Base Hit by Haven Hadley
Evan
Well,well, well, look what the baseballs gods dropped into my lap. Not my lap exactly, which was a damned shame. We had some fresh meat on the field. I didn’t even remember him on the Espen Triple A team. He must not have been there long. I’d have to get the dirt on him from Spencer. That was, if Spencer had any dirt to give.
I wasn’t shy about my best friend dating the hottest shortstop in Major League Baseball. Callen Teague was every gay man’s go-to for spank bank material. The man was walking sin. And then he blessed the world with being gay. I didn’t see it coming until he called me that awful night and had me check on my friend. Too bad Spencer snatched him up before I could.
Okay, so they made a great couple. Spencer had never been happier. I wouldn’t go on and on about how my love life was shit in comparison. If he’d been anyone else, I’d have been jealous. Who the fuck was I kidding? I was jealous. I wanted a man of my own. One who would go to the lengths Callen did for Spencer. And I didn’t mean only coming out of the closet. That was a huge thing and he did that for himself as much as for Spencer, which was the way it should be. It was also a massive step for gay ballplayers everywhere. The way he showed his devotion and the love he had for my friend… Talk about a fairy tale.
I sighed wistfully. Lucky bastards.
“Hey, buddy!” someone yelled, pulling my attention from my daydream. Shit. I was working. Forgot about that for a second.
Yeah, yeah, hold on to your briefs.I snorted. The guy in front of me with a beer gut hanging over his jeans no doubt wore briefs, and not the hot kind, in different colors that hugged a nice, tight ass just so but the white ones with zero sexual appeal that I was sure barely kept Beer Gut’s ass confined.
I poured his can of beer into a cup and traded it with him for his money. No tip. That was about right.
After five years on the job, I didn't have the seniority some of the other beer vendors did. They were the ones who went to the season ticket holders. The ones who had their own fans and got tipped well. They laughed, knew the holders well, and built a great relationship with them. I was left with the general population, most of whom were nice, but others, not so much.
On average, I didn't see the games played while I worked. I heard the sounds of the bat connecting with the ball. Heard the umpires’ calls and the coaches yelling. I was acutely aware of where the ball was at all times since I didn’t want to get hit in the head when one went in the wrong direction. There wasn’t always a net protecting me and everyone else.
It was a job. One I did not want because I needed the money as much as it kept me busy.
When my relationship with assface ended—and yes, that was his real name, thank you very much—I decided I wasn’t going to sit home and wallow my nights away. Thanks to the Espen stadium being close to my apartment, I got a second job. It wasn’t easy. There were days my fingers and neck were killing me. Carrying a tray filled with beer cans and cups up and down the stairs was not a small feat. However, I was moving up in the beer-vending world. I had been putting in my time and eventually got some of the better brands and sections to work. At least I wasn’t in the nosebleeds anymore. Talk about a fear of heights. Not that I had one normally but walking around that high up, while being weighed down, wasn’t my idea of a good time. The first night on the job, I had vertigo something fierce.
As I made my way through the stands, selling beer after beer, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d keep doing this once I fell in love again. Not that I was actively looking for it. In fact, I’d been avoiding it like the plague. But seeing Spencer and Callen so happy, shit, I wanted that. Fucking assface and his cheating dick. Five years later and I was still pissed about what he did to me.
With one beer in my tray left, I found a guy in the top row waving at me. His hair was styled away from his face. Brown waves long enough I could run my fingers through. He was in an Espen jersey but I wasn’t sure which number was on the back. He wasn’t a big guy but enough I’d bet he’d pound me really good. And he was very attractive.
Shaking myself internally, I continued the climb until I was standing beside his aisle seat. I had so many fantasies about the men in the crowd. Sometimes they came true, but most of the time not. Yes, I had an eye for the gay men in attendance and this one I was still weighing.
“I have one left,” I told him with a smile. Being friendly and polite usually led to decent tips. “It’s yours if you want it.”
He grinned and his eyes sparkled as he looked up at me. Gay. Definitely gay. “I’ll take it.”
I opened the can and poured it into the cup. After handing it to him, he held the money out. I gripped it, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he tugged slightly, bringing me closer to him. “There’s a little something extra in there,” he said, just loud enough for me to hear. I glanced over, noticing the seat next to him was empty. Either he came alone or his friend left for the time being.
I winked and straightened with the money firmly in my grip. When I opened my hand, I saw a business card there with a handwritten phone number on it. “I’ll see you later…” I glanced at the card. “Cade.” Not a bad way to sell my last beer for the inning. A hell of a tip and a phone number. I could definitely use the release tonight.
* * *
Six hours,two rounds of hot sex later, and I was exhausted by the time I dragged my ass home. I wasn’t the type to stay and cuddle. No, I was getting there, getting naked, getting off, and getting the fuck home. I didn’t care how hot the man I was leaving in bed was. And the one tonight had that look in his eyes like he could picture our future.
Sorry, sweetheart, that's a hard pass for me.
