Ball Game

To the Reader: I hope that this story strikes a positive balance between character development and getting into the action. If you stick with Crew and Max, I hope that you'll find it's a "Home Run"! (First and last pun, I promise)

ENJOY!

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"Donaldson! Pull your head out of your ass! You have to make that fucking play! Every time!" Coach Swearingen hollered at me from the 1st base dugout.

Damn. I knew THAT was coming.

I probably deserved it too.

I had been watching a trio of volleyball players walking towards their cars that were parked beyond the right field fence. My internal debate over which of the three had the best ass was interrupted by the sound of a weakly struck ground ball in my direction. The slow reaction led to a delayed jump on the play, a rushed throw, and a safe base runner.

Normally I would be just as hard on myself as Coach Swearingen, but this was only a scrimmage. When things mattered, I would be ready to go.

Besides, I knew Coach was just on edge due to our regional playoffs starting the following week. It was our school's first post-season appearance in nearly a decade. We all wanted to make the most of it.

After practice, Coach pulled me aside. Instead of continuing to lecture me, he apologized.

"Donaldson, I'm sorry I came down on you like that. I know you make that play, I've seen you make it a thousand times." He said apologetically, squeezing my shoulder as he spoke. "I just need to have you locked in right now, even in practice. The young guys are looking up to you and the other upperclassmen. I'm relying on you to help us build a winning culture."

I nodded my head in agreement. Coach was right. I could remember the seniors from when I was a freshman; I don't think they were ever locked in. That's probably why the team had earned a rather sad record of 7-22.

"You got it coach. No problem." I confirmed back to him.

With a pat on the back of my head, Coach sent me on my way. We both knew I wouldn't make that error again.

I left practice and headed back for my apartment. Upon arriving at my door, I made the wonderful discovery that the scrumptious scent sneaking through the halls was coming from inside MY apartment. When this happened, it wasn't ALWAYS a promise of a meal, but it usually meant there was at least a snack inside, if not dinner.

I swung open the door to find my roommate Max peering down into a pot on the stove. Jackpot!

"Yo!" I extended my customary greeting.

"Yo." Max returned it.

I couldn't help myself.

"Smells good!" I said, with a slightly wishful tone.

"Yeah, I don't know," Max answered, his face quizzical as he kept his eyes glued to the pot, "I'm not sure about this one."

"You ALWAYS say that," I quipped back, sitting down at the kitchen table, "and it's ALWAYS good."

Max lifted his eyes away from the stove long enough for me to see that he was rolling his eyes at me.

"Crew, for one, we both know that's not true, and for two, there's obviously going to be enough for you to have some."

I attempted to gasp as if I was appalled by his assumption.

"I wasn't trying to mooch your food! How could you insinuate such a thing?" I challenged back, trying not to laugh as the words left my mouth.

Max turned away from the stove to face me.

"Okay All-Conference," he started, pretending to be annoyed as he folded his arms, "what are YOU making for dinner?"

"Well," I began, stalling for time, "I was just running through options in my head."

"Is that right?" Max answered with a sarcastically raised eyebrow, "I wouldn't think it would take that long to run through the choices of ground beef or eggs."

"Wowwwww......." I groaned back, feigning hurt feelings. I was always tickled by all of his attitude, but I wanted to guilt him into insisting that I eat the food he made. It didn't work.

"I'm sorry," he began as if to apologize, "ground beef, eggs, OR cereal."

His eyes were lowered, a cheeky grin at the corners of his lips. He was trying to see if he had been able to tactfully slip under my skin or not. I just shook my head, unable to conceal the fact that I thought the whole thing was funny. And how could I be mad? He wasn't wrong.

I jumped up from the table to go take a quick shower before we ate. While the water warmed, I reflected on how glad I was to have kept Max as a roommate. He was like my own little housewife sometimes!

I met Max as a freshman when I had been erroneously placed into one of the general student body dorms. I was supposed to live with the other athletes, but due to an overbooking, I was bumped back to the regular dorms. Max ended up being my assigned roommate and well... I have to believe he was a far cry from what my roommate could have been.

For starters, the guy didn't have an athletic bone in his body (unless you counted his every-other-day attendance at a Pilates class as athleticism). A fashion design major, the only sport he showed even mild interest in was baseball (and I think that was just because he knew I was on the team and he was trying to be nice).

But even if he wasn't the average "bro", he WAS the ideal roommate. Quiet, but friendly. Clean. Always down to hang out, but never clingy if I had to go do stuff with the team. It was perfect.

In fact, it was so perfect that when the first school year ended, I had turned down a couple teammates' invitations to live together in order to stick with Max. I received some grief about that, but I didn't care. Why mess up a good situation?

After my shower, I returned to the kitchen and enjoyed a Mediterranean-inspired chicken and pasta dish by Max. As usual, it was delicious, and infinitely better than anything I would have prepared myself.

Later that evening after I had finished cleaning the dishes (as was customary when Max cooked for me), I went to stop by his door and thank him again for the food.

The door was cracked open, but I knocked anyway.

"Go for it." Max called out from inside. I pushed the door open.

"Hey, Thanks-Woah!" I was stopped in my tracks by the view I had stumbled upon.

Max was wearing a shimmery red dress, slumped over a desktop make up mirror. Granted, this wasn't THAT unusual. I had seen Max in a dress on a few occasions prior. It seemed like once every few months he had slipped on a piece of clothing he was working on for school, either to check on how something fit or how it felt to wear. I was primarily shocked by the extent of the transformation he had undergone in the 20 minutes since I had seen him in the kitchen.

He turned to look at me. It looked like he was in the middle of putting make-up on, which was something I had never seen him do before.

