8. Arlo

I flick through the pages of my sketchbook on my bed at Gordon’s. I can’t bring myself to start calling it home. It’s not. I get that I need help with a lot with this cast on, but the whole cooking thing was a fluke. I think as a grown-ass man I can live alone if I want to. I’ve only got a few weeks before the cast comes off, though, so I guess I can suck it up until then.

Yesterday’s reading was amazing. Okay, the truck ride to pizza with Harrison was amazing, the reading was…scary. Gordon warned me that Harrison is a notorious flirt. I hadn’t seen it, not really, not until yesterday, and when he apologized and said he was trying to break the habit like it was a bad thing, I couldn’t hold my lips closed. I always envied those guys through school, the ones who always seemed to know how to say the right thing and look so freaking cool when they do. I tried to flirt with a guy I liked in college and sent half the food hall into hysterics.

I’m that guy. Harrison offered to teach me how to flirt, like it’s something you can actually learn, and I jumped at the chance, but I don’t think he knows what he’s signed up for. How awkward and pathetic I really am. He said the hair thing was good, but he turned away, and in the pit of my stomach, I have to wonder, was he trying not to laugh?

My brothers were always the smooth ones growing up. For me, the red hair and pale skin brought teasing and insults. For them, it brought a whole other kind of attention. And if I can learn even a small part of that, I might get a date for the first time in years. Shit. It has been years. I try to think back to the last time I was with a guy. It had to be Matthew. My old agent. That asshole led me on just to get his signing bonus from the publishing house, then disappeared. Thank fuck my contract with him only lasted a year, and Gordon insisted I get a lawyer to look over it, or that fucker would be making a commission on this book and possibly any future ones, too.

I stop turning the pages when I land on a sketch of Harrison. It’s from behind, his round ass popped out as he’s waiting for the pitch. My mind immediately strips him down to tight white briefs and I’m reminded of my earlier idea to play with a few…naughty sketches.

I grab the extra sketchbook I brought and sit back in the bed and start to draw. I start with the same position as the sketch in the other book, only in this version, he isn’t holding his arm at the ready for a pitch, he’s holding on to the cock of the batter standing beside him. I play with the sketch, adding color and details like the muscles of his back, the slight gray in his otherwise dark hair. The batter’s next. Only, when I’m done coloring him, I find I’ve basically drawn me, and fucking hell, it looks like I’m enjoying myself. I’ve got my head back, eyes closed, and mouth slightly open in pleasure, the bat is still in my hand but balanced on the ground like it’s holding me up as I’m worked over by his thick long fingers.

My cock throbs, and I set the sketchbook to the side, spit into my palm and slide my hand down my sweats.

My fingers wrap around my thickening cock, and when I give it a slow stroke, my gaze zeros in on the sketch, and now it’s Harrison’s hand I’m imagining is working me over. I picture his thick fingers sliding up and down my shaft, squeezing just a little with every stroke. It’s like I can really see us there, on the baseball field, him crouched in the catcher”s position, his round ass out, bouncing up and down as he jerks me off over the home plate. His free hand down his white briefs, stroking himself in time with me, our moaning and heavy breaths coming faster and faster.

“Fuck yeah, Harrison,” I whisper to myself, and my balls pull up tight, my come coating the inside of the sweats.

I definitely need to create more sketches like that.

Thankful for the direct access to the guest bathroom my room at Gordon’s offers, I jump in the shower to wash off. Holding my casted arm out of the open shower door at all times means it takes me twice the time it would have otherwise. I’m careful not to get my hair too wet, given I can”t exactly style it properly with this thing on either. I am getting good at throwing it up though, which is good, because it basically lives in a messy bun when I’m writing or sketching to keep it out of my face.

“Hey, Arlo,” Gordon’s voice calls, and my heart races. Shit, did I leave the sketchbook open on the bed?

“I’m in the shower, one sec,” I call back, scrambling to wrap the towel around my waist and open the door. He’s walking toward the bed, and there on top, beside the clean version of my sketch, is the naughty one. “Don’t look at those,” I say, running and grabbing the blanket to flip over the sketchbooks.

“Huh?”

“They’re not done yet,” I lie, and he shakes his head.

“Your sketches are amazing at any stage. Let me see, are they for the new book?”

