Page 62 of Jacked
As we get closer to Wrigley Field, I drop AJ’s hand. The streets are so packed you’d think it was a playoff game, with people spilling out of bars and gathering on rooftops to get a good view without paying for a ticket.
“Man, if I’d known we were sitting center outfield, I would have brought my glove with,” I say as we take our seats.
“Shit, I didn’t even think about it. Between this and the dead flowers, I think I’m going to need a second date if I’m gonna impress you.”
My stomach flutters. “I don’t know, it might take three or four, maybe even five dates to get it right.”
He smirks and spreads his legs a little to press his knee against mine. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
He waves down the vendor selling beer while I flag down the hot dog guy.
“Trade you a beer for a hot dog,” he barters.
“No way, I’m hungry.” I hold the extra hot dog out of his reach and bite into the other one.
“Ass.” He chuckles, setting both plastic cups of beer down and wrestling his hot dog out of my hand. I doubt the people seated around us find the whole thing as hilarious and charming as we do, but oh well.
This ismyfirst date with AJ, and it’s fucking perfect.
AJ
Slater manages to catch a fly ball in his hat in the bottom of the ninth, which he gives to me. Silas was right, it’s a pretty fucking great date move. And after the Cubs win, we decide we’re not ready to call it a night just yet. We end up at a packed bar right across the street from the stadium.
“There’s a couple of stools opening up.” Slater nudges me and we hurry over to claim the seats at the bar.
I’m sure the place is violating the fire code with how wall to wall it is. Replays of the game are playing on the big-screen TVs while everyone around us talks loudly, recounting the game and arguing about whether the Cubs are playoff contenders now or not. It gives me every excuse to pull my stool right up close to Slater’s and lean in towards him.
He orders us a couple more beers, which are just as overpriced as the ones at the ballpark but hopefully won’t taste as watered down. His hand slips onto my thigh and he glances at me out of the corner of his eye like he’s checking whether that’s okay. I doubt anyone in here is paying us any attention, and even if they are, fuck ’em. I press into his touch and then lay my hand over his.
“That was fun,” he says, picking up his beer as soon as the bartender sets them down and taking a sip. “Maybe we can take a trip out to Cali sometime and catch a Dodgers game.” He clears his throat and a blush creeps onto his cheeks, barely visible in the dim light of the bar. “We could make a whole vacation out of it. Stay at my parents’ beach house, do some surfing…” He takes another gulp from his glass. “Maybe next summer?”
My heart stutters and the reason he started blushing clicks. We’re still figuring shit out—ourselves, this relationship, if we can even call it that. This is probably the most complicated first date I’ve ever been on, with so much at stake and so many unasked questions hanging in the air. I love that he’s daydreaming about a vacation together next summer though. Ilove that hewantsus to get there, even if the road ahead is unpaved and unmapped right now.
“That sounds awesome,” I agree, because I want to hope for that too. “I could meet your brother andformerbest friend.”
Slater laughs and then his eyes go wide. “Oh fuck, I forgot to mention, they might be coming for a visit in a couple of weeks. It would just be for a long weekend probably, maybe for Labor Day.”
“Yeah, of course.” My stomach flutters with nerves at the prospect of meeting his brother, but from everything he’s told me about Cas and Nolan, I’m sure it’ll go fine.
“Cool. Of course, if they stay at the apartment, I’ll probably have to give them my bed. I guess I could sleep on the couch.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, his lips twitching with a repressed grin.
“It’s a pretty comfortable couch,” I deadpan.
“Mm. Small though,” he says with a sigh.
“True. Sounds like a real problem.” I take a sip from my glass and fight to keep my expression neutral.
Slater leans in closer, his breath ghosting over my ear. “It’s a real shame I can’t just share your bed. I guess that might be dangerous though, with such thin walls. Fuck knows I can’t keep my hands off of you, and your moans are always so loud.” He slides his hand a little higher up the inside of my thigh, and drags the tip of his nose along the shell of my ear.
Goose bumps run up the back of my neck and my cock swells. I swallow hard.
“Real shame,” I agree hoarsely.
The stool next to us squeaks loudly against the floor, drawing my attention. I’ve been so wrapped up in Slater since we sat down, I haven’t really noticed anyone else around us outside of the general awareness that the place is loud and crowded. The guy on the stool next to us looks down at Slater’s hand on mythigh and then wrinkles his nose and mutters something under his breath. I can’t hear what it is over the noise inside the bar, but the look on his face is unmistakable. Whatever it was, wasn’t flattering.
My gut clenches, and that sense of shame I carried around for so damn long tries to dig its claws into me again. It’s made up of a lifetime of taunts and questioning looks that taught me what was okay to say and think and feel, and what wasn’t. It wants to creep back inside and make everything about today ugly. It wants to make everything about my feelings for Slater bad and wrong. It’s the weight of his hand on my thigh that makes it so easy for me to shut it down, to drive the shame away and lock the doors behind it so it won’t ever get back in.