"Oh, right, sorry..." he muttered, "the models walk on Friday and the first attempt my cosmetics girl made today was atrocious. I'm trying to figure it out myself."

"Nah, you're good..." I replied awkwardly, having a hard time making eye contact. The dress wasn't that weird, but the make-up made me feel uneasy. He looked... like a girl.

"I just was gonna say thanks for dinner." I blurted out, remembering why I was there.

"Anytime. Thanks for doing the dishes." Max replied nonchalantly.

Normally I would stay there and shoot the shit for a second, but I was a bit out of sorts seeing Max like that. I'd seen him model his homework before, but it was always crude and casual. This seemed more like he was getting ready for a date.

And even if that were the case, I wouldn't have any issue with it. I always assumed there was some chance Max was gay, but I didn't actually know that. Male fashion designers weren't exactly notorious for their heterosexuality. But I never really knew if he was, and part of me thought it would be weird to ask. Plus, I'd never heard him talk about being attracted to girls OR guys, so I just kind of... didn't think about it. He did wear some feminine stuff now and then, but he always seemed so confident walking around in it, I just figured it was a "fashion thing" and I didn't understand.

Max noticed me lingering in his doorway like a shy ghost.

"You need something dude?" He asked, his eyes peering up from under the mascara he was applying.

"No, sorry." I stammered out before stepping back to leave.

"Wait!" He called after me. I poked my head back in.

"Tell me what you think!" He half-insisted, now standing at his desk with his hands reaching stiffly down his sides.

The dress was impressive. I knew this was a project he was working on, but I didn't really understand it when Max talked about it. Now seeing it in front of me, I could understand what he meant when he said it was complicated.

A sparkly, strapless knee-length dress with fuzzy fringe above the chest line, it looked like it was made for Sabrina Carpenter's attendance at a movie premier.

Despite Max being as stiff as a mannequin, he wore it well. He was a slender dude, and it seemed to show off his long shaved legs.

"Honestly dude, you look amazing." I blubbered out, not knowing how to offer constructive criticism about fashion.

Max blushed slightly before responding.

"Okay, kind of GAY, but thank you. I meant the DRESS." He teased.

"That's what I meant! You know what I mean!" I insisted, feeling embarrassed. "You're the one standing there in a dress and make up. Seems a lot gayer if you ask me." I insisted, defensively.

Max threw his hands up in the air like he was an innocent bystander.

"Hey, I'm just doing my homework. You're the one who thought I looked 'amazing'" Max smirked as he winked at me.

I shook my head. Max was always pushing my buttons. The other guys on the baseball team could talk as much shit as they wanted and I was totally unphased. But with Max, he could make me feel all goofed up, even over stupid little shit like this.

I couldn't help but just stop and stare him down. That shit eating grin pointed back at me, he looked just like a girl with that stupid pixie cut he got a month ago. I wanted to wipe that smile off his face like my life depended on it, but I didn't have anything clever to reply. I couldn't think of anything to say at all, actually.

Max freed me from my mental paralysis.

"Well, regardless of your gayness, THANK YOU for the compliment. I'm pretty happy with how the dress has turned out. I'm sure it'll look even better on the model." He said softly and humbly before sitting back down and turning back to his desk.

I figured I ought to make my exit now that the opportunity had presented itself.

As I left the room, I asked him-

"Do you want your door open or closed?"

"Closed is fine, thanks." He answered.

So I closed it.

**********************************************************

When Crew closed the door, I felt like I was going to puke.

"Max," I whispered to myself, "You have to chill dude. Obviously, he meant the dress looked great. You didn't have to make it so awkward."

My face fell down into my hands as I let out the breath I had been holding since Crew entered the room. I was smudging the make-up I had just painstakingly applied, but I didn't care. Procuring sufficient oxygen felt more important at that particular moment.

I knew I was trying to catch Crew's eye, but sometimes it felt like I was shouting at him through a megaphone.

Ever since Crew and I first began living together, I had always admired him. Crew was the quintessential "cool" guy. Above average height, an athlete, kind to every person he met. He was the guy that every guy wanted to be (including me!). But I was no Crew. I was nothing like him. An interior design major who felt insecure in the weight room and only knew how to talk to a girl within the context of fashion. Crew could get any girl he ever wanted; sometimes it felt like I couldn't attract the last girl on earth.

It's not that I was necessarily trying to court girls. I didn't spend much time in life trying to court anybody for that matter. I had always preferred to keep to myself. Designing clothes had provided me a voice, even if it was in something of an unorthodox place. That was always more than enough for me.

Crew was a star though. An all-conference player for now the second year in a row. The everyday starting short-stop that hit a very respectable.355 batting average with a dozen home runs each year. Just about anybody knew who Crew was. Nearly every girl in my design program had asked me to set them up with him. The first time it happened, thinking I was being a good wingman, I had gone to Crew to let him know they were interested. He shut it down from the beginning-

"Max, if any girl bothers you about wanting to talk to me, just tell them they can come find me after a game or something if they're that interested. It's not your job to play matchmaker for them."

Some of them did. But most of them didn't. And I had always appreciated that Crew was looking out for me, even for little things like that.

You might think I would be jealous of Crew, but I never was. I was just grateful to be his friend.

Then something changed at the start of our junior year. I remember sitting together on the couch on a fall evening, watching a college football game. He had been busy is on his phone, presumably texting some girl, his face getting more and more scrunched with each message sent and received. I tried my best to stay out of his girl-drama, but even a deaf possum would have known something was bothering him.

"Bro, I'm so sick of this shit," Crew grumbled, "This girl Audrey is pissed because I told her I can't go to a bonfire with her tomorrow night because I'm going to a hitting clinic. She's like, 'You don't even want to spend time with me', and it's like, 'We just met like last month, I've got stuff to do.'" He rambled on while I pretended to understand what was happening in the game in front of us.

