Chapter 3

Chapter Three

TRAVIS

T he midday sun slanted through the windows of the café, casting a warm glow on the polished wooden table where I sat across from Parker. We had slipped away from the clinic for a lunch break. So far, he'd proven to be a real asset to our team. He kept up to date on all the latest studies regarding physical therapy and how to apply their findings to our patients, he got along fantastically with the other members of the team, and best of all, the patients loved him.

Not that I could blame them. Parker was one of the nicest guys I'd ever met, as well as being extremely easy on the eyes. Not that I would ever get a chance to do anything about it since he was in a committed relationship, but still, that didn't mean I couldn't admire the view. And what a view it was. He was almost the same height as me with short dark hair, gorgeous gray eyes, and a toned, athletic body that begged to be touched. Such a pity that he was already taken. The things I'd have liked to do with him…

I gave my head a shake, trying to clear those thoughts from my mind. I'd never gotten involved with someone I worked with before. Never even seriously considered it—not even with cute little Justin. So, what was it about Parker that kept pulling my mind in that direction? Not that it mattered. He had a boyfriend; one he'd had since they were teenagers for God's sake. The two of them were probably as sickeningly in love as my best friends were with each of their significant others.

I watched him unwrap his sandwich with careful precision. "Turkey and Swiss, huh?" I teased, taking an exaggerated bite of my own pastrami on rye. "You're a classic man, Parker."

He chuckled lightly, eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'm predictable, I guess. But it's hard to go wrong with a classic." His voice was soft but confident.

"Predictable isn't all bad," I mused, leaning back in my chair, feeling the pleasant weight of his gaze. "Means you know what you want. Speaking of wanting things—" I began.

He shifted in his seat, curiosity painting his features."Spill it, Brooks."

"Alright, here it goes," I began, my heart drumming an eager beat. "We've got a clinic softball team—nothing too serious, just a bunch of us blowing off steam after work. We could use someone with your—let's call it ‘athletic finesse.'"

A laugh escaped him, and it was a sound that danced down my spine, light and infectious. "Softball, huh? It's been ages since I played ball." He took a thoughtful sip of his water, considering the offer.

"Come on, it'll be fun. Plus, it's been forever since we've had a fresh recruit who can actually swing a bat without pulling something." My playful grin was met with a contemplative silence that stretched between us. "At least say you'll come to practice with me after work and check it out. No pressure at all."

"Alright, you've convinced me," he finally said, a spark of excitement igniting in his eyes. "But I'm warning you, I might be a bit rusty."

"Rusty or not, you'll fit right in. We're more about the laughs than the stats anyway."

The conversation drifted then, ebbing and flowing around topics from favorite movies to pro sports. His laughter was like a cocktail I couldn't get enough of—potent and heady. And as we talked, I caught myself admiring the way his hair caught the light, the way his hand gestures punctuated the air with enthusiasm.

"Thanks for inviting me, Travis," Parker said as we stood to leave, "not just to the practice but—lunch too. I like hanging out with you." His smile held a warmth that rivaled the sun, and I found myself nodding, pleased that he seemed to enjoy my company as much I enjoyed his.

"Anytime, Parker. Really, anytime." I tossed our trash, feeling a sense of camaraderie that extended beyond the walls of the clinic.

As we walked back to work side by side, a part of me wondered if this could be the beginning of something more than friendship. But with David in the picture and my own reluctance to tie myself down, I reminded myself to enjoy the moment—for whatever it was worth.

The shift at the clinic wrapped up with the usual flurry of activity, leaving my muscles humming with the satisfaction of a day well spent. I'd already changed my clothes, anxious to get to the field and start stretching my muscles. I tossed my duffle bag into the back seat of my car, then climbed behind the wheel, turning to grin at the man sitting in my passenger seat. "You ready to have some fun?"

Parker chuckled at my enthusiasm. "Sure, but do you mind driving me to my apartment first? I don't think I can play softball in these clothes." He gestured to his khaki pants and dark blue polo shirt with the clinic name along the left breast.

