24. Arlo

Harrison flew out yesterday, and as hard as it was seeing him leave, it was just as funny watching Duckie turn green while they waited to board. Harrison had way too much fun tormenting him with the thoughts of disgusting food items, that was until Coach handed him his ticket and he found out he was sitting next to him.

I won’t get to see him for two weeks. First they fly to Charlotte and then Boston before coming back for a week and going out again for three. I considered taking him up on his offer to go with him, but I didn’t want to be the clingy boyfriend, and I have books to get written and the new readings at the children”s shop. Which is where I’m headed now.

The old Buick rumbles as I slow and turn into the parking lot across from the row of shops lining Main Street. The next day, after our intervention dinner, Gordon dropped off the papers for it. He never wanted it, and Noah said he doesn’t need a car, or it might have been more that he doesn’t want the old Buick, but I love it. I love the way it smells of leather and sage and Grandpa’s old cologne. I love that it reminds me of Dad and the trips we would take as kids, and as silly as it sounds, I love that it makes me Harrison’s Buick man.

When I walk into the shop, there isn’t a huge crowd like the signing, and the shelves are all in their normal place, just as they should be. Where I’m reading isn’t for everyone. It’s only for the kids, and as I walk through the aisles to the back of the shop where we laid out colorful rugs and set up the floor cushions, I see a few children already sitting and waiting, one in an Animal Control costume, clutching a copy of Gordie Goes Bananas in his lap.

“Are we ready to hear a story?” I ask, sitting down on the large cushion in front of the children. The big chair they used to have wasn’t me. I want to be down here with them like Harrison was when he would listen to me read. Sure, it means I have to hold the book up at the side so they can see it, but I”m more comfortable and the kids seem to like it, too.

“Can we read this?” the little boy asks, holding up the book. “My name’s Gordie, too.”

“Wonderful. Yes, let’s start with Gordie Goes Bananas, and then, if you like, we can read something else,” I say, looking across at the other children sitting patiently smiling over at me. A few other children join us on the floor while their parents linger nearby checking out books on the racks surrounding us, and little Gordie passes me the book. I run the pads of my fingers across the shiny surface. Admiring how the colors pop so beautifully and wondering if I will ever get used to seeing my name on a published book.

“Okay, let’s begin,” I say, not even a slight rumble of nerves in my stomach, and I turn the page. The first line comes out easy, and then so does the second. The story flows and the children listen, and it’s amazing, and before I know it, I’ve read Gordie, and three other books and almost an hour has passed. The children like to stop and ask questions, and it’s so cool how their little brains work. Gordie was super excited to learn I had another book coming out until he found out that the main character was Harry and not Gordie.

“But Gordie is the best,” he exclaims, and his mother just shakes her head and smiles.

“Harry is pretty cool, too,” I try to explain, but he’s shaking his head.

“Gordie is the best,” he says again, and I laugh.

“I’ll tell him you said so.”

“Gordie is real?” he asks, and I pull out my phone as the other children all head off and show him a picture of me and my brother.

“That there is me, and there is my other brother, Gordon. He plays for the real Banana Ball team Animal Control.”

“Cool.”

His mother holds out a copy of my book.

“Do you mind if we get you to sign it?” she asks.

“No problem at all,” I say, pushing up from the ground to stand.

“Can we get a picture, too?” she asks, and little Gordie bounces on his toes.

“Sure, you can tag me in it, too, if you put it on socials,” I say, signing the book to Little Gordie and handing it back before posing next to him for the photo.

“Thanks again. Will you be here next week?”

I wasn”t sure myself until today, but it was so much more fun than I thought it would be, and I can’t wait to do it all again.

“Absolutely. Story time with Arlo is going to be a regular here on Saturday and Little Gordie is always welcome,” I say, and they leave.

I pull out my phone and text Harrison.

ARLO: It went amazing. It was so much fun, and I met a little Gordie. How was your flight?

HARRISON: That’s amazing! I knew you would crush it. I am almost certain karma is real. Duckie threw up twice on the way, and he dropped one of the sick bags onto my shoe twenty minutes out, so now I smell like vomit, too.

I laugh, send back barf and hysterical laughing emoji, and head home to work on the final drawings for book two. I get them, and the final copy off to my publisher, before settling in with my naughty sketchbook and a bowl of pasta in bed to wait for Harrison’s call. He promised he’d call after dinner.

I pass the time by working on a new sketch. This one has nothing to do with baseball. Instead, it’s a drawing of us from the other night, when I showed him the mirror I bought for my room. Watching our reflections in it was so fucking hot. Another mirror arrived today, and he’s got three more coming. I’m not sure where they are all expected to fit, but the more angles I get to see him the better. I sketch the mirror frame, having it take up most of the page, and then work on what I remember seeing in it, one of his arms behind his head, mouth slightly open, his other hand holding my hip as I straddle his cock and jerk my own. The sketch is rough but the image in my head is not, and my cock likes what it’s reminded of, too, thickening beneath the bed sheets.

I adjust myself, shovel a spoonful of pasta into my mouth and try to focus on the drawing and not my racing horny thoughts. I get in some details like his chest hair, and the curves of the sheets beneath us when my phone rings.

“Perfect timing,” I say, as I answer and his face appears on the screen. I tap the screen to turn on my camera, too.

“Why’s that?” he asks, and I flip the view to show the notebook in my lap.

“Oh, shit,” he says, leaning in so close to the screen that it goes black.

“Where’d you go?” I ask, flipping the camera back.

“A few of the guys were behind me. Sorry, I didn”t want them to…”

Gordon’s voice sounds from the speaker.