Crew continued.

"I realize the girls want us to go do stuff with them, but I don't have infinite free time. If she wanted to hang out, why not right now? I can't just drop everything for when it's convenient for her."

I remembered looking at Crew, clearly drained from his efforts to satisfy the whims of a female, and thinking to myself,

"She should be grateful you're paying her any mind at all."

I suppose that was easy for me to say. I was able to see Crew every day. But I couldn't help but feel like I understood Crew better than any of those girls could. I could be the perfect girlfriend for Crew if I wanted to.

And in that moment, it dawned on me that I DID kind of want to.

I mean, maybe I wasn't really capable of being the PERFECT girl for Crew. I wasn't exactly a blonde with nice tits (which seemed like a regular favorite of Crew's). But Crew never seemed to keep those girls around very long either. He was always put off by their ditziness.

No, Crew needed someone who was smart and cute. Kind and caring. Someone who could be there for him, but also stay out of his way.

I was lost in that reflective thought exercise when I realized Crew had asked me something.

"Earth to Max, are you still with us?" Crew called out, covering his mouth with cupped hands to imitate a radio call.

"Yeah, sorry! Haha!" I laughed anxiously, wondering if Crew had been reading my thoughts for the last 20 seconds, "Did you ask me something?"

"Nope!" He smiled and shook his head, "You just looked like you were in a trance. I was worried I bored you into a coma talking about Audrey."

"Oh, no, you're good." I said, relieved that it seemed as though I hadn't been unconsciously thinking aloud after all.

"I actually think I might just take a break from the girls, you know? Take the year to focus on baseball, do good in school. I don't know. Is that crazy?" Crew pondered aloud.

As inconspicuously as I could manage, I replied:

"No, that's not crazy."

Even though I adored Crew, I was doubtful of his ability to follow through on such a thing. It was not his fault; he had women throwing themselves at him all the time. And as an athletic guy coming up on his 21st birthday, I wasn't even sure the testosterone surging through his body would permit such behavior anyway. But it was a noble idea.

Not much changed in the Crew lifestyle following that conversation. Girls came and went throughout the rest of the fall. But at the start of baseball season, one girl came into Crew's life who proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back.

Crew had been talking with a girl named Jessica for about a month when his season began. The team was going South for a 3-game series with Florida Gulf Coast, and I had been in the kitchen when Crew left for those games. He was on the phone with Jessica, and I could tell she was whining at him about something. He couldn't wait to get off the phone.

I don't know what was going on between the two of them, but I do know that while the team was in Florida, Crew had gone 1/12 at the plate and made a bad error that hurt the team in one of their games.

Crew was due back late Sunday night, and about half an hour before I was expecting him, there was a knock at the door. We didn't get many visitors out of the blue, so I tentatively went to answer it.

Standing on the other side was Jessica, a frown on her face, and both hands on her hips.

"Hey Max, is Crew back yet?" She asked impatiently.

"Uhh... no..." I answered, a knot in my gut, "I'm not sure when he'll be back."

"Do you mind if I hang out here until he gets back?" She asked as she walked past me to take a seat on the couch in the living room.

I stood still at the doorway. I didn't really care if Jessica was there; I just knew she was making a TERRIBLE decision.

I turned to look at her, putting my palms together in a praying position up near my lips.

"Jessica, have you... told Crew that you're here?" I asked, hoping that somehow this was a better situation than it seemed.

"He won't answer his phone, so I don't know if he knows that I'm here or not," She complained, "he hasn't responded to any of his texts all day. I guess his phone is broken."

I knew THAT wasn't the case because he'd sent me a reel on Instagram about an hour ago.

"Jessica, maybe you should just wait it out until he texts you back... I know he gets pretty locked in on his game days." I told her, trying to politely plead with her to leave.

"That's the thing Max. He's TOO locked in. All he wants to worry about is baseball. He needs to grow up." She insisted.

"Oh boy," I thought to myself as I scratched the back of my head. I ended up telling her that she could hang out for as long as she wanted but that I was going to be in my room. She was already looking at her phone on the couch, so I'm not certain she even knew that I left.

In the privacy of my room, I texted Crew.

Me: "Dude. Jessica is here."

Crew: "Are you serious? Did she just get there?"

Me: "Yeah. She says you're not texting her back."

Crew: "Yeah, I'm not. She's being a pyscho. Get her to leave lol"

Me: "I tried. She's chained herself to the couch."

Crew: "Mmmm. Kinky. I'll be home in 15. Get your popcorn ready, might be UGLY"

I chose to skip the show, but I could hear the murmurs of it through the wall. It didn't last too long, because no more than ten minutes after Crew had walked through the apartment door was he standing under the doorframe of my room.

"How did it go?" I asked as he took his standard leaning position against the frame.

"The baseball or THAT?" He questioned, "Doesn't matter. Either way, not good."

"Ahh..." I replied, figuring that would be the response.

"Jessica was bitching at me before I left because I was going to be gone all weekend. And then she wanted me to make it up to her when I got back and I told her that I couldn't promise that either. I had 8 texts from her after the game today, like I'm supposed to have my phone in my back pocket when I'm in the field!" He cried, spilling his exasperation into my bedroom. I sat quietly and listened as Crew kept going.

"They don't get it bro. None of them. No more girls, the rest of baseball season. That's all I'm focusing on right now. I can't take the nonsense anymore." He said solemnly, but sternly.

I looked up at Crew from my phone. He looked tired. I'm sure some of that was from his travels, but I could tell the emotional toll was there too. He seemed far more sincere in that moment than he had when he contemplated abstaining from females last Fall.

