Page 6 of Bad Call

Suddenly, I found my energy reserves and shot straight up. “You’re leaving?”

He bent over the bed and placed a quick kiss on my lips, smiling warmly. “You were fucking amazing.” He straightened and grabbed his shirt from the chair in the corner. “They have a continental breakfast in the morning. I hear the pancakes are pretty good. Have one for me.”

Colin slipped into his shoes and grabbed his wallet from the dresser. I panicked. Thoughts were running through my head too fast to grab hold of one in particular. My chest felt tight. I scrambled off the bed, not even caring that my dick was soft and dangling. I didn’t want him to go. Not yet anyway. This all went much differently in my head. We were supposed to take a sexy shower together, crawl under the covers with pizza andsoda, and… Talk and shit. Maybe watch a movie. I don’t know what I expected, but I wasn’t expecting to be treated like a two-dollar whore. At least, not until tomorrow. I always gave women the courtesy of a post-coital cuddle.

“Wait,” I stalled, hoping he would change his mind. I grabbed the pen and notepad from the desk and scribbled my phone number. Thrusting it at him, I pasted on my best casual smile, grinning like it was no big deal. “Call me if you want to do this again. I’m free tomorrow and the next night.” And the next, and the next…

He looked at the paper strangely, then gave me what I was sure was a fake smile and pocketed the number in his pants.

“Thanks, Buck. I’ll let you know if I’m in the neighborhood again anytime soon.”

He walked out the door without looking back.

The only things he left behind were the answers I’d spent months searching for.

I was definitely bisexual. One hundred fucking percent.

CHAPTER THREE

CASEY COLLINS

“Come on,Sellars! If you can’t get your arm up higher than that, I’ll send you back to Little League!”

We had two weeks left until we faced off against the Mavericks and this kid was batting like it was T-ball instead of the first game of our D1 season.

I popped two more antacids and washed them down with a swig of diet soda. It was gonna be a long day.

“All right, I want everyone in the outfield. Spread out! Austin, pitch them some fly balls, and let’s see if they can catch.”

“Yes, sir, Coach!” Austin jogged from the dugout to his place on the pitcher’s mound.

He was the one thing balancing out my shit-tastic day. I could rely on Austin’s golden arm, his dedication to the team, his position as my starting pitcher, and his positive attitude. Then again, he was living with a fellow D1 coach. If only the rest of my team had the same dailytraining and discipline as Austin got from his partner, I wouldn’t be sweating this season so hard.

“You’re popping those things like candy,” Marley observed. Like me, he was resting his forearms on the dugout wall and observing the team.

Corbin Marley was a fantastic assistant coach. His stellar batting average ranked him number three in his D2 college, but a car accident blew out his knee. You know what they say: those who can’t play, coach.

“Yeah, well, this team is shaping up to give me a damn ulcer. Where is the talent we scouted? The summer heat sucked all the ability out of these boys.”

Marley’s feathers didn’t ruffle easily. He chuckled, running a hand over his short, tight black curls. “They’re just unorganized. Give them time, Coach. It’ll all come together like it should.”

A third man joined us, assuming the same position over the dugout wall. Marcus rubbed a hand over the dark scruff that covered his cheeks. “How’s it shaping up? Are you gonna forfeit your season? Or are you feeling lucky?” he asked with a smirk.

Marley laughed. “Did you come to gloat or spy, Coach Wolfe?”

“Neither. I’m here on official stalking business.”

Putting my doubts aside, I said confidently, “We’re more than ready for our season. Are you ready to face us in the third game?”

“Hell, Casey. I already gave you my best player. Do you really need to rub it in my face?”

“You partnered with him, but I signed him. Did I get the better end of the deal?”

Marcus Wolfe watched as his lover pitched a perfect fly ball to left field. As if he could feel he was being watched, he turned and waved at us, grinning before adjusting his hat.

“With Austin, you can’t go wrong. Every end is a win,” Marcus said fondly.

I popped another antacid, washed it down with the last sip of soda, and tossed the empty bottle in the overflowing trash can in the corner. Marcus was one lucky son of a bitch. He was living the dream; a fantastic career, partnered with a terrific guy, had a beautiful home in the suburbs of Mapleview, and most importantly, was done giving a fuck what anyone thought about his interest in men. I envied him. I wanted everything he had, but, as of yet, I still lacked the courage to chase my dreams as hard as he had. I wasn’t closeted, but I also wasn’t searching for a partner because I wasn’t ready to introduce them to my team and my colleagues.

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