“What didn’t you want us to see?” he asks.

“Your brother naked,” I yell down the line, and Harrison laughs, appearing on the camera again now with some pink-and-green patterned wallpaper behind him. He shoves in an earpod and there’s a slight change in the background noise coming through the line.

“I moved into the hall, we’re alone. Sort of.”

“Can you get somewhere private so we can…talk?” I ask with a smirk. Ever since he mentioned phone or video sex it’s been on my mind. I’ve never done it, and I think if we’re going to test out the video camera he ordered when he gets back, I should get used to being in front of a camera.

He shakes his head, “Sorry, they have us in a room for three, and Benny just jumped in the shower.”

“I guess I’ll just have to take care of this all by myself,” I say, panning my camera down to show him the bulge under the sheets.

“Oh, did someone get started without me already, did they?”

“I was sketching us, and it just happened, but if you don’t want to—”

“I never said I didn”t want to.”

“Tom-a-to, tom-ah-to,” I say, holding the phone and keeping it angled so he can see my other hand slide down.

“You’re far too good at that whole teasing thing now, you know,” he says, and I give myself a slow stroke under the sheet.

“I was taught by the best.”

He groans and clutches the phone close to his face, the wall behind him as he shields the screen from the view of anyone who might walk by.

“If you keep doing that it’s going to be awkward for me going back in there with a stiffy.”

“Then don”t watch,” I say, and stroke myself again only this time the sheet moves down a little, and he sighs.

“This is so not fair.”

“It’s not, but you called me, remember.”

“Hold on, I think the shower just went off,” Harrison says, and the screen goes dark again, but there is a small sliver of light coming in at the sides which makes me think he’s holding the phone to his chest.

“Is Benny out?” he calls to someone, and after a few muffled ”yeah” and ”yeps,”and a few clangs and other noises, he’s back.

“Okay, sorry. I had to fight Gordon for dibs. Let me get the shower on, then we can get back to you showing me that drawing.”

He sets his phone on the counter facing him and strips down, then switches on the water in the shower but doesn’t step under.

“It”s cold, so it doesn’t fog anything up. Now about that drawing,” he whispers close to the screen. I turn the camera to the sketch and move it slowly down the page revealing it bit by bit.

“Fuck, that looks just as hot as I remember it,” he says, and I turn the camera back.

“I know, now you know what got me in this state,” I say, panning the screen down again, but this time sliding off the bed sheets, revealing my leaking hard cock, then panning up again to my face.

“Is that what you wanted to see?” I ask, and Harrison licks his lips.

“I wish I could do more than see it. But yeah, this far away from you, I’ll take anything you want to give me.”

“Do you think they can hear you?” I ask, suddenly worried the guys in the next room will overhear.

“Nope, I shoved a bunch of towels under the door and the shower’s on, as long as I don’t yell, we’ll be good,” he says with a smirk. “But if you want to scream out my name, you can. I’ve got the earpods in.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Do you think you can control your levels? I seem to remember it was you moaning my name last time, wasn’t it?”

“I can’t make any promises, but I guess they’ll have two choices, listen in or leave, because now I’ve seen you like this, I want to watch you and imagine it’s me there getting you off.”

”Oh, trust me, that’s what I’m imagining, too. I want to see you. Can you step back a little?” I ask, and he moves closer to the shower but stays out of the water. He slides his hands down over his pecks, over his stomach, and then grips himself in one hand while the other dips lower and gives his balls a light tug.

“How’s this?” he asks, and I swallow the lump in my throat.

“Perfect, now work it slowly, stay in time with me,” I say, making sure my camera is on my fingers wrapped around my cock. My newly uncasted wrist is weak, and the phone starts to shake a little making it hard to see properly.

“Can you prop it up?” he asks, and I let go of myself and grab a few extra sketchbooks, set them on the nightstand, angle the camera toward the bed, and then lie on my side, shuffling across and up until I’m in the frame.

“Perfect, now where were we?” he says, and I start over, the sketch of us lying in front of me on the bed. My gaze keeps going between Harrison on the screen and the sketch, and he smiles, working himself in time with my strokes, his head leaning back a little as his chest starts to move up and down faster.

“I wish you were here so bad,” I say, and he sighs a little.

“I wish I was, too. I would have you back in that bed just like the other night, only this time, you’d be buried inside me.”

The image of him riding me the way I did him fills my thoughts and I grip myself tighter, working faster, each stroke bringing me closer and closer.

“I want you to ride me so badly,” I moan, and he grabs his balls again, working his cock in ragged strokes. “And then I’m going to have you on your knees, and I’m going to own that ass right there in front of the mirror for you to watch.”

He bites his lower lip as the first bursts of come shoot toward the camera.

“Fucking right you are,” he moans, and my balls pull up tight, and I’m over the edge, coating the bed and the sketch.

“Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, moving closer to the screen again, his breathing still heavy.

“I think I’ll have to start this one over,” I say, holding the book up to the camera so he can see how I’ve covered us both.

“I’m sure more than one will end up like that before the season is over.”

I roll and groan into the pillow. “I don’t think I can last two whole weeks,” I say, and he smiles and turns the handle for the shower, and steam starts filling the space.

“Meet us in Boston and you won’t have to.”

“You really want me to come?”

“Oh, hunny. I thought you’d know by now. I always want you to come.” He smiles and steps under the water. I watch as long as I can as he soaps up his body before the steam completely covers the phone and I’m left with nothing but a gray screen.

“I’ll book the flights and call you tomorrow,” I say.

“I’ll make sure I’m alone,” he calls back, and I hang up the call.