"Well," I started softly, "Would it help you if I complained about not spending enough time together? You know, so you don't have withdrawals from that?"

Crew jokingly banged his head against the door and laughed.

"Yeah, that would be great. Maybe you could complain about the dates not being thoughtful enough too." He teased back.

"Oh, that'll be easy," I assured him, "Pretty sure the most elaborate 'date' you've taken me on has been walking with me to pick up a Papa John's pizza that I PAID for."

"See, you're already a pro." He said with a wink.

We talked a bit more about his trip before he headed off to take a shower. I was already prepared to go to bed, so I turned off the light and laid in bed thinking about what was to come.

"If Crew is serious about taking a break from girls, then who knows..." I thought to myself, "Maybe he'll get desperate."

But it was me who became desperate over the following weeks, not Crew.

With females out of the picture, Crew became immersed in his role on the baseball team. He took his diet more seriously and he skipped the nights out. He arrived to practices early and left them late. It seemed like his phone was far quieter than it used to be and I hadn't seen a girl at the apartment since that night. It was like a switch had flipped in him.

The results on the field came shortly thereafter. During the middle weeks of the season, he went on a ferocious hitting streak that drew national attention. The team won 8 games in a row. There was some talk that he might even be an All-American at the end of the year. He acted like he didn't hear all the noise, but how could he not? Crew knew what it looked like to be a great player. There was no way he could fully ignore all the hype around him.

With his success, my infatuation grew. I began to track his practice and game schedules, trying to think of ways I could be helpful to him as he went about his work. I might leave out a PB&J on the counter for him if I knew he was going to have a tight turn-around between class and practice. Or I might make sure that I'd have extra food left-over for him on nights when they played home-games. I watched games on TV whenever I could so that I could offer small compliments when the opportunity presented itself. He thanked me for each and every act of service, but it didn't feel like our relationship was anything more than close friends. And why would it? Crew wasn't gay.

He still found ways to make my heart flutter though.

Before another road trip for the baseball team, I had found a recipe for homemade energy/protein bites that apparently tasted better than anything you could find in the stores. I baked a dozen the night before he left and sent those along with him for the series. In the top of the 9th in the rubber game of the series, Crew had come up with the bases loaded and his team down a pair of runs. He ripped a double off the right-center wall, clearing the bases, putting his team up a run. They kept the lead in the bottom half of the inning and won the series.

Due to his late game heroics, Crew was interviewed after the game and he gave me a shout-out.

The interviewer asked-

"Crew, great job on the clutch hitting in the top of the 9th. How did you find the mental fortitude to come through in that moment?"

Crew replied,

"You know, a lot of it comes down to trusting your mechanics and not making the moment bigger than it needs to be. But I also had just eaten one of these protein balls that my roommate made for me and I think that had me dialed in too. Max, if you're watching this, shoutout to you bro. Those things are the fucking bomb."

Crew then spent the next minute of the interview apologizing for the dropping the f-bomb on campus television. I was over the moon that I had been able to contribute in such a silly little way.

But I realized I was still just a bro to Crew, and I would need to take a more drastic action to move in his direction. I opted for a fairly daring change in my appearance: I went ahead and found a beautician to give me a pixie cut with blonde highlights. As someone who typically kept a rather low-key appearance, it was horribly uncomfortable. Walking through campus, I felt like I was screaming, "I'm GAY!" to every person who walked by, but it seemed like my best option for a path to appear more feminine (and hopefully more attractive to Crew).

I don't think Crew even noticed.

Feeling like I needed to raise the bar even higher, I began to wear leggings around the apartment on the days I went to Pilates. As a guy who was 5'9" and 145 lbs, I wasn't exactly a curvy person, but I did have something of a butt. I thought that maybe some shape would catch his eye.

And it did get some attention. Just not quite how I hoped that it would.

I had been standing in the kitchen preparing dinner for Crew, feeling a bit risqué as I stood there in my new Lulu Lemon leggings and a crop top. It seemed like this was about as much as I could do without just saying to Crew, "Hey, I'm trying to look feminine for you since I know you like girls, I hope you like it."

Unfortunately, I was doing this on a night when Crew would walk in the door with a guest. One of his teammates had tagged along because they had a school project to work on together. In a split second I had gone from anxiously optimistic to catch Crew's eye with my body to horrified that I was going to be exposed for throwing myself at my roommate.

"Hey Max..." Crew had said with a raised eyebrow as he walked in the door, "I'm sorry if this is a surprise... my buddy Anders is here to work on a project together."

Anders stood formidably in the doorway; a couple inches taller than Crew and maybe 30 lbs heavier. He was of mixed complexion with short brown hair. His eyes flicked back and forth between the plates on the counter and me. It was hard for me to discern which was of greater concern for him.

"Uh.. no! Of course not..." I stammered out, now feeling awkward that I had prepared this meal for Crew, "do you guys want some dinner? I have some extra."

I tried to make it sound like it was a happy coincidence, but the glasses, silverware, and plates that were already neatly set out made that seem unlikely.

Crew looked at Anders who shrugged his shoulders and said, "Sounds good to me."

"Okay, great!" I clasped my hands together, now dreading the fact that I would need to turn my back to them to plate the food. I clumsily tried to pull my shirt down over my butt, failing terribly as the material was never intended to reach much beyond my mid-section. I worked as quickly as I could to put their food together and deliver it to them at the kitchen table.

As I sat Anders' food down in front of him, he said across the table to Crew,

"I get it now bro. If I had THIS..." He started, waving his hand at the food and then at me, "I wouldn't do anything else either."

Crew smiled and said, "I'm telling you bro. It's a good gig. Thanks Max."

I felt like my cheeks were on fire, and I quickly scampered back into the kitchen to get myself a plate before heading off to my room.