I jump on top of the bed, and my towel flips up flashing him.

“Dude, come on,” he complains, turning away.

“Don’t want to see me naked, don’t come into my room uninvited.”

“What are we twelve?” he asks, and I have to laugh.

“They’re for a new project. I’m just not ready to show anyone yet.”

“Okay, just say that then. No need to get your bat and balls involved.”

I try to suppress my smile, he has no idea how very involved my bat and balls were with what is under the covers right now.

“Something new, huh? Are you done with children’s books already?”

“No, I love writing those stories, but I guess I used to write other stuff in college, too.”

“Right, you had that romance book, the one with the fireman and the vet. It was awesome.”

“You read that?”

“Yeah, you sent it to me, remember? What were their names?” He looks off to the side like that will help him remember. To be honest, I’m fucking really shocked he remembers them at all. Or that he read it. I sent the chapters after a few drinks, and as a guy who does not drink, like ever, it only took three, and I was emailing both my brothers my new story.

“Vaughn and Arthur, no Arnold. That was them, right?”

“Shit, you do remember.”

“Of course. I really liked that story. Why didn’t you look at finding a publisher for that one? It was pretty hot if I remember correctly.”

What the hell?

I’m sure I didn’t send him the whole book so how would he know it got hot?

“Umm, I only sent you the first chapters, didn’t I?”

“No, you shared the file. I remember ’cause I would open it up like every Sunday night to read what you wrote next. It was great, like waiting for your next episode of a television show.”

I try to breathe but a lump has risen in my throat stopping all air. No. This can’t be happening. He can’t have read that story. Not the whole story. My face is burning hot, and my heart is pounding in my ears.

“Just kidding.” He laughs. “I have no idea how hot it got, or if it got hot at all. I only read the first two chapters you sent. It was good from what I remember though.”

That prick. Fuck. I know exactly how hot and steamy some of those chapters were, and I don’t want my brother to know what a…detailed imagination I really have.

“You asshole.”

“Come on, it was funny. So is the new story going to be hot, is that why you’re all nervous?”

I throw my pillow at him.

“It’s nothing yet, a pet project. Why are you here again?”

Recognition floods his face.

“Oh, right, I wanted to ask about the reading in Jacksonville, it’s at like 9 a.m., right?”

“Yeah, I think so, why?”

“Harrison called and wanted to know if you wanted to head down the day before so you didn’t have to get up so early.”

“Harrison called to ask you if I wanted to do that?” I question, reaching for my glasses and my phone to see if I’ve had any missed calls or texts.

“Technically, he called to ask if I was okay with him asking you if that was what you wanted to do.”

“Now I know you’re kidding, because why would Harrison need to ask you?”

“I guess because he wanted me to know that he was asking only to make it easier on you and had nothing to do with you both spending a night at a hotel.”

I climb from the bed, my heart rate picking back up at the idea of being at a hotel with Harrison.

“Are you seriously that worried he’ll try to sleep with me? The guy that looks like some Greek god? He’s a fucking big buff sexy baseball guy, and I’m… well.” I look down at my still slightly damp chest. My pale skin doesn’t help to add any definition to my less-than-muscular frame. I have almost no chest hair, but the snail trail down from my belly button to below the towel is as red as the hair on my head, and every surface is lightly scattered with freckles.

“You’re everything any guy would be lucky to have. I just don’t think Harrison is the right guy for you.”

“Well, lucky for you then that he’s made it very clear this is a mutual friendship. Nothing remotely sexual going on here.”

“Good, so I can tell him yes to Jacksonville?” he asks, and only now do I see that he has the downstairs phone against his chest.

“Please tell me he’s not on the phone with you right now?”

“Ummm, sure, he’s not on the phone,” Gordon says, slowly backing out of the room.

“You know holding the phone against your chest doesn’t do anything to block the sound. The speaker is at the bottom, and your voice reverberates through your fucking chest, right?”

“Uh-huh, but he’s not on the phone, so it doesn’t matter. I’m just going to go down and call him back, because he’s definitely, totally, not still on the phone right now.”

Gordon runs the rest of the way out of the room, and I grab the pillow from the floor and scream into it.

Harrison just heard me call him a god. I called him a big buff sexy baseball guy. I’m going to kill my brother.