23. Monty

Chapter twenty-three

Monty

“Why are you so nervous?” Yami punches my arm as we walk up to the cashier at the grocery store. “Big plans for tonight?”

Yeah…like having the woman of my dreams in my bed, making me no longer the oldest virgin in the major leagues.

“Dinner with Lark,” I answer instead, dumping the items in my arms onto the conveyor belt. I mentally review my list, double-checking I’ve got everything.

Sparkling wine…ingredients for my mom’s famous pasta primavera…two chocolate cupcakes…and licorice.

I got the condoms in an online order that arrived yesterday, saving me from explaining that purchase to Yami. Granted, he probably wouldn’t bat an eye at me buying them, likely assuming I’m restocking, rather than purchasing for the first time.

“Things are goin’ good with you two?” he asks, leaning against the checkout counter. I’m starting to regret agreeing to hang out today. I’m not exactly interested in casual conversation right now. Not while my stomach is churning and my mind keeps running through my plans for tonight.

“Yeah. Fine. ”

“Great chat, pal,” he says sarcastically, and I return his earlier arm punch with one of my own.

“Listen, I agreed to go to the gym with you. You chose to invite yourself along for my errands, so don’t give me shit when I’m distracted, thinking of everything I need to do.”

My words come out sharper than I intended, earning the raised eyebrows Yami gives me. Normally, we’re pretty well in sync. Pitchers and catchers have to be. The good ones, at least. Rafe and I had it, the magical dynamic that allowed us to read each other like an open book. Yami and I are getting close, but we’re not quite there yet.

And thank fuck for that, because if he knew about my internal panic, I’d never hear the end of it.

We finally reach the cashier, and I quickly pay for my groceries, throwing them into a bag that I snatch up before walking swiftly to the exit. Outside, it’s freezing and overcast, and I turn up the collar of my coat as we hustle to my truck.

“Jesus, it’s colder than Satan’s balls out here.”

“Does Satan have cold balls? Wouldn’t they be hot?”

I huff out a laugh. “Good point.”

“Seriously, Monty. What’s going on? You’re not yourself. Is it Lark? You sure you guys are good?”

The genuine concern in his voice makes me pause. Maybe we’re not as far from the magic as I thought.

I lean back against my seat, the truck slowly warming up with the engine running. I consider the guys on the team my friends, hell, my family. But other than Pops, none of them ever knew my secret. It’s not exactly something that comes up easily in conversation .

Yeah, I’m a twenty-eight-year-old virgin. Nah, not for some religious reason, just because my entire life has been ruled by baseball, and when I wasn’t on the field shagging balls, I was a science geek with zero game.

Nope. Not something I have ever been open about with a group of professional athletes who have enjoyed more than their fair share of cleat chasers.

But Yami, he’s different. Sure, I’ve witnessed him flirt with countless women, even taking a few of them home. But he’s never been in a relationship as long as I’ve known him, and for the most part, he seems like a respectful guy. Maybe he won’t give me too much shit.

“Me and Lark. We haven’t…” Shit, this is harder than I thought. I swallow. “We, ah, we haven’t gone all the way yet.”

“What is this, high school? You haven’t fucked. Is that what you mean?”

I frown, even as I nod. “Yeah. Fine. We haven’t…done that.”

“Jesus, Monty, I know you’re a grown-ass man who can use the word fuck.”

Maybe I was wrong and telling Yami was a mistake. I’m sure as shit not telling him the whole story now. I clench my jaw, staring forward.

“I think it’s cool. You care about each other, and you’re treating her the way a woman should be treated.”

My head turns to stare at him, but he’s not done surprising me.

“Casual sex is fine, but when there’s feelings involved, waiting till it’s right is a good idea. That’s all I’m saying. So is tonight the night? ”

I nod again. He gives me one in response. “Cool. Let’s get going then, so you can manscape.”

That makes me snort, then my eyes widen. Manscape ?

Three hours and two disturbing articles from the internet later, I’m in the world’s most awkward position in my bathroom, one leg up on the counter as I peer down at my junk. Thank fuck, I’m flexible. When the hell did manscaping become a thing? I mean, I’ve always kept it trimmed; no one needs a bush hiding their dick. But this is next-level.

I’m rereading part of the article that talks about waxing your goddamn ass cheeks, no thanks, when there’s a knock at my door.

“Shit.”

How the hell is it eight already? In my surprise, I lose my balance, which is embarrassing for a top-tier catcher. What’s even worse is the horrifying realization that I didn’t lock the front door, apparent when I hear Lark’s voice call out from the front.

“Dan? Are you here?”

I stumble, knocking my hip into the towel rail, hard enough to leave a bruise. “God-fucking-damn it.”

I can hear her footsteps, and here I am naked from the waist down with my very limp dick only half-scaped. Is that the term? Who fucking knows. All I know is this is not exactly how I wanted tonight to start.

“Hang on,” I holler back, hoping she’ll wait for me in the living room.

No such luck.

“Shoot, I’m sorry!”

I straighten up from grabbing my underwear off the bathroom floor and catch her staring at me in the mirror, her cheeks flaming red.

“Hey, Birdie.” I laugh nervously, clutching my boxers in front of myself. Her eyes slowly drag down my body, only to freeze and then widen.

“Dan, when did you get a tattoo?” she whispers, and I frown in confusion for a second before understanding dawns on me. Ah, crap. I guess I forgot she’s never seen it. Somehow, the other night when she gave me the blow job that made my world stand still, she didn’t notice it. I panic, not sure how to answer. Is she happy about it? Does she know what it means?

“Um, I dunno.” Lame, Monty. Real lame.

She looks back up at me and steps in closer, her fingers coming to my hip, resting right over the small tattoo. “Dan. What kind of bird is this?”

Ohshitohshitohshitohshit.

My brain is no longer functioning. I can’t possibly think clearly when she’s this close to me and I’m half naked with my cock waking up to her proximity.

“Uhhh…”

Her pink tongue darts out and moistens her lips as her gaze drops down again, then back up to my face. Well, fuck. Here we go.

“It’s a skylark.” My whisper is hoarse, but her mouth slowly turns upward. “I got it two years ago. ”

“Why then?” she whispers back.

There’s no option but to tell her. As Yoda would say, “Do or do not, there is no try.” And this has to be a do moment.

“Because that was when I realized I love you.”