As I began to head to the hallway and go to my room, Crew yelled at me,

"Max! Where are you going? Come eat with us!"

"Oh no, I have some work I have to do, sorry." I said, blatantly lying, just wanting to be back in my own room in some less attention-seeking attire.

"Yo Max!" Anders called after me, taking his first glance away from his plate since it was placed in front of him, "Why are you so caked up bro?"

I was stunned.

"What the fuck is wrong with you bro?" Crew barked at Anders, smacking his arm from across the table.

"It's JUST a question! He's out here with all that ass, making YOU dinner. I'm trying to find where I can find myself a Max. I mean, I'd prefer a girl-Max... no offense Max." Anders said, turning to me, as he tried to justify his assessment of my role in the home.

Crew looked like he was about to fight Anders, but I figured answering the question would be the easiest route out of the situation.

"Haha well... uhh... you could try my Pilates class? Those girls have nice butts... I don't know if they can cook though." I answered meekly.

"Mmmm that makes sense. THANK YOU MAX!" Anders said loudly, his eyes peering over at Crew who was shaking his head in disgust at Anders. I slipped out of the room.

After I left, I could hear the shushed conversation continue through the wall.

Crew: "Why would you say something like that?"

Anders: "BAH. Give me a break. Be real with me: You hit that?"

Crew: "Are you for real right now? NO. It's not like that."

Anders: "'Not like that'? Are you blind bro? It IS like that. Ain't nobody out here in their yoga pants cooking dinner for guys unless they're trying to get dicked down."

Crew: "Nah, you don't understand; I've known him since freshman year. He's a bro... he's just not a bro like how we're bros."

Anders: "You mean how he wants you in that ass and I don't?"

Crew said something too quiet for me to hear and Anders let out a big laugh. Then it sounded like they started talking about something else.

When Crew knocked on my door a couple hours later, I had returned to the comfort and safety of a normal sized t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Hey man," Crew started to speak, sounding like he was worried, "I'm really sorry about Anders saying all that stuff. It was way out of line."

I put my hand up to wave him off.

"It's all good dude. He was just joking around." I replied from my spot on the bed, wishing the whole thing could be swept away.

"I think he was just salty because you look better in leggings than his ex did." Crew continued with a smirk while raising his eyebrows at me.

I turned my head away to try to hide the growing tomatoes on my face.

"Why were you looking?" I asked, trying to turn the tables. Crew was unbothered.

"Why was I looking? I walked in the room and there was a round ass looking at ME. Quite frankly, it would have been rude to ignore it." He explained indifferently.

"Oh what-ever" I scoffed and rolled my eyes. The dude had a line for EVERYTHING.

It almost felt like Crew was flirting with me, but I reminded myself that was wishful thinking. I had seen many females fall for the same trap. Crew was inevitably flirtatious; it didn't mean he was interested.

After that night, I decided I would tone down the outfits for a little bit. As much as I had appreciated Crew complimenting my ass, I didn't want him to think it had gone to my head.

So, TONIGHT, when he knocked on my door and I happened to be inside wearing a red dress, I hadn't been trying to make a move on Crew. Honest!

But I wasn't going to let an opportunity go to waste either.

And when he left my room with the door closed behind him, I took the moment to catch my breath and think.

Yes, I was terrified of coming on too strong and scaring Crew away for good. But Crew wasn't acting like he was on the brink of being scared away. Sure, I could brush off the compliment on my ass in the yoga pants as a joke. Telling me I looked amazing in the dress though? Even if he mis-spoke and WAS referring to the dress, I could tell he was genuine. I didn't think he was bullshitting me; he had meant what he said.

Did that mean he wanted to lift the dress up and bend me over? Probably not. But I couldn't exactly rule that out entirely either.

One way or another, I wanted to know more.

I pulled my hands away from my face and looked up at myself in the small table-top mirror resting on my desk. My hands had smudged things slightly, but the makeup was still largely intact. With a little bit of TLC, I could have it back where it needed to be.

I spent the next half hour repairing and finishing my make-up while thinking of an excuse to re-enter Crew's room. It's not like I could just go in there and ask him if he was attracted to me; that would be insane. I really didn't think Crew was gay. He MIGHT be bi-curious. And even if he was bi-curious, I doubted very seriously that he would be overly comfortable having that discussion out of the blue.

No. I needed to try to flush it out of him naturally. How was I going to do that? As I left my room to knock on his door, I still wasn't sure.

On my way, I popped into the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror. I looked very feminine, but there was no doubting that I was a guy. The make-up softened my face, but it didn't change my bone structure. My complete lack of breasts was somewhat hidden by the fringe of the dress, but that didn't actually offer my body any curve. For what I was, I looked pretty good. But compared to what Crew was accustomed to, I was in a different part of the spectrum.

I stopped outside his door to think. Why did I need to talk to him? I didn't really need his help with anything. I didn't have any plans to invite him too. I really should have figured this out before I walked down to his room...

10 seconds went by...

20 seconds...

26 seconds...

Crew swung the door open, revealing himself in nothing but his boxers. I jumped back, letting out a surprised yelp. Crew jumped back too.

"JEEZ, Max?!" He barked, startled but laughing, "What's the matter with you? And why are you still dressed like that?" He asked, looking me up and down again as he had before in my room.

"Sorry! Sorry..." I choked out, my mind running a mile a minute, "I just wanted to come ask you if there was anything I could do for you in advance of your big week coming up."

"Do for me?" Crew asked, confused.

"Yeah," my mind somehow had sorted out a reasonable thought, "I know you have your playoffs coming up. My big project is about done. I just thought I would see if I could help you out around the apartment at all."

