Page 57 of Romance Languages

Julian stuck his butt out. My eyes feasted on the sight. Since when did a guy’s ass elicit that kind of reaction from me? I looked up to make sure the party at the cage next door didn’t catch me gawking.

“How’s this?” he asked.

“G-good.” I gave his ass a little slap, something I did for my players all the time. A coachly butt slap. But only with Julian did my whole body sizzle upon contact.Every day with Julian is my birthday because damn, that is some cake.

I stepped back, so Julian could hit and I could reel myself in.

“This feels weird,” he said.

“It hurts at first, but then you get used to it,” I said with a wink. “Ready?”

He gave his butt a wiggle, signaling yes.Unhhh.I had to readjust myself.

The first ball zoomed down the path. It was a swing and a miss.

“That’s okay. You’re getting warmed up.” I clapped my hands, making him stay positive.

The next ball came down. Another whiff.

“I told you—”

“You told me nothing. You think Babe Ruth hit a home run his first time ever at bat? That machine is full of baseballs. You get lots of chances. Focus, Jules.”

He nodded and turned back to the plate.

On the next ball, he got a piece of it. The ball went about a quarter of the way down the row.

“How’d that feel?”

“My whole body vibrated on contact,” he said, amazed.

“Keep going. Think of each ball as another orb of stress that you don’t need in your life. Tent company. Boom. Awkward health class questions. Boom.”

Julian made contact with the next few balls, but nobody would confuse them for hits. They’d be foul tips or easy outs in a baseball game. It seemed like he was holding back. He wasn’t giving them a full swing with full force. He was being his polite, polished self. Where was the animal he unleashed in private?

The round ended. Balls littered the ground. Julian was flushed and glowing with sweat, his hair matted down in a vulnerable style that made his eyes shine.

“How was it?” I took the helmet and bat from him.

“I don’t know how much better I feel.” He shrugged.

“You were improving by the end. Let’s get you one big hit, one true crack of the bat, before we leave.” I firmly believed everyone had one home run in them.

He did not share that belief. “I think I’m good. I appreciate the effort, Seamus.”

Julian sat on the bench by the door and drank his water. He then pulled out his phone and began scrolling, a clear signal to me that we could wrap this up. Thing was, I didn’t let my players quit.

“You got some water?” I asked.

“Uh huh.”

“Good. Now get up, Bradford.” I used my stern coach voice, the ones that my players knew not to mess with. “We’re not done yet.”

I handed him the bat and had him get back to home plate. I had to make sure my own bat was under control while I adjusted his arms and hips into the proper batting position. We were going to get at least one smash out of him today. Coaches didn’t give up on their players, whether they were hitting balls or having sex.

“What are you thinking about when the ball comes at you?”

“I’m thinking that I should hit it before it hits me,” he said.

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