Volley Balls

by Tara Lain

“Wait!” Shit, did he just say that?

  The guy stopped and turned. “Yeh?” The word turned up on the end—hopefully.

  “I have to give you points for not giving up. After me being such a shit and all.”

  “I deserved it. I just—” He shrugged. “—don’t have much experience. None with guys, you know? I’m pretty bad at it.”

  “You guarantee you’re not an ax murderer?”

  The guy’s perfect lips in his perfect face turned up. “Do American ax murderers admit their profession? Must make policing damned easy.”

  “Yep. All the cops are busy eating donuts as we speak.”

  “So no, I’m not an ax murderer.” His face sobered. “Or anyone who means you harm.” He extended his hand. “Hello. I’m Gareth Marshall.”

  David shook his hand. Big. Very callused. Very warm. “Okay, Gareth.” David crossed his arms. “What’s a nice guy like you doing with a homophobic asshole like that big blond?”

  All kinds of emotions flashed across his face—anger, hurt, and embarrassment seemed uppermost. “He’s my volleyball partner.” He took a breath. “And actually my best friend.”

  David frowned. “So he harasses every other gay guy, but not you?”

  “He doesn’t know I’m gay.”

  “Uh, sorry to tell you, but in the dictionary where it says ‘best friend,’ it says ‘guy who you tell all your secrets to.’”

  “I know. But we’ve been friends since we were kids. He thinks he knows everything about me.”

  “He’s missed a few sucked cocks, I gather.”

  Gareth did that shrug thing. “A few.”

  “So where do we go from here?”

  He flashed a slightly saucy smile. “Where do you want to go, mate?”

  “You’re the one lurking in doorways.”

  His smile faded. Damn. It was cute. “Like I said, I’d like to take you out.”

  “And get killed by your best friend?”

  “I’ll take care of him.”

  David shook his head. “I know his type. He’ll blame me for making you gay. Been there and done that.”

  He cocked his handsome head. “I’m sorry to hear that. But seriously, I’ll tell him. None of the other guys will be a problem.” He dug in his pocket. “I want to give you these.”

  David looked down at tickets in Gareth’s hand. “What are they?” He took them and read the back. “It’s a volleyball championship. Uh, that’s nice, but I don’t know anything about volleyball.”

  “You know me.” There was that grin. Sigh.

  “Not really.”

  The grin got bigger. “Maybe we should fix that?” He cocked his head questioningly.

  David looked up as Gareth stepped closer. I have one second to stop this.

  Gareth reached out a hand and touched it lightly to David’s cheek, as if testing the skittishness of a mustang. When David didn’t recoil, Gareth’s grin broadened. He leaned in, closer, closer—his breath scented faintly of beer and peppermint. Pull back. That’s all you have to do. He’s not demanding. But then, that was the appeal.

  A seeking mouth closed over David’s, and the first touch robbed him of air. Those big hands held him still—not letting him go—and soft, oh-so-soft lips stroked back and forth against David’s closed mouth. Then Gareth’s gentle tongue teased at the tight seam of David’s lips. David was hungry and those lips were a feast, a meal of luscious, delicious sweetness he hadn’t tasted in so-o-o long. Maybe never.

  Gareth’s tongue teased and pressed persuasively. Resist, resist….

  Total surrender. David’s mouth opened and Gareth’s hot tongue pressed deep. Every dormant cell flamed to life with heat and feeling, his cock leading the way. He couldn’t think. Too much smoke from the fire.

  His hands slipped into the dark, silky mane as David fit his mouth more perfectly to Gareth’s. Gareth’s marauding tongue explored until it caressed David’s completely, teasing and dominating. A rough hand grabbed his butt and pulled him onto his tiptoes until their cocks fit side by side. Hard. Hot. They both went nuts, rubbing their cocks together. Oh shit, it felt good. He tasted so delicious. Pictures formed in David’s mind. Him dropping to his knees and sucking until Gareth’s eyes rolled up in his head. His body draped over the sink with Gareth’s hot cock buried in his ass. Oh God, he wanted….

  “Get a room!”

  The shout came from the street, and David flew back like someone had given him vampire powers.