"Were you just going to wait until I opened the door to ask??" He joked, still surprised to have found me just outside his door.

"No! I just... I don't know. I was kind of second guessing myself, I didn't know if that was weird to offer." I explained, grateful that my mind had created a sensible story to defend myself in such a short time.

"Haha alright," Crew accepted, now stepping out through the doorway to be closer to me. We were only a few inches apart standing in the hallway together. His bare chest was just barely out of reach of the fringe from the dress.

"First of all, that's not weird. It's really nice of you to offer to do that. But the only thing I can think of is if you would be down to make us a couple more dinners like you have been. I really appreciate getting to have those." He advised, looking down into my eyes from just in front of me.

Crew continued, speaking in almost a whisper.

"You know. I used to have this nightmare that I would leave the apartment and some stalker girl would be outside my door waiting to kill me. Turns out the stalker girl that I needed to worry about outside my door was living with me all along."

He looked down at me with a big grin on his face like he thought he was the funniest guy in the world. His lips were hovering just a few inches above mine, it was all I could do not to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. But it felt like that was a mistake to be made; I had to keep playing the game.

"Yeah, well..." I spoke back softly, "You had better be nice to me or you never know what might happen." I gave him a bat of my primped eyelashes with the friendly warning.

"Is that right?" Crew leaned into it, "Are you gonna kill me?"

"Even worse," I replied, "I'll go be Anders' roommate!"

"YOU WOULDN'T DARE!" Crew stood tall and leaned back, appalled by the claim.

I shrugged my shoulders playfully and turned to walk away. Turning back over my shoulder, I said-

"I don't know. He seemed pretty jealous. Although, Anders might be more interested in having dinner AND dessert, you know what I mean?"

I stopped and looked back at Crew. He was dumbstruck, which was unusual. He always had some sly reply for anything that came his way. But it was like I had broken his brain. He just stared with his mouth open. Tickled with the tension in the room, I couldn't help myself,

"Crew, you know, you can ask for dessert too, right?"

And with a smile, I slipped back into my room and closed the door.

**********************************************************

"Crew! What are you doing?! Wake up!" Coach Swearingen screamed from the infield grass.

Fuck me. Again?!

I stood there like an idiot, 5 steps away from 2nd base. I had lost track of how many outs we had and gone jogging around 3rd base headed for home on a lazy fly ball to center field that would almost surely be caught. This would be customary behavior if there were already two outs, but at the start of the play there was only one. And now, thanks to me, there were three.

Coach Swearingen let me hear it as I trotted back to the dugout.

"Twice in two days Donaldson! We just talked about this. That shit will get us sent home tomorrow night." He screeched as I went by.

Every player on the field could sense the angst across the diamond as I trotted away. Coach really wasn't one to yell, and he REALLY wasn't one to yell at me or any of the other upperclassmen. The intensity had clearly been ratcheted up.

My brain was a bowl of scrambled eggs.

I hadn't slept worth a shit the night before after Max had come by room in that stupid dress. I felt like an idiot for not realizing sooner that he was gay. And now it seemed apparent that he was into me, which was going to make things totally awkward.

I mean, I loved Max, don't get me wrong. He was an amazing roommate and a great friend. I had always thought it was impressive that he did so well with his design stuff. And to his credit, he looked pretty cute all dressed up. I had always had a soft spot for girls with short hair after all.

But I never once looked at my teammates or any other guys for that matter and felt like I was attracted to them. So, I was pretty confident I wasn't gay.

And I didn't want to lead Max on.

Max was always looking for ways to make my life a bit easier. I always just thought it was because he was a really nice guy. But if he was doing that to try to act like a boyfriend or something... it just didn't feel right. I didn't have any way to reciprocate those things, so it felt like I was taking advantage of him.

Prior to being thrown out at 2nd base like a 9-year-old who didn't know the rules, I had been mulling it over in my head how to talk to Max about everything. Sorting that out felt like a top priority at the moment.

When practice ended, I made a quick exit to try to avoid any further berating from Coach. As soon as I had things right with Max, I would be back to normal.

Upon arriving home, I opened the door of the apartment to find Max sitting on the couch with his legs crossed underneath him, his laptop resting in his lap. The big t-shirt he was wearing made it look like he wasn't even wearing pants, but I could see the edge of a pair of biker shorts just hardly creeping out from underneath. Max was wearing glasses, which was a little odd because I had only seen him wear glasses to sew.

Without looking up from the screen, he called over to me.

"I was just about to start cooking. How do teriyaki beef bowls sound? This recipe on Pinterest gets 4.9 stars."

"Uh.." I mumbled aloud in the kitchen, feeling like I should talk to him before he offered any more free labor, "I think I'm okay... well-"

Shit. Teriyaki beef sounded pretty good. Maybe the talk could wait?

No. I had to get it done.

"Can we talk for a second?" I asked him awkwardly.

Max looked up from the computer with concern on his face. He flicked off the glasses and closed the computer. I'm sure he knew something was up; I'd never asked him to talk in my life.

"What's up?" He asked worriedly.

I plopped down on the couch next to him and let out a sigh I had been holding in all day.

Before I could pick a starting sentence, Max spoke:

"If this is about last night, I'm really sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I think I was just all excited about the dress and got a little carried away." There was urgency in his voice.

I paused and considered what he said. It's not like he did anything out of line... it was just surprising. And I was more worried about sending the wrong message in response than anything else.

"No, it's not that," I answered eventually, "It's just, Max, you're a great roommate. A great friend. But like... you don't have to do all this stuff for me to be a great roommate or friend. You can just... be you, and we can hang out. Or like, I know it's not really your scene, but you could come to one of my games sometime."

When I finished speaking, I turned to look at him. He had been looking at me as I talked, but looked away when I returned his gaze. I could see the gears rotating in his mind, his eyes were soft.

