Page 7 of Totally Played
A packet of condoms, strawberry-flavored lube, and two energy drinks roll out.
“I’m not sure how these will help me hydrate after being glutened.”
“You weren’t glutened. The cheesecake was gluten-free, so was half of the other desserts on the menu. You really should learn to pay closer attention,” he says with that same unnerving smirk.
“So was dinner all about you hating that your parents dragged you along, or was it some weird negative foreplay?”
“Neither. Though if it turns you on, we’ll go with that answer.” I sit on the arm of the couch and fold my arms over my chest.
“I prefer being showered with praise and compliments,” I reply, and he laughs.
“I’ll remember for next time. But, seriously, every question I asked was valid, and it helped you, didn’t it? My father agreed to a longer contract. The only thing I hated was having to sit for an hour and listen to all the boring information about your boss’s tech when all I kept thinking was how good your mouth would look around my cock.”
As tired as I am, my dick apparently is now fully awake, and while I don’t often engage in one-night stands, I’m not totally opposed to them either. Do I really want to fuck this asshole? My cock throbs. Apparently, the answer is yes.
Chapter three
Calvin
Tonyisuptobat, and he looks like shit. He’s red and sweaty, and he hasn’t even started to play yet. Stubborn shit. He puts on a good front for the crowd as his intro song plays and he break-dances his way to the box. Ryan throws a curveball, and it’s wide for ball one, which is lucky because Tony swung a good second after the ball hit Dave’s catcher’s mitt.
“You don’t look so hot, little bro,” I yell but the crowd is loud, and he doesn’t hear me, or he’s ignoring me as he readies for the next pitch. Ryan is on fire tonight, his pitches as fast as they’ve ever been, but as shit as Tony looks, he manages to connect with this one and the ball flies out to center where Beau Hogan our newest recruit tries for a behind the back catch. Shit. It falls past his mitt to the grass. Scrambling to pick it up, he throws it to second before Tony can make a run for there, but he’s safe on first, and Alan jogs across home plate, scoring a run for Animal Control. Fuck.
Stevie Peterson is up to bat now, his cocky cartwheel backflip entrance is a crowd favorite, but Ryan wastes no time when he steps into the box and sends the first ball in for a strike.
I keep my eye on Tony, too. He loves getting in a sneaky base when we’re not paying close enough attention. On Ryan’s next ball Stevie hits a soft tapper, the ball bounces back toward Ryan, and he quickly gets hold of it, and sends a prime backhander to Pat on first, he scoops it, but he’s off the bag. The first base umpire shakes his head confirming Pat took his foot off first, Stevie is safe and Tony is breathing heavy on second. Double fuck.
“Seriously, bro, are you okay?”
“I don’t think so, but I’m still going to get home,” he replies with a forced smile.
“You should be at home,” I reply, and he scrunches up his nose at my suggestion. I should call for a medic or the coach, I should tell them Tony’s not well and shouldn’t be out here. Mom would kill me if she knew that I knew he wasn’t well and said nothing, but Tony will kill me if I do say something, and as much as I love my mom, he’s my ride or die.
“The second you’re across that plate, you get off the field. Got it?”
He coughs, and I can tell it hurts.
“No arguments here,” he replies, changing his stance to be ready to run the second the bat connects.
Ryan dances with Duckie and Tim on the mound, a routine they practiced only three times, but they nail it, and as the music stops, Ryan pitches his fast ball. Benny G swings and hits it, soaring over left field. Duckie is scrambling to get across the field and under it, but it’s going, going, gone. It lands in the stands and all three runners cross home plate. Triple fuck.
I glare at Tony. He better be heading in to rest and talk to one of the medics. After a brief eye roll and flipping me the middlefinger, he nods, then walks directly over to his coach. They exchange words, the coach steps back like he’s got the plague, and points to the player entrance. I guess he might as well have the plague. The last thing they need is for Tony to share whatever he’s got and put the whole team out.
***
We lose the game by two points and when I get out of the showers I go to find Tony to head home.
I check the Animal Control locker room, but there is no one in here. Maybe he’s still in with the doc?
“He’s already been dropped home,” Seth, one of the team doctors, tells me as I jog past his office door. I come to a halt in his doorway.
“How?”
“I dropped him about twenty minutes ago. He’s going to need bed rest, plenty of fluids, and sleep, and no training, gym, or any other strenuous activities,” he says with a raised brow.
“I’m guessing he made some joke about being happy to stay in bed if he got to share it.” I chuckle.
“Something like that. You try to stay clear as best you can. I know you won’t sleep somewhere else—”