  Gareth stood staring at him, breathing hard. Then he smiled. “Pleased to meet ya. Hope to see you tomorrow.” With a flip of his perfect ass, he walked back down Forest Avenue.

  GARETH DROVE his rental car into the parking lot of the Huntington Beach hotel where the whole team was staying. He parked and dropped his head onto the steering wheel. Those lips. Holy, bloody hell. Could anything be that soft? Of course, he didn’t have a whole lot of comparisons. A half a lifetime of hiding and yearning for somebody he couldn’t have didn’t exactly make him Romeo fucking Montague.

  So why was this guy—who so accurately pointed out that Gareth didn’t know him at all—why was this guy inspiring thoughts of huge, life-changing steps? Hell, even if he and David had sex—whew, that made his cock wiggle—where could it lead? Gareth would go back to Australia. Of course, if he got the transfer it would be different, but still. He’d change his relationship with every man on the team. His mates, and especially his best friend.

  Why do it? Why even think of doing it? He blew out a long column of air, and it cooled the tops of his knees. Because I’m tired. Tired of hiding, tired of pretending. If he got to spend some time with David as a result, that would be nice—maybe better than nice—but if he came out of the closet, he’d do it for himself.

  He raised his head. What if David didn’t come tomorrow? The chances were good he wouldn’t. Hell, he’d looked at those tickets like Gareth had just asked him to a mud-wrestling match. Will I do it anyway? With no David as incentive?

  A sharp rap on the window made him turn. Edge. Edge stood beside the window, waving and grinning. Funny, when the man wasn’t being a narrow-minded asshole, he was lovable. Gareth opened the door, and Edge stepped back to let him out.

  “Hey, mate, where you been, and why the sack-out on the steering wheel?”

  “Just a little tired, I guess.” Gareth closed the door and started toward the hotel with Edge beside him. “I went back to Laguna Beach. I liked the town and I knew you guys didn’t, so I went by myself.” That was true, as far as it went.

  “Yeah, pouf central. But I kinda liked that show last night, and some of those galleries had pretty stuff.” Edge tried hard to relate to things Gareth liked.

  Gareth appreciated that and gave Edge a smile. “Yeah, I thought so too.”

  They’d been together since middle school, playing sports together, palling around. Gareth glanced at Edge. The first time he’d ever gotten a major erection that wasn’t in the morning, he’d been twelve and had been on the volleyball court watching Edge move. Fucking poetry. He’d frantically tried to jerk off to girlie magazines after that, but no go. Ads for aftershave did more for him than the world’s biggest tits. Finally, he’d given up and watched gay porn. Bloody hell, what a revelation. His young cock had shot like a fire hose, and he’d spent the next hour washing the wall so his mother wouldn’t see.

  But he hadn’t lied to David. Australian volleyball players—especially ones with homophobic fathers and best friends—didn’t come out. He had a chance to change that.

  His steps faltered. How about now? He could tell Edge—just the two of them.

  Edge grabbed his arm. “You’re so tired you’re falling over. Hey, man, get a lot of sleep. We got serious work to do tomorrow. I think we can take those two Yanks easy, but the Brazilians are another thing.”

  Just like that, the chance went away.

  Edge walked backward in front of him, waving his arms as he talked about strategy. The man loved volleyball. Hell, so did Gar
eth. The two of them were a great pair on the sand, rivaling the best teams in the world. They were stacking up points in tournaments, hoping to make the next Olympics.

  Edge bounced in front of him. Shit, look at that ass. Solid iron. The kind that sizzles. He worked hard to always see Edge as a buddy, just a mate, a bloke. Right then, it wasn’t working. John Edgerton, aka Edge, was an inch taller than Gareth at six foot five, with wide shoulders and long legs. He wore his pale blond hair short, unusual for the sand players, but sported a tribal tattoo on his big bicep. Gareth remembered the night, both of them pissed on beer, that Edge had gotten the tat. Gareth had watched the tattoo artist work, wishing he could hold Edge, pet him, and take away the pain.

  Christ, Edge would have hated Gareth for those thoughts. He’d hate knowing that Gareth got hard watching him play. Edge would hate that his best friend was a bloody fag.

