Page 42 of Triple Play

“I’m gonna change.” Felix motions to his waistband as if I need the visual.

I let my gaze follow his hand just for a second. “Right.” But I can’t seem to move.

I’ve spent my whole life in clubhouses, undressing next to thirty other guys. Even in a hotel room, default rules apply. Undress facing away from each other, on opposite sides of the room, like it’s no big deal, because it’s not. Can’t be.

So I dig out swim trunks and a T-shirt and strip and keep my eyes trained on the generic hotel art. Or almost do.

A sensation breathes up the back of my neck like I’m being watched.

I glance back. Felix is already changed. For some reason, he’s studying a different bland painting.

You’re imagining things.

“Deck?” I ask, as I pull on my T-shirt.

“Deck,” Felix confirms, then follows me out and into the elevator down to the fifth floor.

Hot tub sort of undersold this. This is an in-ground circular pool ringed by a built-in bench. Big enough for two people definitely. For three, possibly, if they don’t mind a tighter fit.

I swallow that thought and turn to the task at hand. I open Felix’s clipper set, test the electric razor. It buzzes to life, its indicator light showing the battery as fully charged.

Now all we have to do is get started. I wipe my suddenly damp palm against my swim trunks. I don’t know why I’m worried. I’ve done this before. I just have to start with the longer clipper guards and work my way shorter until he can get the rest with a razor. It’s simple. I wipe my hands again.

Felix grabs a tall standing lamp from across the patio and carries it over. His arms strain the confines of his T-shirt sleeves. Right. That might have something to do with my sudden nervousness. He plugs the lamp in, taking this area of the patio from twilight to full day. That’s better. It’s hard for my mind to stray in the full glare of a lamp.

I pull out a patio chair and motion to it. “Grab a seat.”

“Sure.” Felix doesn’t sit immediately. Instead, he strips off his shirt and leaves it in a wad on the glass patio table. “Didn’t want to get a bunch of hair in that.”

I swallow. “Good thinking.”

In his clothes, he’s big. Out of them…I’m a big guy. I’ve spent the offseason working to pack on as much muscle as I can.

But Felix isn’t just big—he’s mountainous: thick-waisted with shoulders like hills. Hair dusts his pecs and stomach, coalescing into the line I saw earlier. As a segment, it was distracting. As a whole path…

I am not staring. I am not, and I yank my gaze down to the plastic deck floorboards to show how much I’m not staring.

After we get to Florida tomorrow, we have a whole season to play. I’m taking his job. He’s generous enough not to hold that against me. That should be enough for anyone.

After a solid thirty seconds of not saying anything, Felix flutters his hand to get my attention. “Everything good?” As if he can tell it’s not.

Slowly, I bring my eyes back up to meet his. “Yeah. Just worried I’m gonna mess up your beard.”

“Hell yeah.” He waves me toward him. “Come mess me up.”

I laugh and secure the number eight guard on the clippers, then flip the switch, happy for the distraction of the razor buzzing in my palm. You shouldn’t need a distraction. Shira will be up here soon. Shira isn’t a distraction—just, when she’s around, it’s easier to focus on her and no one else. Shira will be up here soon and I’ll be all right.

Cutting hair usually means standing behind someone and praying that any mistakes you make with the clippers won’t be too obvious. To trim Felix’s beard, I have to stand in front of him. Over him. His knees are spread to accommodate me. I step between them, ignoring the faint brush of fabric as our swim trunks touch, the heat coming off his bare chest.

“I’m gonna…” I indicate angling his chin up with my hand.

“Sure.”

Right. I’m being weird. Guys who aren’t…like this wouldn’t think anything of it. This is normal in a clubhouse. Normal everywhere but my own mind.

I tilt his jaw, feeling the bristle of his hair. Pretend you’re a barber and make conversation. But what slips out is, “Your beard’s soft.”

Felix’s laugh tickles the pads of my fingers. “I use balm on it.” He looks at me through his eyelashes and I didn’t realize how thick they were or how green his eyes are.

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