Immoral by Nicole Dykes
They won.
They won the motherfucking World Series.
My best friend in the world just won the biggest honor in baseball, and I’m not even there to celebrate it with him.
I mean, I was there. I watched as he played a flawless game with not a single error, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t even know I was there.
Ryan has always been in his own head. It’s why he’s so good at baseball. He can focus on the game and tune everything else out, but off the field, he’s always overthought every single thing.
It’s killing me that he didn’t even bother to say hello or even acknowledge my presence. And maybe it’s selfish of me, but that pisses me off.
How many nights did we dream of being in the World Series. Of the crowd and the fireworks?
Fuck this.
I call Waylon and beg him to call in a really big favor by securing Ryan’s home address, and before I can overthink it—not really a problem for me—-I’m at his gate, ringing the buzzer.
The odds of him actually being home two hours after winning the biggest game of his career are slim, but I’ll wait for as long as I have to. While I wait, I look up at the bigass Kansas City mansion secured by an iron gate and smile to myself.
“Damn, Bailey,” I whisper.
He’s definitely made it. “Hello?”
Well, holy shit. He’s home. What if he’s not alone?
I shake that off. Why the hell do I care? “Bailey, let me in.”
His voice is off, kind of shaky when I hear, “Grady? What the fuck are you doing at my house?”
“Just buzz me in. We need to talk.”
There’s a pause, and I know he can see me on the security feed he no doubt has. But for me, it’s just a voice coming out of a speaker. “No. We don’t.”
“Yes. We do.” I wait a beat. “Are you seriously not going to let me in?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus, that’s rude. I should call your mother.” Nothing. I roll my eyes. “Fine, buzz me in or I will sit out here for as long as it takes and give TMZ a call.”
I can see his jaw ticking with anger even though I can’t actually see him. I feel it. I know him better than I’ve ever known anyone. Which is why it really fucking sucks that he disappeared, and I still can’t pinpoint the reason why.
“Fine.”
With that, the lock clicks and the gate opens, allowing me to drive my rental car through the gate. When I park in front, I’m greeted by a pissed-off Ryan, who’s flying out his front door in a pair of dark gray joggers and sporting messy bedhead. “Were you seriously asleep at ten o’clock the night after you won the World Series?”
He ignores my question, folding his muscular arms over his chest in a pissed-off stance. “What are you doing here?”
“I want to talk. You gonna let me in?” I look around, knowing there isn’t a neighbor close by but also knowing how private Ryan has always been. So, I raise my hands out to my side and say in a loud voice, “Or would you prefer to talk about how you left me without any explanation, all because of one fucking kiss outside on your lawn?”
“Jesus,” he hisses, running his fingers through his hair and growling low, “get inside.”
He moves out of the way and allows me to shove past him into the wide expanse of a grand foyer. I let out a low whistle. “Sure have come far, haven’t you, Bailey?”
I turn to see him glowering at me as he closes the front door. “You’re one to talk.” Again, he folds his arms over his stomach I can’t help but notice is fucking chiseled. He was always pretty built once we started working out in junior high, but now the fucker is solid. No doubt, he spends most of his life in a gym.
I grin. “Yeah, all our dreams came true, huh?”
“Why are you here, Grady?”
“Why did you leave?” It’s abrupt and probably not what he was expecting me to ask, but I don’t care anymore. I’m tired of wondering.
He scoffs and walks away from me down the foyer, but I grab his bicep. He pulls away, acting like my touch scalded him.
“Jesus Christ, Bailey. I get it, okay? We were drunk off our asses and partying, and it led to a fucking dumbass kiss. You didn’t have to fucking bail on me.”
He stares at me, his blue eyes threatening to burn through me. “What?”
“What?” I grip the back of my neck, feeling oddly vulnerable. I’ve never talked about that kiss, but it has to be the reason he left. “It wasn’t a big deal. And you kissed me back, FYI, fucker. It’s not like it was all me.”
He blinks twice and then shakes his head in confusion. “You think I left because a guy kissed me?”
I let out a huff. “And you kissed a guy.” I walk closer to him, hating the cold distance he’s putting between us. The distance he put there seven years ago. “It’s okay. It’s not a big deal, but you didn’t have to fucking bail.”
“I didn’t leave because of that.”
I stare at him, uncertain and searching my mind for anything else it could have been. “Then why?”
“I thought you were going to freak the fuck out.”
I stare at him, me being the confused one now. “Why would I freak out? It wasn’t that big of a deal. It was a kiss, man. You didn’t have to throw away a longtime friendship over it. I definitely wouldn’t have.”
“And how did I know that, huh? You aren’t gay.”
“So.” I shrug. “Neither are you.”
His eyes flicker with something I almost miss, and then he straightens his back. The fucker is massive. He’s broad and made to withstand a grown-ass man barreling toward home plate. “I am.”
“You are what?” I cock my head to the side, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. None of the pieces are fitting together.
“I’m gay.”
He’s what?