"Of course not. Give me your address." I quickly put the address he gave me into my car's GPS then waggled my eyebrows at him. "Prepare for the best playlist you've ever heard," I warned as I tapped the screen to bring my music library to life.

"Is that so?" Parker chuckled, buckling his seat belt. "Challenge accepted."

After a few minutes, we arrived at Parker and David's apartment building. I waited in the car while he ran inside to change clothes. He bounded back down the steps a few minutes later, dressed in a pair of black athletic pants, a white t-shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders, and a ballcap on his head with Fairview Wildcats written across it in white stitching. He looked like every locker room fantasy I'd ever had, come to life and I swore under my breath. It wasn't fair that he should look so tempting when he was so completely off limits to me.

We drove through the busy city streets, our conversation dancing from topic to topic like old friends. "Back in high school, I played catcher," I said, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat. "I loved the thrill of it—the strategy, the rush. What about you?"

"Shortstop," Parker replied, a reminiscent light in his eyes. "There's something about that split-second decision-making, you know? Plus, I always had the dirtiest uniform by the end of the game. Wore it like a badge of honor."

"Ah, a man after my own heart," I quipped, shooting him a sideways glance that I hoped conveyed admiration without crossing any lines.

The field was a familiar sight as we pulled in and parked—well-trodden grass, a diamond carved into the earth, the smell of anticipation hanging in the air. "Here we are," I announced as we got out of the car. "Welcome to the Thunderdome."

"Looks more like a softball field to me," Parker teased, hoisting his sports bag over his shoulder.

"Ah, but this is where legends are made," I said with a dramatic flourish, leading the way to where my teammates were warming up. Their friendly chatter filled the space, punctuated by the occasional pop of a ball hitting a glove.

"For those of you who don't work with us, I'd like you to meet the newest member of our squad—Parker Reyes, shortstop extraordinaire," I introduced him with a grand gesture, laying it on thick because why the hell not?

"Hey, Parker!" came the chorus of greetings, welcoming smiles and nods coming our way.

"Shortstop extraordinaire, huh?" Logan said, clasping hands with Parker.

Parker glanced at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. "No pressure. Isn't that what you said?"

"There's no pressure," I shot back. "Just don't let us down, or we'll never let you hear the end of it."

"Great." Parker snorted a laugh.

I clapped him on the back. "Seriously, just get out there and have fun and if you decide this isn't something you want to do, it's fine. But maybe it'll help you make even more friends here."

"Okay," he said, his smile genuine.

If Parker was anything like me, he was going to relish the chance to be part of a team again, back out on the field, playing a game that was in our blood. "Alright, everyone! Let's get this show on the road," I called out, rallying the troops.

And as we dispersed to take our positions, I watched Parker jog to shortstop, his movements fluid and assured. This was going to be fun, I thought, a surge of something warm and bright expanding in my chest—something like hope, like possibility.

"Play ball!" someone shouted, and the game began.

The crack of the bat echoed across the field, sending the softball soaring into the early evening sky. With a grace that belied his power, Parker leapt, snagging the ball mid-flight, and landing with the finesse of a cat. Cheers erupted from our makeshift bleachers as I joined in, unable to keep the pride out of my voice.

"Damn, Reyes!" I hollered, throwing my glove into the air in mock exasperation. "You trying to show us all up on your first day?"

He sent me a grin, warm and unassuming, as he tossed the ball back to the pitcher's mound. Watching him jog back to his position, I couldn't help but admire the way his muscles moved under the fabric of his t-shirt, the easy confidence in his stride. It was sexy as hell without even a hint of effort, and my body responded with an involuntary pull of attraction.

"Focus, Brooks," I muttered to myself, adjusting my cap to shield my eyes from the setting sun—and from the view. Parker was a friend, a colleague, and yeah, he had a boyfriend waiting for him somewhere in this big city.

