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.He didn’t even take in the pretty neighborhood scenery they passed.His focus remained on getting his backpack and going the fuck home.Jack followed Ryan up the sidewalk to the apartment they’d had such a wonderful time in just hours before.With a heavy heart, he waited for Ryan to unlock the door.Damn it, he’d known it was only supposed to be for that afternoon.A quick pick up and fuck.But somewhere along the way, he’d started to like Ryan.Why did that fucking ball have to mess up everything in his life?Bending down, he grabbed the strap of his Swiss Army backpack and slung it over his shoulder.“Jack, wait,” Ryan said, putting a tender hand on his arm.Jack’s gaze shifted from his shoes to Ryan’s contrite face.“Please don’t leave.”“Why? You got what you wanted.You fucked me and got your story.”“I don’t want the story.I want you.”Ryan’s hand was on the back of his neck pulling their mouths together before Jack could blink.He struggled at first before his body remembered the wonderful afternoon it had spent under Ryan, then relaxed into the kiss.His fingers pushed into Ryan’s hair, and he felt the man moan into his mouth.“How can I believe you?” he whispered against Ryan’s lips when they broke apart.Strong hands moved up and down his back under the pack.He wanted to believe Ryan.He wanted to have someone he could come home to again, someone he could rely on.He’d been alone for so fucking long.“Because, if you’ll let me, I’m going to spend every day proving it to you,” Ryan whispered.Another man had said he’d spend every day with Jack too, but he hadn’t.“I’m sorry, I can’t.” Jack hiked his backpack higher on his shoulder and turned for the door.“Wait,” Ryan said, desperation clouding his voice.He grabbed a notebook off the desk in the corner, scribbled something on one of the pages, and ripped it out.Handing it to Jack with a whispered “please,” he stood out of the way while Jack stormed out of his life.HE’D had every intention of throwing the scrap of paperaway, but while Jack lay in bed that night replaying the day in his head, he tucked the phone number into his wallet.The little bit of notebook paper, the kind he’d grown up using in school, felt like it was tacked against his soul, waiting to be used.But just like the ball sitting on his living room bookshelf, he’d learned not to focus his attention on it.Instead, as the days went on, he pushed it out of the way to grab his cash, or moved it to the back to fit in a receipt, but never took it out.He never wanted to see Ryan’s untidy scrawl, a physical reminder of the man’s existence, and yet he couldn’t force himself to throw it away.Just like that goddamned ball.Baseball season started to draw to a close, and he watched the Cubs’ magic number slowly grow, putting them farther and farther out of playoff contention.Another season of victory for the goat, but not so much for the fans.The leaves started to turn when the days grew colder, but the pennant race heated up.St.Louis would go; they always went, it seemed.The Braves would make it, because again, they generally made it, but the Western Division wasn’t so certain.He never watched the American League anymore.Jack also kept an eye on the gossip columns, just waiting for Ryan’s story to break about finding Jonathan Young in Chicago, but it never did.Even though Jack had left him standing alone in his foyer after he’d begged Jack not to, Ryan had remained silent.The little slip of paper in his wallet called to him daily, but he was sure Ryan had picked up another guy.He didn’t want to face the rejection that would come from waiting too long.Instead, he’d avoided Bernie’s and tried different places around the friendly confines to watch the game.He’d never run into Ryan again.A few times his new friend Greg and Greg’s partner, Sam, had dragged him up to Spin or Hydrate, but he hadn’t seen Ryan there either.The only places he’d seen Ryan in the last two months were in dreams and in his morning shower where he clung to the image of Ryan’s wet, slick body as he got off.He watched the television above the bar.and the Cubs put in yet another player he’d never heard of.They knew the season was over for them, so why not let the seasoned players rest and assess the potential of the new kids? Every team did it.Hell, one year he’d seen the Colorado Rockies fall so far behind they’d done it in early August.The pitcher they’d put in during the previous inning surprisingly held his own, and the Cubs tied it up in the top of the seventh.Pretty soon they’d start the seventh inning stretch where they brought up anyone who could not carry a tune in a bucket to sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” It was a long-standing Cubs tradition that was as much a part of Cubs baseball as the ivy and as expected as the tomahawk chop in Atlanta or the sausage races in Milwaukee.Every stadium had its own quirks, and he had started to learn those in Chicago.It made him feel like maybe he could settle; maybe he could make this city his home instead of being some kind of interloper.“It’s Billy Corgan from the Smashing Pumpkins.You’d think he’d be able to sing,” the voice in his ear startled him, but a warmth spread down his back when he recognized it.Turning on the stool, he saw Ryan in a faded Cubs T-shirt and jeans, hope and fear warring in his sweet brown eyes.Jack opened his mouth to speak, but Ryan put a finger over it.He leaned in close and whispered against Jack’s ear.“I spent every night at Bernie’s until I figured out you weren’t coming back.” The pain in his voice drained the warmth from Jack’s bones.“Then I started going to all of the different bars in the area.I… I’m so glad to see you here.”“I….You never wrote the article,” Jack said, at a complete loss for anything else to say.He’d never expected to come face to face with Ryan, or that Ryan would have been looking for him.The longing in his heart throbbed painfully, but his mind froze around the words that would bring Ryan back into his life.Ryan shook his head, but didn’t elaborate.He put his hands in his pockets and took them out again, like he was at a loss for what to do.Jack understood.The silence stretched until he couldn’t stand it anymore.As Ryan’s body started to turn so he could walk away, Jack kicked out the stool next to him.“Want a beer?” he asked Ryan, whose face filled with promise.“I’d love one.”For the first time since that ball landed in his glove on the foul side of the Fisk pole, Jonathan Young thought maybe, just maybe, he’d found absolution.About the AuthorJ.P.BARNABY, an award-winning gay romance novelist, isthe author of over a dozen books including the Little Boy Lost series, the Forbidden Room series, and Aaron.As a bisexual woman, J.P.is a proud member of the GLBT community both online and in her small town on the outskirts of Chicago.A member of Mensa, she is described as brilliant but troubled, sweet but introverted, and talented but deviant.She spends her days writing software and her nights writing erotica, which is, of course, far more interesting.The spare time that she carves out between her career and her novels is spent reading about the concept of love, which, like some of her characters, she has never quite figured out for herself.Website: http://www.JPBarnaby.comBlog: http://www.jpbarnaby [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]