As the silence lingered, my stress rose. I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I tried again.

"It's not that I'm not grateful for everything you do, because I absolutely am. I just feel bad sometimes because you do all this stuff for me and I don't feel like I do anything for you."

Max glanced at me and then gave his head a small shake.

"Do you remember last year when those girls were over and they were trying on that shirt and those pants I had been working on?" He asked me.

How could I forget that? It was probably the most angry I had been over something unrelated to baseball I could remember.

"Yeah, of course," I confirmed, "that was so dumb."

"Sure, it was dumb," Max agreed, "but you had my back. You could have taken their side and told me not to worry about it. But before I had even come into the room, you were already telling them to cut it out."

"Well yeah. I didn't want them to mess up what you were working on." I replied, "I would have been sick if they messed up your thing."

"And remember what they said?" Max asked me, knowing fully well that I knew what they said.

When I told the girls to take off the clothes, Max had just entered the room, and they said "Oh your little boyfriend will be fine."

To which I had told both of them to "Take off the clothes and fuck off."

I ultimately just nodded at Max. I knew what he meant.

"That's what YOU do Crew. You always have my back. In front of your friends, in front of girls, even in front of your parents when they visited in the fall. You always say nice things about me to anyone who will listen. And you don't have to do that, but you do. It means a lot to me." Max explained.

I looked at Max who was now looking at me again with his emerald-green eyes. I had never thought about it like that before. I never bragged about Max because I felt like it was what I was supposed to do; I did that because I wanted to. I was always impressed with his design work (even if I didn't know the first thing about design), and I loved his cooking. It felt only natural that I let everybody know when the opportunities presented themselves.

After a pause, Max kept going-

"You don't need ME to have your back for you, because you're what? A 6'1" star baseball player? 185 lbs? Who's going to talk shit to you? Nobody!" He laughed as he said it, "And you don't need ME to shower you with compliments, because the whole world is already in love with you. So, the cooking, trying to clean a little extra around the apartment, this is how I can try to return the favor. I'm happy to do it."

I sat there and bounced that around my head for a second. I guess it made sense. Max was probably right; there weren't going to be a lot of scenarios where he would need to stand up for me. But I guess this was just a different way for him to show his support like I tried to do for him.

Max was usually good for a pinch of snark when he spoke to me. It felt weird to hear him speak so kindly of me without any catch on the end of it. I felt sheepish.

I restored balance to the universe with some douchebaggery.

"I am pretty great, aren't I?" I said smugly, leaning back on the couch with my arms over my head.

Max rolled his eyes.

"Maybe I SHOULD come to your games and then I could boo you cause your head is so big?" He taunted.

That's more what I was used to.

"You could do that. If we win tomorrow night, then the Regional Final is next Friday night. You could even bring a sign with my face on it to demonstrate how big my head is." I invited.

"See, if I did that, it would probably just stroke your ego because all it would mean is there's another sign dedicated to you." Max scoffed back.

"Any publicity is good publicity," I winked, "now go cook for us. Teriyaki beef sounds amazing right now."

He stood up from the couch, exposing his full bottom half that was only covered by the pair of short biker shorts. Max looked back at me quickly enough to catch me glimpsing at his ass.

"Did you not just say I didn't have to cook for you anymore?" He quipped, pulling the oversized shirt down over himself.

"Yeah, but you convinced me it was okay." I replied.

Max stared at me, trying to think of something to witty say. Before he could come up with anyway, I raised my right hand to take a big swipe at his ass cheek. He saw it coming and with a yelp jumped out harm's way before trotting off to the kitchen to start dinner.

I bit my lip as he bounced away. Maybe I was a bit closer to Max than I thought.

****************************

"How can you not be romantic about baseball?"

I had heard Crew say this before. And I had heard it on the TV as well.

And both times I had thought to myself:

"How CAN you be romantic about baseball?"

Baseball was humid sunny days. Unkempt men chewing tobacco. Hot dogs dripping mustard onto forever stained team memorabilia.

Maybe other guys just had a different idea of romance.

In defense of baseball, I felt small butterflies in my chest getting ready to go to Crew's game. I didn't really care if our school won, I just hoped Crew did well. More so, I just didn't want him to be down on himself if things didn't work out. I always hated seeing him glum after a bad game.

I had watched many of Crew's games on TV, far more than I would ever admit to him. I knew he was a good two strike hitter. I knew he had a tendency of throwing balls in the dirt when trying to turn a double play.

But I had never seen Crew play in person. I always worried he would think that was weird.

It's foolish thinking, I know. But sometimes when you're infatuated with a person, you worry that even the simplest things might tip them off.

Tonight would be the first time I watched him play in person. I was nervous, and I wasn't the guy playing the game.

For one, deciding what to wear was a dreadful conundrum. As a fashion major, I could not get over the abysmal clothing options worn at sporting events.

Garish team colors and logos. Untailored t-shirts and team jerseys. Seemingly an exclusive mix of cargo and jean shorts. I hated all of it.

But another thing I despised in fashion were designers and models that felt like every moment called for sending the message that they're above everyone and every scene. Like, it's possible to have something look nice without crying for attention (try it sometime).

With team colors of teal and burnt orange, I didn't have much to work with, but I ended up with my own take on a supportive fan outfit. I had a pair of high-waisted flared linen pants I had been waiting to wear, and I paired them with a long sleeve teal button-up blouse. I brought it all together with a brush of mascara, a kiss of lip gloss, and a pair of hoop earrings just because they were fun.

I took much more pride in the clothing decisions I made for other people, so there were not many times where I got to assess a style decision I made for myself. Standing and twisting in front of the mirror, I thought I looked darn cute as a baseball fan.