"Hey, boss man! You're up!" Kara called out, snapping me out of my reverie.

"Right," I said, gripping the bat and stepping up to the plate. I took a swing, connecting solidly, and sprinted around the bases, the laughter and cheers from my team filling the air. It wasn't just about the game; it was the camaraderie, the shared moments that turned colleagues into friends.

"Nice hit, Travis!" Parker cheered as I rounded third, his gray eyes alight with genuine enthusiasm.

"Thanks!" I panted, sprinting toward home plate with a grin.

As practice wound down, with the last streaks of pink and orange fading from the sky, everyone gathered their gear, buzzing with the kind of satisfaction that only comes after a good game.

"Hey, why don't we grab some drinks to celebrate?" I suggested, wiping sweat from my brow. "There's this great spot not far from here." Everyone nodded their agreement. Everyone but Parker. He hesitated, shifting his weight.

"I should really get back to unpacking..." His voice trailed off, and I could sense the reluctance mingling with a desire to stay.

"Come on," I coaxed, hoping my smile was convincing enough. "The boxes will be there tomorrow, but tonight? It's about making memories with your new team. What do you say?"

For a moment, he wavered, his eyes reflecting the internal debate. Then, like the clouds parting after a storm, his face brightened with a resolved smile.

"Alright, you've twisted my arm," he conceded, and I felt a flutter of victory. "Drinks it is."

"Awesome," I replied, clapping him on the shoulder. We walked off the field together, shaking our heads as we talked about some of the more memorable plays.

"Thanks for inviting me today," Parker said, sincerity lacing his words as we approached my car. "It feels good to be part of a team again."

"Anytime, Parker," I said, glancing over at him. "And just so you know, you're a natural. The team's lucky to have you."

"Guess I'll have to prove I'm more than just a one-hit wonder," he joked, and I laughed, feeling the ease between us grow.

"Something tells me that won't be hard for you to do." I started the engine, ready to lead the caravan to our post-game celebration, a warm glow settling in my chest.

"Let's go then," he said, climbing into the passenger seat. "Lead the way, Captain."

The neon sign of "Murphy's Bar" glowed like a beacon as we approached, the din of chatter and clinking glasses spilling out into the cooling evening air. I pushed open the heavy door, holding it for Parker and the rest of our teammates.

"First round is on me," I declared, guiding us toward the cluster of high-tops near the bar. The team cheered in response.

"Generous!" Parker chuckled, sliding onto a stool with an ease that belied his newness to the group. His gray eyes sparkled under the bar's dim lights, casting him in a glow that was all too flattering. Damn if he didn't look sexy.

"Only the best for my team," I shot back, winking at him as I flagged down the bartender. Orders flew fast and loose, a cacophony of preferences that spanned from craft beer to whiskey sours.

"Hey, Parker," Jenna, one of our outfielders and a notorious jokester, called out from a few seats over. "You planning on showing us up at every practice, or was today just a fluke to make us like you?"

"Eh, somebody needed to bring the talent to the game," Parker joked with a grin, and the table erupted in laughter.

"Careful, Parker," I interjected, leaning closer so only he could hear, "she'll recruit you into her weekend shenanigans if you're not wary."

"Shenanigans, you say?" He raised an eyebrow, playing along. "Sounds ominous."

"Trust me, they are," I said with a laugh, taking a sip of the cold beer that had just arrived. The bitter hops danced on my tongue, a perfect contrast to the warmth spreading through me from the camaraderie around us.

As the night wore on, the laughter grew louder, and the stories more outlandish. Parker's tales of small-town antics were charmingly quaint compared to our city-slicker escapades, but it was the way his lips curved around each story, the light touch of his hand on his chin as he recounted memories, that held my attention.

"Did you really convince your entire high school to have a flash mob at graduation?" I asked, incredulous yet entirely captivated by the image.

"Guilty as charged," Parker admitted, the confession accompanied by a sheepish rub of the neck. "David helped me plan it. We thought it'd be a memorable exit."

