dean asked, although he wasn’t quite certain he really wanted to know.

  “Thanks for the tick check. I might actually be able to sleep tonight, assuming I’m not being itched to death by crotch fungus.”

  Dean shuddered. “Happy to oblige. I think.”

  “I’ll try not to ask again. I’ll wear compression pants under my shorts tomorrow.”

  “Just try to stay out of
the high grass and you shouldn’t have any problems.”

  “Tell Cameron to stop tossing balls out there, then.”

  “I’ll tell him for sure.” Dean started for the room’s outer door only to stop when something Gary had said niggled at the back of his mind.

  He turned and kept his eyes directed pointedly above Gary’s neck, not that it made a difference. His peripheral vision was feeding him clues that the man had gone from semi-erect to full-out engorged.

  Christ.

  “Were you gonna say something?” Gary asked.

  Dean had to close his eyes again so he didn’t look down. He’d seen enough of Gary’s cock for one day, and feared his brain would form an unwanted association in which every time he looked at the man he got a hard-on. He already had that problem with Lo.

  “Uh, you…said something about meds?”

  “Oh.” The shower curtain snicked over, and feet squeaked against the bottom of the tub.

  Dean opened his eyes to find that Gary was, blessedly, hidden.

  “Yeah. I’ve got issues. ADD and a little oppositional defiance. Also, OCD and some sensory stuff mixed with some occasionally-dangerous impulsivity, and…shall I go on?”

  Dean was surprised he’d told him that much. Mental health stuff tended to make folks clam up. “You don’t take the meds anymore?”

  “Nah.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the ones that worked the best made me feel like someone else, and I didn’t like that person. Some people find a drug and dosage that helps. I’m not one of those lucky ones. I just deal.”

  “I see.”

  “Yeah.” Gary slid the curtain aside again and wriggled his eyebrows at Dean. “While you’re out there asking about junk gunk, can you maybe find me some better soap? The grit in this…”

  “Right.”

  If the grit bothered Dean, it had to bother the hell out of Gary.

  Dean knew his type. He had a brother very much like Gary, and he wasn’t medicated either. Their parents hadn’t wanted the stigma of a mental health diagnosis attached to him, so he muddled through life, unable to self-advocate because he didn’t know how or that he should, and because he didn’t want to oppose the “truth” of their parents. They were well-meaning, for the most part, but so, so wrong.