24. Gabe

CHAPTER 24

GABE

I hate it here already. I don't know how I'm expected to find Ellis in a sea of people this thick. It's loud, and sweaty, and some idiot wearing sequined booty shorts blew glitter in my face the moment I walked in. He escaped before I could rip his fucking wings off.

There's a rumble of laughter behind me, and I shoot a narrow-eyed glare at the bouncer. I'm pretty sure he didn't find my fake ID believable, but I'm bigger than him and stood my ground. He mentioned he'd be keeping an eye on me, but now he's turning around back toward the door, broad shoulders shaking.

I'm not planning on drinking, but I didn't want to have to deal with the hand stamp that says "underaged hottie" around the club logo in permanent ink. Those stamps are notoriously hard to scrub off, and I was hoping to avoid any proof or questions about my attendance. I really don't want to be here, but the picture Antoni sent made me want to break something.

The dinner was awkward enough. The cake that Ashleigh had delivered to the stupidly expensive restaurant had both Ellis and Elliot's name on it. She didn't want to leave him out in case he decided to come. It was obvious that his absence bothered Elliot, but if there's one thing his girlfriend is good at, it's distracting everyone with her incessant chatter. She has a way of making sure everyone's included, and I always really liked that about her. Some of Elliot's girlfriends in the past were not as appreciative of his close relationship with me or his brother. Ashleigh distracted Elliot by making a huge deal out of what a ‘cute couple' Krysta and I make. Ugh.

She's a nice girl, and maybe once upon a time her long legs and perky tits would have done it for me. But not only is she trying too hard, I'm just not interested. Plus, she's pushing away the person I actually am interested in, and it's not settling well in my stomach.

I'm pretty sure she's why he left today. Something felt off, and my subconscious noticed the moment his presence was gone. I'd spent the entire game studiously looking away from him, trying my damndest to ignore the way Tripp ogles him or the way Ellis smiles when he talks to him. It was distracting, and I played like shit because of it. Krysta thinks her presence against the fence distracted me from my swing, resulting in us losing our chance at pulling ahead. I had to hold myself back from laughing in her face. Never mind how much it annoys me that she could be that self-absorbed, I don't even notice anything she says or does. She's invisible to me, just like she was when we'd apparently had a class together. I only have eyes for him.

I'd been at bat, perfectly focused on the posture of the pitcher, accurately anticipating a fast inside curveball, meant to make me swing high. He'd already succeeded in getting me to swing and miss earlier in the game, though it was mostly due to my preoccupation with a certain bat boy who has all but refused to talk to me all week. But I got my shit together, focused, lined it up perfectly, ready to send that ball over the back wall and win us that game. It was one of those moments where the ball seems to fly through the air in slow motion, basically handed to me on a silver platter. I choked up on my bat, and the momen t the ball left the pitcher's hand, I heard the catcher hiss out a curse. He knew I was about to fuck up that ball in the best way possible. We were keeping our damn winning streak for as long as I had anything to do about it.

But then a laugh cut through my laser focus. The only laugh, the only person, that could get my attention in any situation, or ever pull my focus from the only thing I've ever been good at.

Tripp made Ellis laugh.

My grip on the bat slipped. I pulled back at the very last second, over-correcting and clipping the ball. It flew up into the air, everyone around me gasping and watching the ball. But I only had eyes for Ellis. I watched as his smile faltered, realization cutting through their moment, and they turned to pay attention. I didn't move from my spot on the plate as the catcher dove backward to catch my foul. The ump called the out, but I was focused on Tripp's hand on Ellis' shoulder.

Krysta had to shout my name to get my attention. Our conversation was brief, and I'm not sure I absorbed much of anything she said, thinking instead of how to explain standing there. Until an assistant coach came over with my catcher's gear instead of Ellis. Why didn't I just ignore her? I expect him to understand I need a beard, and then watch as I lead on a girl that clearly is into me, yet I expect him to tell off an admittedly nice guy that wants to openly flirt with him.

Yeah, I know, I'm an asshole. He lets me know every night when I slip into bed next to him. But he doesn't send me away. He lets me stay, lets me pull him into my body and inhale his sweet smell. Lets me kiss his neck even when he turns his face away. And I'm thankful for it, because as pathetic as it is, I can't sleep without him anymore.

I texted him as soon as I got back to the dugout, but he didn't answer. Then I got Elliot to text him when we got home to get ready for dinner and he wasn't there . I left a pleading voicemail when I noticed he'd opened my birthday gift. Pieces of the shitty wrapping job were in tatters, the box empty on the bed. I checked his bedside table and underwear drawer, but only found a few of the things that were in the box. He either knew I'd look and figure out what was missing, or he was wearing part of his gift. Without me.

It distracted me all through dinner. I don't know how many times I texted him. Until Antoni sent me a picture of Ellis.