He was hot, but there was no spark. I didn’t need this man in my life. What I needed was for him to fuck me hard, and he wanted to go leisurely. Took his time. After begging for him to speed up the process, he finally got on board and drove me quickly to orgasm. However, once the cum cooled for the second time, I wiped myself off and found my shorts and shirt.
Later, Cade.
I could see him again. It was a distinct possibility. The fact that he owned one of the team’s jerseys meant he wasn’t a casual fan. In fact, he had a Teague jersey. I didn’t tell him I knew the shortstop. That would have led to more talking, which wasn’t something I wanted to do.
After showering, I dropped onto my bed and decided to put on the highlights from the game. Espen won; that much I heard tonight. And that new left fielder did well with not only his glove and his arm but his bat as well. Lucky for me, ESPN decided to do a deep dive of the new player. I guessed that was what happened when you hit a home run your first game in the MLB.
They went through his background, his stats, his everything, and I barely heard any of it. I was too fixated on the name and the man. Vander Devlin was smoking hot. Like, holy fuck, what sports magazine cover did he crawl off of? I knew there was a reason my eyes drew me to him when he stopped on first base. Though the sportscaster didn’t say it, that man was gay. I knew it in the depths of my soul. Once I had that sense, it was never wrong. Although, I never got that feeling with Callen. That was okay. A ninety-nine-point-nine percent accuracy rate was good enough for me.
Reaching over to the nightstand, I grabbed my laptop and opened it. Yes, I kept it there. Porn was easily accessed on my computer. I needed that as much as I needed my right hand these days. Even after two rounds tonight, I was hard again from the hot ballplayer on TV.
After a quick internet search, lo and behold Mr. Left Fielder was in fact gay. I was right again!
Nowhere did it say he had a significant other, which stupidly got my hopes up. Why, I didn't know. It wasn’t like someone with his kind of talent was going to go after a teacher by day and a beer vendor by night, weekends, and summers. I was so far out of his league I belonged in the nosebleeds with the rookie vendors.
Oh, well. He could join the other players in my head that I drifted to sometimes when I got myself off. I had a certain fantasy about being fucked against the wall behind home plate. Not when there was a crowd there, of course. But at night with the lights off and no one in the stadium. Just me and one of the players still in his uniform. Those pants did something to me. More specifically, to my dick.
But for all the porn I watched, the fantasies I had, and the random hookups I went home with, I was still empty inside. And now I was back to love again.
I sat the laptop on the bed beside me as the TV played through the highlight reel of the games played today. Espen was doing great with Callen back. The All-Star Game was a sight to behold. I didn’t normally go to the games as a spectator, but being there with my best friend as his boyfriend leaned on top of the dugout and kissed him for all the world to see, I couldn’t help but wish I had the same. Someone who wouldn't care who saw us and was proud to have me be his. I wasn’t sure if that was ever going to happen.
Great, now my fantasies moved from being fucked behind home plate to being made love to. Just what I needed—romance.
I groaned and threw my arm over my eyes. What the hell was I supposed to do? I couldn’t find my one true love on any of the apps out there. And he certainly wasn’t in the stands at the games.
Maybe he’s on the field, a little voice inside me whispered.
Shoo. Be gone, Voice. You don’t know what you're talking about.
No way would Vander go for me. I was no one. Nothing in the grand scheme of who he could get. Hell, Kasper Wilder was way more up his alley. Those two I could see together. Not me. Never me. Except in my fantasies, of course.
My previous hard-on deflated and my mind started going to that dark place where love had once been before it ended up balls deep in someone else. I was a good guy. I didn’t deserve to be cheated on. I never even flirted with anyone else when I was with assface. Then again, no one deserved to have their lover cheat on them. Thankfully, we never ditched the condoms and went bare. I still got tested regularly and always kept myself protected. If I hadn’t, who knew what would have happened? What I would have caught from him.
My phone vibrated with a text. Reaching over to the nightstand, I picked it up to find a text from tonight’s hookup.
Cade:Had a great time tonight. Would love to take you out for dinner tomorrow.
Fortunately for me, I hadn’t opened the message and it was simply a notification on the screen. I could easily ignore it without it showing read on his phone.
The phone got tossed next to the laptop. No dinner. Maybe the hookups had to stop. I wasn’t getting anything out of them but orgasms. Not that they were a bad thing, but I was still so empty inside. So tired of coming home to a quiet apartment after work. I didn’t even have a cat or a damned goldfish. It was only me. With neighbors who never spoke to me because they were homophobic assholes who thought I committed sins over here. Another reason why I never brought my randoms home with me. I didn't hide who I was, but I wasn’t subjecting them to the fuckers I lived next to.
Okay, so not only did I need to stop sleeping with random men, but apparently I needed to move, too. Maybe one day my life would come together. I would find my Prince Charming, kiss him in front of the world, and finally get my happily ever after.
My laugh was loud in the room. Keep dreaming, Ev.