"Memorable doesn't even begin to cover it," I said, shaking my head in admiration. "I wish I'd been there to see it."

"Maybe one day I'll reenact it for you," he offered, and I couldn't help the way my heart skipped a beat at the prospect.

"Is that a promise?" I teased, trying to keep the atmosphere light, despite the gravity pulling me toward him.

"Hell no," he answered, and we both burst out laughing.

Time swept away with our laughter, and it wasn't until the bar lights brightened for last call that I realized how late it had gotten. Glancing at Parker, who was now thoroughly integrated into a debate about the best 90s sitcom, I felt a warmth bubble in my chest—a happiness that was different from the thrill of a night's conquest or the satisfaction of hard work.

"Alright, last round, folks!" I announced, unwilling to end the night but knowing we all had early starts tomorrow. "Make it a good one!"

"Here's to new friends and killer softball plays," Parker toasted, raising his glass with a smile that reached all the way to those mesmerizing gray eyes.

"Cheers to that," I echoed, our glasses clinking together, a sound as clear and promising as the connection blooming between us.

As the bar began to empty, I stood up, stretching my arms above my head, feeling the pleasant pull of muscles well-used during practice. I caught Parker, his eyes sweeping over me from head to toe. They widened when they landed on my face, and he caught me staring back at him.

"You ready?" I asked, aiming for a casual tone. I was sure the look he'd given me hadn't meant anything, but there was part of me that had really liked having his eyes on me.

"Yeah, let's get out of here," he said, his smile looking a bit forced in the dimming bar lights.

We said our goodbyes to the friends who were still lingering then made our way outside, stepping out into the balmy summer night. We were quiet as we climbed back into my car and drove off.

"Man, you were on fire today at practice," I chuckled, glancing over at Parker, whose profile I could see in the passing streetlights. "I mean, seriously, you've got some killer moves out there."

Parker's laugh was a warm sound in the enclosed space. "Thanks, Travis. It felt good to be back on the field again. You guys have a great team spirit—makes it easy to jump right in."

"Easy? Dude, you were like a damn ninja on those bases," I teased, making a mental note of how his eyes crinkled when he laughed. It was infectious, and I found myself grinning, relieved that whatever tension I'd felt between us back at the bar seemed to have disappeared. "You're definitely going to keep us on our toes. That is, if you decide to join the team."

"I'd love to, if you think everyone else is alright with it," he replied. His modesty was genuine but unnecessary. The guy was a natural, and I knew talent when I saw it—plus, it didn't hurt that every dive and slide just added to his appeal.

"Of course they will. We're lucky to have you," I assured him, turning onto his street. "I'm looking forward to seeing what we can do against Pete's team this year. Those damn electricians have managed to beat us the last two years. I can't wait to see their faces when they get a load of you out there."

"Pressure's on now," Parker joked, though the undercurrent of excitement was palpable between us. "I'll have to make sure I don't disappoint."

"Impossible," I said, more earnestly than I intended. But it was the truth—Parker had this way of exceeding expectations without even seeming to try. As we pulled up to his building, I found myself wishing I could prolong the night, keep this easy flow of banter going, but reality was a persistent third wheel.

"Thanks for the ride," he said, his hand resting on the door handle. "And for inviting me today. It really meant a lot."

"Anytime," I replied, the word simple but layered with a sincerity that I hoped conveyed more than just friendly gratitude. "See you tomorrow at the clinic?"

"I'll be there," he answered, flashing me a final smile before stepping out of the car.

Watching him walk away, my thoughts flickered to the way his laughter had filled my car, the stories we'd shared which helped me get to know him beyond the professional exterior I met at work. There was something about Parker that felt like—well, like a possibility waiting to unfold.

With a sigh, I maneuvered my car back onto the road, the empty passenger seat beside me suddenly too prominent. But the thought of tomorrow, another day with Parker's presence, kept the loneliness at bay.

"Tomorrow," I murmured to myself, a promise wrapped in anticipation.