Page 38 of Force At Third

“All right, you two knuckleheads, cut the shit. We’re in the ninth!”

I nod. “You got it, boss.”

Stepping back in, I know damn well I’m fucked.

The pitch is thrown, I swing, and yeah, I miss.

“You can’t even find third, Locke!” comes from the center-fucking-field.

“Don’t even respond,” Coach barks his order at me as I’m already wagging my pinky at him.

“Jesus, Locke.” Coach shakes his head as I pass by.

Steel is on third, Vanders on first, and Harts up to bat.

I drop my bat, toss my helmet, and head to the dugout, glancing at the field. “Mavericks can suck my sweaty balls!” I yell as I step in.

“Much prettier mouths will be at O’Donnell’s after the game. They won’t give a damn that you struck out every time you were at bat tonight,” Rudy G. chirps.

There’s only one pretty mouth I give a fuck about right now.

The game ends—Jags 10, Mavericks 6.

* * *

After the shower, I head to my locker as Tereira tosses his towel in the hamper.

“O’Donnell’s?”

“We won, didn’t we?” Hart asks.

“Fuck yeah, Hart’s in!” he yells to Nour.

“I’m catching a ride with you, Hart,” I tell him as I pass behind him. I toss my towel. “That’s cool, right?”

He glances down at my dick. “Now, you owe me a beer, too.”

“You looked, didn’t you, Hart?” Rudy G. laughs.

“It’s not every day that you see a man with an earring in his dick.” Hart scowls at him.

“You’d be surprised.” Amias Steel chuckles.

“Are you trying to tell me my cock’s not special. That it’s ‘just like all the other guys?’”

Amias lifts his chin. “Something like that.”

“You bedazzled your dick, too?” Harts asks, still wholly shaken.

“What in the actual fuck kind of conversation did we walk in on?” Jase Steel’s voice booms through the room.

I chuckle as I pull on my dress slacks.

“TBH, it’s not special.”

“That’s right,” Amias pipes in. “I know men who have metal older than most of us.”

“When is your kid’s contract up?” Jase asks Zandor.

---