9. Ellis

CHAPTER 9

ELLIS

"Dude, you were on fire today!"

A guy named Nate slaps my brother on the ass as he walks past us on our way out of the athletic building. My brother swipes out to smack the guy, but his arm and shoulder are still wrapped in the ice sleeve that Coach and the trainers are making him wear after each game and practice. Apparently, Huntston University's new golden arm needs to be babied, especially after the third weekend of pitching three scrimmages in a row.

Tonight, he pitched a near shutout. The only batter he didn't strike out was Gabe, whom Coach put in the batting lineup just for shits and giggles in the last inning. Jimmy had to take his place as catcher, which would have been comical if it wasn't sad. He looked rough. A lot of the players do, considering they'd been training every afternoon into the evening, and then playing some of the most intense scrimmages I've ever witnessed every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

Everyone's exhausted, but happy with how they're playing. Their good moods seem to culminate in a lot of butt touching .

I snort out a laugh. "I'm just saying, if I'd known how homoerotic jock culture is, maybe I'd have played more sports."

Elliot bumps me with his hip playfully. "Maybe you should join the team."

Another guy, who I'm pretty sure is from an entirely different campus sports team, belches so loudly it echoes down the corridor.

"I'll pass, thanks," I say, and Elliot laughs again.

"Where's Gabe?" I ask.

I've gotten annoyingly used to the two of them showing up in the equipment room after their showers and waiting for me. In my attempt to cover up my nudity the day he nearly caught me with my pants down— literally —I seem to have caused some concern. So now my favorite two jackasses have gone into ultra-protective mode. Since almost getting caught seems to have scared Johnny off from risky in-person meetings, and I'm feeling guilty for my lie, I've allowed it. Besides, it's a short-term problem.

Next weekend marks the end of a six-week intensive training camp before two exhibition games, and then the team is back to regular practices before the season officially starts. By that time, their normal equipment manager will be out of his boot and back to his regular duties. The schedule makes no sense to me. I'm just glad that I'm done playing bat boy. Although I have to admit, it's been pretty exciting knowing that Johnny is around here somewhere, and I live for the random texts and pictures he sends me. Earlier today, he sent me a picture of my own ass, bent over to pick up a discarded bat. That was followed by a closeup of his crotch; his erection poorly concealed by his uniform pants.

I nearly got hit by a foul ball shortly after that. Only Gabe's quick reaction kept me from getting hit. And damn if I didn't feel like some kind of damsel in distress being saved from disaster when Gabe wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me against his big body like I weighed nothing, moving me out of the line of fire. Not to mention that he caught the damn thing, too. I could have swooned.

Although it did kind of ruin a theory I had running through my mind. It's probably for the best, though. I'd spent so much time pretending Johnny is Gabe in my mind, that the t-shirt and catcher's gear in the equipment room almost convinced me that there was a possibility it could actually be him. That would be impossible, though. He's never looked at me like that, or showed any signs that he thinks of me as anything more than Elliot's little brother. And he certainly can't be in two places at once, because he was in his catcher's gear when I got those pictures.

"I think he ran off to meet his girlfriend," Elliot says. "But I'm assuming he's going to meet us at the pizza place. The whole team is going."

Yeah, and there's that. Apparently, Gabe has met someone.

"What's that face for?"

I hurry to rearrange whatever reaction I'd unknowingly broadcasted. "Uh, nothing. Just remind me to thank him for the bruises he left on me. I think I might have been better off getting hit by the ball."

"That was a ninety-five mile per hour fastball, Ellis. You wouldn't have wanted to catch that in the face, I promise you."

"It bounced off the other guy's bat first. It would have been fine."

"You're just embarrassed. Everyone besides you has already forgotten, I promise."

I was embarrassed, but not for the reasons he thinks. My physical reaction to being manhandled by Gabe was obvious to me, and I hoped no one noticed the half-chub I was sporting when the coach and trainers ran over to make sure I wasn't injured. Not to mention everyone in the stands watching, which was more than all the other scrimmages combined, since it was the last one and word had gotten out about Elliot's magic arm. I even heard a girl swoon about it after I made it back to the dugout, that she'd have given her left tit to be saved by the big, sexy catcher like that.

Suddenly, a body that feels heavy enough to be a truck plows into me, scooping me up off the ground. I'm hanging upside down over Gabe's shoulder when one of the other guys, Tripp Landon, runs over and smacks my ass. It's hard enough that the smack, and my not-entirely masculine shriek, can be heard well up the sidewalk. Several players turn around and laugh, a few running toward us. Thankfully, Gabe doesn't let them get their hands on me. He evades them by running, jostling me roughly as I bounce on his shoulder, beating against his stupidly muscular back.

"Let me down, you asshole!"