  In all his years in sports, Gareth had never seen another man who turned him on like Edge—until yesterday. Until David. Maybe that’s why he was considering this. For the first time, he had hope that someone in the world could attract him besides Edge.

  Chapter Four

  DAVID PILOTED his car through the lights of Huntington Beach looking for the turnoff described on Gareth’s instructions. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

  His phone rang, and he hit the talk button without taking his eyes from the road.

  “Hi, dear.” Rodney’s voice sounded overly pleasant.

  “Hi yourself, you little turd.”

  Rod sighed loudly. “I gather it wasn’t a huge success.”

  “Jesus, you knew full well that man would bore me senseless. Good grief, you couldn’t even stand to have drinks with him.”

  “I know. I realized Tessa had made a terrible error, but I hoped maybe you’d like him more than I did.”

  “As if.”

  “Sorry. So want to come over this afternoon and I’ll cook us dinner before the pageant?”

  “Uh, no. Thanks, dear. I’m tied up.”

  “That sounds promising. Ropes or chains?”

  “Smartass.” The lull in the conversation clearly demonstrated Rodney’s expectation that David would fill in the blanks of his day. “So I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Oh, okay. Kiss, kiss, dear.”

  “Kiss, kiss.”

  He hung up. No reason to explain a day he might have to unexplain later. A big sign on the side of the Coast Highway announced Huntington Beach International Volleyball Tournament Parking, and David spun the wheel. Here goes.

  “YOUR SEAT is right in there, sir.”

  David scooted past a number of attractive women and an older couple to the designated spot on the bleachers. He felt the frown on his face. Good grief, what possessed him to come? The nets, the officials’ stands, the crowded bleachers—might as well be the Roman Coliseum. He knew nothing about volleyball, or most other sports, and cared even less. Why had he let Gareth beguile him? Okay, dumb question. But what do you think is going to come of this, idiot?

  He glanced down at his skinny jeans, T-shirt, and bright yellow denim jacket. If he had to be dumb, at least he was lookin’ good.

  The flat, boring Huntington Beach sand spread out in front of the bleachers with the waves a distance beyond. Probably great to play on, but sure not much to look at. Audacious seagulls pranced across the volleyball courts like they were trying out to be players. Were they called players? Ballers? David grinned. Didn’t even know. He rifled through the program he’d been handed for some clue to what might be happening. Sadly, no Volleyball 101 explanations provided.

  But there in the middle of the booklet was something much better—a photograph of the man of his fantasies stretched high in the air hitting a ball, his beautiful lean body like some athletic wet dream. Clearly, jerk-off material. Yes, but beside him in the sand was the man of David’s nightmares. Goliath. Gareth Marshall and John “Edge” Edgerton. David wanted to run. Even his photo was intimidating. Well, truthfully also delicious, but still scary as hell. He should get out of here.

  As he started to rise, an attractive fortysomething woman with long dark hair scooted into the place next to him. On her other side, a pleasant-looking man, gray at the temples, settled in. She looked at David and smiled. “Hi, I’m Carolyn Enders. Are you a friend of my son?”

  Was she talking to him? He glanced to the side to see if maybe she meant a person in front, but she was looking straight at him. “Uh, your son?”

  “Yes, Gareth. These are his family seats.” Still smiling like he wasn’t an interloper, she indicated their numbered spots on the bleachers.

  “Oh, I didn’t know. Uh, Gareth and I don’t know each other well, but he invited me, and I’ve never seen a real volleyball tournament, so….” He shrugged.

  She cocked her head as though she saw things a bit more clearly than he might have liked. “Well, I’m delighted you’re here.” She stuck out her hand.

  “Oh, uh, I’m David. David Underwood.” He shook her hand. Crap. No escape now.

  He sat back down. Maybe Gareth would be able to keep Goliath from beating him bloody. Oh well, if not, it wouldn’t be the first time.

  “So, are you a volleyball fan?” She seemed like such a pleasant woman.

  “To tell the truth, I don’t know much about it.”

  She flashed a big smile. “So, more of a Gareth fan?”

  Well, shit, what could he possibly say to that?

