Love On Deck by Jen FitzGerald

Love On Deck by Jen FitzGerald

Author:Jen FitzGerald
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knotted Hearts Publishing
Published: 2017-01-15T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter Six

“I should have brought my glove. I should have thought of this myself. God, why didn’t I?” Connor looks at Andrew, eyes bright and knees bouncing a hundred miles a minute it seems.

Andrew laughs. This is a completely different Connor from the day before or from the bar. He’s enjoyed all versions, except the little brother persona. Connor’s something else when he’s not trying to hide his passions, any of them, behind a facade, and Andrew definitely wishes he could do something about Connor’s need to hide behind various masks.

The stadium comes into view and then they’re exiting the cab. Connor leads the way, showing his passport, his driver’s license, and some sort of minor league baseball ID. Andrew has to show his passport and driver’s license too as they pass through each checkpoint. Connor speaks decent Spanish and, soon, they’re being greeted by someone dressed in a baseball uniform.

“Jesús, cómo estás?” bellows Connor, clasping hands with the man.

“Bien, bien. Quien es este?” says Jesús, turning to Andrew.

“This is my friend Andrew,” says Connor before rattling off something in Spanish.

Andrew hears Casey’s name, so he’s guessing Connor is explaining the relationship, but he’s pleased to be referred to as a friend. It’s a start.

“Bienvenido.” Jesús holds out his hand to Andrew, and they shake as well.

“Gracias,” Andrew says. Anyone who lives in Texas knows a few basics. And when in Rome and all that.

“Ven por aquí.” Jesús does a “come on” gesture and turns toward a tunnel.

Connor and Andrew follow, and Connor continues to vibrate with excitement.

They reach a locker room and Jesús hands Connor some clothes. He points to an empty stall and then points at Andrew. “You, ven, ven, come with Jesús.” He says something to Connor, who’s already down to his black briefs, and walks away.

Andrew’s throat goes dry at the sight. They’re snug. And small. Not Speedo small, but still. There are Connor’s tats in all their glory, most of them anyway. A couple of them peek from the waistband of his briefs, and holy hell if Andrew doesn’t want to trace each one with his tongue.

A-hem. He shifts, trying to adjust his dick without being obvious.

Connor turns and catches Andrew admiring. His eyes flick to Jesús, who’s almost at the door, then back to Andrew. Their gazes hold, his eyebrow arches, and Andrew’s sure there’s a promise in there somewhere. His gut clenches and his dick twitches again, and thank God his shorts are actually loose enough to hide any telltale firming. He just hopes Connor keeps his promises.

“Jesús wants you to follow him,” says Connor, pulling on the baseball pants over the curve of his very fine ass. “He understands English, he just doesn’t speak it very well.”

“Right. Okay.” Andrew’s voice doesn’t crack, but it’s a near thing. He gets a hold of himself quickly. This isn’t about him, it’s about Connor, so he adds, “Have fun,” and follows his host.

Andrew’s given a seat right behind the dugout and Jesús asks if he wants a beer, but Andrew requests water for now.



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