Page 9 of Totally Opposed

“Yeah, but you weren’t throwing over one hundred miles an hour then.”

He’s been watching me throw? My cheeks begin to warm, and I quickly turn to grab one of the elastic bands Kyle wants me to use for light tension, hoping they will settle if I just don’t stare into his stunning dark eyes for too long, but they only grow warmer as I think about how those same eyes were watching me. When I do turn back, Alan’s got his headphones on, and he’s already jogging on the treadmill. I guess the talking part of our interaction is over. I should at least try to focus on what I came here to do, that is, if I actually do want to be ready to pitch by game day.

I do my best to move through each task, but no matter how much I try to focus on the exercises, my eyes stray to his reflection in the mirror as he works out on the hack squat machine. He’s upped the weight three times and sweat has drenched his shirt, making it cling to the muscles of his torso in all the right places.

He pushes through the last rep, then lifts his shirt to wipe his face, revealing his glistening hard abs. My gaze trails down his torso, but when I look back up, his stare is locked on mine in the reflection of the mirror. I lose my hold on the elastic looped under my foot and it flings to the floor with a thwack.

If only there was a hole beside me right now I could crawl inside, I think, bending to pick the elastic back up and continue with the last of the reps. When I dare look back up at the mirror, Alan isn’t there.

“See you on the field,” he says from the other side of the room, headed toward the steam rooms. His shirt is fully off andslung over his shoulder and the muscles of his back are even more impressive than his abs.

“Yeah, see you then,” I reply, watching him until he disappears behind the corner. I let the elastic go again and card my fingers through my hair. The next few days are going to be torture. Exquisite fucking torture.

***

It’s finally game day, and I’m getting pumped in the locker room with the guys. After spending an hour interacting with the crowd and getting them hyped up, it isn’t like we have to work hard to keep that energy going for ourselves.

The choreography for the opening number is burned into my mind, having run it a bazillion times. Mind you, I did screw up more than once because I was too fixated on Alan and Phillip. Okay, just Alan.

Sure, at first, all I could think about was Alan’s large hands exploring my body. His toned, strong arms wrapped around me. But it’s the pure joy he radiates as he helps a group of kids into their sacks for the banana-sack races, the confident gleam in his eye when Dennis hands him a mic, and the wide smile that spread across his face when his eyes landed on his sister in the crowd that has really captured my attention. I overheard him chatting to her on the phone the other day on speaker and the way they joke and laugh reminds me so much of me and Teddy. I’ll have to plan a trip home as soon as the season is over. Fuck. If they cut my team, I could be moving home for good.

Dennis shoves open the locker room door. “Does anyone know Phillip’s part of the opening number?”

My hand is up, and I’m on my feet in a split second.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do,” I say, and his face lights up.

“Great, Ryan, you’re with me. Now.”

I follow Dennis out of the room into the hall where Phillip and Alan are waiting. Phillip is lying on one of the medic stretchers, an ice pack on his head.

“What happened?” I ask, and he removes the pack, revealing a massive black eye.

“I got beat up.”

“What?” I ask, but Alan is laughing.

“It’s not like that. He got hit in the face by a kid’s bat.”

“So a kid beat you up?” I ask, and Dennis grabs the ice pack out of his hand and shoves it back over his eye.

“Keep that there. You’ll be fine. Now you two,” he says to Alan and me. “Get over here. I want to see you run it through before we have to be out there. Oh, crap.”

“What?” I ask.

“I’m not sure you will be able to lift Alan.”

“I’ll be fine,” I reply, but he doesn’t look convinced.

“Seriously, I bench more than he’s gotta weigh. I’ll be okay.”

Alan shakes his head. “You hurt your shoulder, you can’t lift me. What if it makes it worse?”

“I’m good, I swear. Kyle was overreacting.”

“I’ll do it,” Alan says, and I want to object and insist I’m fine, but I also really, really want him to pick me up in his arms and carry me. Shit, how much do I weigh?

“Umm, it’s okay. We can just jump down together.”

---