  “Sorry, that was rude of me.” She didn’t look sorry. “It’s that I’ve been hoping that Gareth would, uh, make friends with someone nice.”

  He grinned at her. “How do you know I’m nice?”

  “I suspect that inviting you here was a big step for him, so I’m betting that you’re very nice.” She looked at his face closely. “And you certainly are pretty. I guess I always wondered who Gareth might choose.”

  He felt a little flattered and a lot uncomfortable. “Please don’t make too much of this. We really don’t know each other well.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not planning a wedding or anything.”

  Gareth might be in the closet to everyone else, but at least his mother knew he was gay. That counted for something. Mothers were tough.

  The whistle sounded, and players ran out onto the sand. If he hadn’t been in public, he’d have wiped the saliva from his chin. Gareth was awe-inspiring, a real masterpiece of athletic perfection. The big asshole was pretty damned gorgeous too, if David overlooked his meanness.

  He’d been so upset the day Goliath had yelled at him, he hadn’t fully appreciated the fine posterior landscape those Aussie trunks provided. He didn’t want to be unpatriotic, but none of the other players were quite as breathtaking as the Aussie pair.

  Which reminded him. He turned to Gareth’s mom. She seemed to be watching him watch Gareth, which made his cheeks heat. He managed to say, “I thought Gareth was from Australia, but it seems like you’re from here.”

  “Yes, he does live in Australia, and I am from here. His dad and I split up when he was young. Gareth lived with me in Australia for many years, but I fell in love with Parker and wanted to move back to California.” She leaned against the man next to her. “California’s my home. By that time Gareth was almost in high school and being scouted for athletic scholarships, so he decided to stay there and live with his dad. I miss him terribly. He took a year off after his junior year to concentrate on volleyball, but I want him to come here and finish college. I, well, I understand him better than his dad does, and I think he’d be better off here. Of course, he’s a man now, so he’ll decide for himself.”

  “He must be pretty young.”

  “He’s twenty-two. But then, you can’t be much older.”

  “I’m twenty-six.”

  “Not a world of difference.”

  They both turned back to the game and, with a lot of coaching from Carolyn, David gradually understood enough to figure out that Gareth and Goliath were seriously outplaying the American pair. It gave him an opening. �
�Uh, Gareth’s, uh, partner, seems very good.”

  Her expression appeared purposefully neutral. “Edge? Yes, he’s a great player. One of the best, I think. Not quite as good as Gareth. Flashy, with his Hitler Youth haircut, but more erratic. In volleyball and life.” She smiled tightly.

  “They’re good friends.”

  “They’ve been together since they were kids. Probably not the person I would have picked for Gareth’s BFF, but I didn’t get to choose. Sadly, I think Edge, together with Gareth’s father, has made my son’s path harder, but he’s a strong man. He’ll prevail.”

  By kissing strange men on the street? That seemed like the move of a guy desperate to change his situation. But in what way?

  Gareth and Edge won the match against the Americans. The afternoon would feature the final match between the Australian pair and the world-champion Brazilians. David glanced at his watch. Just a little after noon. JJ was taking care of the shop, and he had hours before he had to be at the pageant.

  On the sand, the players shook hands before Gareth and Goliath, uh, Edge ran off the court into some makeshift locker rooms that had been set up for the tournament.

  Carolyn extended her hand to David. “Come on, let’s go congratulate him.”

  Holy shit. “No, I don’t want to bother him. I should go.”

  She cocked her head. “David, he invited you because he wanted you here. I understand if this is boring or uncomfortable, but don’t leave because you think he doesn’t want to see you.”

  Might as well confess. “I had something of a run-in with Goliath, I mean Edge, on the beach in Laguna. Actually, that’s how I first saw Gareth. Anyway, I don’t want to start trouble.”

  She gave her tight smile. “Goliath. I love it. Especially since you’re David.” She winked. “You remember who won, right? And I’m sure Gareth must have considered Edge’s reaction when he invited you.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t want to be turned into some kind of object lesson.”

  “That’s fair, I suppose.”

  He looked at her through his eyelashes, and she was smiling. Yeah, she knew he wasn’t going to be able to resist her. “Oh hell, in for a penny, as they say.”