I open my phone and look at the picture again, telling myself I need a reminder of what outfit to look for, even though it's emblazoned in my psyche. His hair is up in a topknot, with curled tendrils falling around his face. His electric blue eyes are hooded, brighter with a line of black rimming his lashes, lost to whatever music was playing when the picture was taken. His arms are up in the air, head thrown back, a playful grin tugging at one side of his mouth. I'm pleased to see he opted against the satin not-shorts, but it doesn't really matter. He could wear anything and look like sex on two legs. He's wearing black skinny jeans that look painted on his body, showing off the sensual curve of his ass. They're cut low on his hips, low enough that I can see he's wearing one of my presents. He's wearing another one of those god-forsaken crop tops, one that he might as well not be wearing at all, considering its fucking mesh. I can see everything through it, light glinting off the silver barbell through his right nipple.

The caption below the photo says, "I took his phone away. Let him have this."

I should stay away. If I were a better person, I would.

But I'm not. The moment that picture hit my screen, I stood up and excused myself. I didn't even say goodbye or wait for the cake to be served. If Antoni thought for a second that he could send me this picture, with Ellis looking like that , and expect me to leave him alone, he's dumber than he looks . And he strikes me as a particularly smart guy. Sharp. Attentive. But he's on something if he thinks that's going to work.

A mixture of desire and possessiveness has me combing the dance floor. It's intermittently dark and too bright, a strobe making everything look like a stop-motion video. I push through bodies, separating more than one pretty dark-haired boy from his partner, and earning myself my fair share of dirty looks. Eventually there's a tap on my shoulder, and I turn around, expecting to find the bouncer ready to kick me out for disturbing the grinding couples. My gaze falls to a much smaller man with a self-satisfied, knowing smirk on his face. I have to lean down close to hear him.

"Upstairs, lover boy." Antoni points to a railing that overlooks the dance floor. There's an entire second level. And there, leaning with his back against the railing, is Ellis.

There's a guy talking to him. An older guy wearing an expensive-looking suit and a big fancy watch. He's handing Ellis a glass of something pink with a fucking umbrella in it. Antoni grabs my shoulders and pushes me toward the direction of the stairs, which I'd been frantically searching for between panicked glimpses of the interaction.

I have to cross the packed dance floor of writhing bodies, pushing through the densely packed crowd, to make it through to the stairs. The thumping bass of dubstep music rattles my clenched teeth. I finally make it up to the top of the steps, but I get disoriented and can't find the spot I saw Ellis in for several minutes. The lights flash with the beat of the music, my pulse thudding along in time, stopping when the beat drops. In that one second of silent pause, I spot him. Alone. He's facing the railing now, leaning on it and watching the crowd. Another douchebag approaches him, this one younger and more what I would expect Ellis' type to be. He's wearing jeans, but they look expensive and well fitted, and his t-shirt is molded to his chiseled pecs and abs. The slicked back hair is stupid, but even I can admit he has a nice smile. He leans in so he can speak close to his ear, and I wonder if Ellis can feel his stubble against his jaw. He loves that when I do it. Would he love it from anyone else?

Ellis gives him a dazzling smile that has me blinking dumbly from over twenty feet away. He's smiling but shaking his head. The guy moves in close again, and my eyes notice the way he lays his hand on Ellis' waist like a heat-seeking missile. Ellis laughs and pats his arm, clearly giving the guy a friendly signal. Since I'm watching so closely, I can see the way the guy's fingers press into Ellis' flesh, attempting to pull him close again to say something else. Ellis is still smiling, but it looks strained. His mouth apologizes while he tries to dislodge the guy's hand. As I move closer, I hear the guy say something about just wanting to ask him a question, but I don't give a fuck what he just wants.

"Fuck off, he's with me," I growl, gripping his wrist hard enough to threaten injury. His fingers splay out, releasing Ellis' waist, and I drop the guy's arm like discarded trash. I move in front of Ellis protectively.

"What the hell, man? He didn't say he was with anyone!" The douchebag whines. I glare at him until he turns to leave.

When I spin back around, Ellis isn't behind me. His back is to me as he walks through the people mingling. I rush after him, trying to call his name, but it's still too loud. He'd probably ignore me, anyway.

I follow Ellis past a seating area and onto a less densely populated, darker dance floor. He's still walking toward a glowing red exit sign.

Finally, I catch up to him, reaching to grab his elbow. He turns to face me but shirks out of my touch.

"What are you doing here?!" he shouts .

"Apparently, I came to watch you get hit on and manhandled." It's meant to be a joke, but because I'm shouting over the music, it comes out sounding angry. Accusatory, even.

"Maybe I was enjoying getting hit on and manhandled," he snaps. My anger and jealousy flare and my face heats. "What, you don't like that?" His eyes narrow, and I tamp back my reaction. He has a right to his anger.

Angry as he is, he doesn't move away from my touch when my fingertips graze over the skin of his hip. I swear I can see the marks of the other guy's hand. My hand slides around his waist, settling on the small of his back. He allows me to pull him closer.

"No, I didn't like it," I say against the shell of his ear.

"How was your date?"

"What date?"

Ellis rolls his eyes as I tip his head back. My thumb wipes below his eye where the eyeliner has smudged a bit. It doesn't take away from the appeal, though.

"God, you're so beautiful."

Stooping to pull Ellis closer, molding his body against me, I lower my mouth to his. My lips coax his open before I slip my tongue between them, licking into his mouth until I find his tongue to tangle with. We kiss deeply, hungrily, and I forget entirely that we're in a public place.