I'm out of breath by the time he puts me down, and I try not to be too incensed by the way the nearby team members punch my shoulders and ruffle my hair. It's hard to be mad at them when they're just treating me like one of their own; they've been very welcoming to me while I was playing bat boy. And unlike Elliot and Gabe's high school team, these guys are all just as nice to me when my brother isn't around, even greeting me with high-fives or waving when I walk past any of them on campus. They're all pretty cool. It's not their fault that they're a bunch of meathead neanderthals that find it amusing to toss around someone smaller than them. At five-eight, I'm actually average height, but I'm at least an inch shorter and have a much slimmer build than any of the players on the team.

"Do they do this shit to Brandon?" I ask my brother when the gaggle of silly jocks moves on to trying to ball tap each other. Geniuses, I'm telling you .

"Hell no," Tripp says behind me. "He's not fun like you are. Or nearly as cute."

My spine stiffens, and my face heats. I turn my head to give him an incredulous look. He winks, but then Gabe gets his attention, pointing to his shoes. Tripp looks down, and then Gabe's foot moves in front of him, and he falls.

"He tripp ed," Gabe says, deadpan, as everyone cracks up.

I'm not sure if that was supposed to be for my benefit or not, but my face is hot. I walk quietly until we get to the parking lot, and then climb into the back seat. Tripp flags us down, presumably to ride with us, but Gabe pulls out of the parking lot so fast I'm surprised the tires don't squeal on our way out.

"You disappeared. I thought you'd run off to see her ," Elliot says quietly, though not quietly enough for me to assume he's trying to hide anything from me. They rarely censor their conversations around me, anyway.

Gabe glances back at me in the rearview, but I pretend to be focused on looking out the window. "Nah," he says in a low voice. "I forgot my helmet in the dugout."

My forehead scrunches. I thought I remembered him having it when the team filed into the locker room, but I might not have been paying close attention. All these scrimmages have sort of run together, minus the foul ball incident. My hand absentmindedly touches my ribs. Not because they hurt, but because that's where his hands were.

He's not Johnny , I remind myself. He can't be.

I've been trying not to think about it too hard. If he isn't Gabe, I don't want to know. He can stay anonymous, and I can keep pretending for all I care. I know I'm breaking my own heart, but I've never felt this free .

"I think Tripp has a thing for Ellis," Elliot announces. He projects his voice as though I can't hear him when he speaks normally, yet he's pretending his words are only for Gabe.

Gabe gives him a very pointed, unimpressed look. "Gross." Elliot and I both open our mouths to respond, but he cuts us off before either of us can get a word out. "And I'm not saying that in a phobic way. I'm saying it in a ‘Tripp Landon is gross and I wouldn't want his dick near me if I were you', kind of way." He looks back at me with his eyebrows raised seriously. "Gross."

"You're gross," I mumble back, because I'm super mature. "Tripp seems nice. I'm not saying I want to climb on his dick or anything," I say to Gabe specifically. "But he's nice. I'm not opposed to a little flirting if he can make himself a little less ostentatious."

"Ooh, two-dollar word for a nickel brain guy," Gabe singsongs.

"Doesn't have to be smart to suck my dick," I sing back.

Gabe's eyes widen in shock. He pins my brother with a glare. "Are you hearing the mouth on this kid?!"

"It's nothing I haven't heard you say a hundred times before," I point out.

"Tripp is a nice guy," Elliot says, ignoring our banter. He cuts his eyes toward Gabe. "Why do you care so much?"

That's what I'd like to know. Honestly, I'm not remotely interested in Tripp. Sure, he's a fit, good-looking guy. Tall and strong, although nowhere near as bulky as Gabe. Or Johnny. I stare back at Gabe while tries to justify trashing Tripp. It's worth it to play along like I might be interested just to see how ruffled he gets.

"He's tall. I like tall," I say noncommittally. "I didn't realize he's gay, though. "

"Me either. I've noticed him watching you ever since your friends dropped by at yesterday's scrimmage, though," Elliot says. "And it definitely seemed like he was flirting tonight."

Ivy, Tyrell, and Antoni came by the scrimmage yesterday. They didn't pay much attention to the game, content to comment on how cute I looked in my uniform and cheer every time I picked up a bat. In other words, they came to embarrass me. Quite a few of the players got in on it too, much to Coach's dismay. Tripp was one of the guys laughing and playing around with us, now that I think of it.

"Well, maybe I'll flirt back a little and see how it goes."

"What about that model guy?" Gabe asks, eyebrows still adorably furrowed. "Anthony?"

"Antoni," I said. "He's nice, too."

"Too?"

"That's what I said."

"So you'd go out with both of them?"

"And what if I did?" I wouldn't. Antoni is my friend and nothing more, but I'm annoyed by Gabe's stereotypical assumption that being gay means we'd automatically want to fuck each other.

"Alright, that's enough," Elliot interrupts as Gabe pulls into a parking spot in front of the restaurant. He opens his door to escape our bullshit. "Will you two please behave?"

"Maybe," Gabe and I both mutter, which has us laughing as we walk into the restaurant to meet the team.

Just to be an asshole, I walk right over and sit next to Tripp. I spend most of the night chatting and laughing with him while avoiding Gabe's glare. And yeah, he is a really nice guy, and he is absolutely throwing vibes that make me think he could be interested. Maybe if I didn't have t his thing going with Johnny, or if I wasn't so stuck on another guy, I could go for him. Hell, maybe I'll pull my head out of my ass and realize I should reach for someone attainable, or that doesn't prefer to blindfold me and keep me in the dark. Even if a probably very broken part of me kind of likes it that way.

Halfway through dinner, my phone pings.

JOHNNY: He can't give you what I do.

ELLISH: A bad Batman impersonator voice?

Gabe barks out a laugh at the other end of the table, and my head snaps up. But he's not looking at me or his phone. He and Elliot are laughing at some stupid pickup line one of the guys is trying on the waitress. She doesn't look uncomfortable, mostly amused and potentially interested—although her gaze is on Gabe and not the guy trying to win her over with cheesy pickup lines.

JOHNNY: Would you prefer I didn't talk?

ELLISH: I didn't say that. I was just trying to figure out what it is that you can give me that he can't.

The next message is a picture. Warily, I pull back and wait until Tripp is talking to the guy next to him before I peek down at the picture and nearly choke. It's not a dick pic like I was expecting. It's far worse. I mean, his dick is in the picture. But so is my ass. He must have snuck a picture of us that day in the equipment room. I can't decide if I'm seething mad or excessively aroused by it. A mixture of both, I guess.

Tripp nudges me, and I nearly drop my phone. I scramble to turn the screen off, setting it face down in my lap.

"You okay?" he asks.

I smile. "All good. I'm just going to run to the bathroom real quick."

In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face before looking up at myself in the mirror. I have a short flashback to the night of the athletic dorm party, when I finally got the nerve to face myself after Johnny left me. My eyes were dilated from adjusting to the light, my face was red from beard burn, and my lips were swollen. I thought I looked strung out. But right now, I feel strung out.

My outrage and arousal are warring with each other, and it's pumping too much adrenaline and blood through my body. My cock is hard enough that I'm having to make a choice to either do something about it or try to reposition it, so I'm not so obvious. I go with repositioning it, trying to pull it up into my waistband. Then I pull out my phone.

ELLISH: Are you insane!?

ELLISH: I can't believe you took a picture of that.

He doesn't answer, but the door opens, and Tripp walks in. He has a sheepish look on his face that I can't quite read.

"Everything alright in here? "

"Uh, yeah. I just needed a minute. I'm not used to being around so many people."

"I have six brothers and sisters. I'm pretty accustomed to a certain level of jackassery."

"Well, I grew up with Elliot and Gabe, so… same," I say, smiling at his laugh. He really is nice and good looking. Could I do nice and good looking, without all the hangups and games and secrecy?

"I, uh—" He puffs out a breath and shuffles on his feet.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" I say, realizing I'm standing here staring at him while he likely needs to use the restroom. "You probably don't want an audience," I joke awkwardly, taking a step toward the door.

Tripp's hand lands on my arm, stopping me. "No," he chuckles. "I just… I wasn't sure if you wanted me to follow you back here. If I was off base, I'm sorry."

"Oh," I say softly. " Oh ," I repeat with more emphasis when I realize what he's implying.

His hand releases me as if he's been burned. "Oh Jesus. I was totally off base, wasn't I? I'm so sorry. I'm new to all this," he says, rubbing his hands over his face.

It might not be the most appropriate response to his panic, but I laugh. And once I start, I can't stop. Eventually, Tripp starts too. When the door busts open abruptly and Gabe walks in, I laugh even harder. I'm at risk of pissing myself, but I grip Tripp's sleeve and pull him out of the bathroom. I'm wiping tears away as we sit at the end of the empty bar, waving off a server who asks if we need a bartender. We explain we just needed a moment away from our party, and she nods her understanding. The team is rather loud and rambunctious .

"I'm sorry," I tell Tripp. "I honestly wasn't laughing at you. It was just the situation."

"It's okay. I'm laughing at me," he says lightly. "I take it you're not offended, at least?"

"Not in the least. Quite flattered, actually. I'm new to all this, too."

We chat for a while longer about being newly out, although Tripp is a sophomore and has a bit more experience than me. Or at least that I admit to. And while I don't agree to a date or anything like that, I do invite him to the next Pride Alliance meetup, and we exchange information to chat over the Howler app. It's innocent enough, but I notice Gabe watching us when I pass Tripp his phone back after typing in my information, and that dumb, broken part of me feels guilty.