I snapped a selfie to document the occasion. As I admired the photo, I realized that maybe I was doing exactly what I always complained about: Being unnecessarily "extra".

"Oh well," I thought to myself, "Not my fault I know what looks good."

I had told Crew that I would probably come to the championship game, but I couldn't promise. It was a complete lie because I was definitely going. But he didn't need to know that.

I decided I would send him the selfie to let him know I would be there.

"Can't believe you're getting me to go to a baseball game. Good luck tonight!" I messaged with the photo.

Looking at the clock, it was just over an hour before the first pitch. Crew probably wouldn't have his phone with him.

But he texted back.

"Make sure you sit far from the dugout. If Anders sees you looking like that, he'll be useless to us in the game."

And he liked the picture.

************************

Radio Station Identifier: "You're listening to YOUR Marion-Dixie Roadrunners baseball on 98.9, The Desert!"

Play-By-Play Commentator Josh Jones (JJ): "Good evening and welcome back to Tooney Field... if you're just joining us... you've missed quite a game."

Color Commentator Mike Bradley (MB): "Hell, the last hour alone has taken a year off my life!"

JJ: "It's been a heavy weight bout, but we knew it would be. We're headed into the bottom of the 9th in a one-run ball game that has been close since the first pitch. Mike, tell the fans how we got here."

MB: "Well, we were treated to a gem of a pitching duel between NCU's Joshua Kumala and our young phenom, Alex Gordon, who both took scoreless outings into the 6th inning. The nil-nil score was broken up by a 2-RBI double from Crew Donaldson in the bottom of the 6th. In the top of the 7th, NCU cracked back with a 3-run home run by an unlikely source, Jared Marquardt, who only had one homerun on the year coming into the game tonight-

JJ: "-A home run made possible by a VERY questionable Ball-Four call to the batter before him I might add."

MB: "That's true. Every replay we looked at seemed to confirm our suspicion that should have been strike three instead, but home plate umpire James Cuzzi said otherwise... in the bottom of the 8th, Hayden Simmers put the Roadrunners back on top with a two-run blast of his own. In the top of the 9th, the Roadrunners had the chance to put the game away for good, but a throwing error by Crew Donaldson turned a potential game-ending ground-out into two more runs for NCU, putting them up 5-4.

JJ: "Just a really unfortunate situation there. Crew made a great break on that ball, knew he had a fast runner in Steven Morgan at the plate, but just couldn't seem to get the ball out of his glove cleanly. The throw to Simmers at first was in the dirt and probably late anyway.

MB: "Yeah, you feel for Crew on that one. Just trying to make a play. And you can't help but feel like Simmers needs to find a way to smother that ball and keep the runner headed to third base from scoring. But he was trying to make a play too."

JJ: "You're exactly right... and that brings us to the bottom of the 9th at Tooney Field. It's the largest crowd the Roadrunners have had in 11 years, and the first time they've hosted a Regional Championship in 25 years. Every seat is accounted for, and nobody is sitting down."

MB: "The energy has been incredible. Hopefully these fans can find a way to get these guys to bounce back here!"

JJ: "We will see! It's now or never. Anders Washington is stepping up to the plate to lead things off, 1 for 3 on the night with a walk. He has one career appearance against the hard throwing closer for NCU, Jacob Towns, a fly out to left."

MB: "I think Anders will be aggressive here. He's never been a guy that lets a big moment scare him."

JJ: "You're right about that... here's the first pitch from Towns..."

WHACK!

JJ: "A great call by my partner! Washington lines this ball HARD into the right-center field gap. This ball is down and racing towards the wall. Anders Washington is on his horse, he's thinking three!"

MB: "Go Anders, Go! Look at the big man move!"

JJ: NCU Center-Fielder Connor Davidson tracks the ball down and hits his cut-off man. There's a throw to third, but it will be late! Anders slides into third as nothing more than a formality. The sold-out Tooney crowd roars!"

MB: "There we go!!! Ohhh, we needed that! There was no life in here after the top half of the inning. We are back baby!"

JJ: "We did need that. That was only Washington's 2nd triple on the year and it came at the perfect time. But we need to get him home. The energy in the stadium has changed dramatically in just one swing of the bat. It had felt like a vacuum in here while the teams changed sides.

MB: "You really can feel the momentum shift, can't you? Look at NCU pitcher Jacob Towns... he looks like he's been punched in the gut."

JJ: "I'm sure that woke him up... he probably doesn't take too many punches in the gut at 6'4", 240, does he?"

MB: "I wouldn't fight him! Haha!"

JJ: "With a runner on third and nobody out, Marion-Dixie 3rd baseman Ian Puig will take his turn at the plate. 0 for 4 on the night, this would be a great time to change that trend."

MB: "Anything hit hard to the outfield is good!"

Ball One

Strike One

Ball Two

Ting*

JJ: "Puig sends this one softly into shallow right, there's plenty of time for NCU second baseman Jared Marquardt to jog under it."

MB: "That's not going to do it. Way too shallow."

JJ: "Marquardt makes the catch in shallow right to retire Puig. Anders Washington sits tight at 3rd base. One out."

MB: "You hate to see that. But you have to love who's coming up next."

JJ: "It would be hard to pick anyone other than Marion-Dixie shortstop Crew Donaldson to come up in this situation... you just hope that he's not a little overzealous trying to make up for his error in the top half of the inning.

MB: "That's right! He just needs to stay within himself. 2 for 3 on the night with a walk, he made that great diving play in the 3rd inning... it's been a great night for Crew. He just needs to put the top half of the inning behind him and drive in Anders."

JJ: "The first pitch from Towns... is a 97 MPH fastball at the knees on the outside edge of the plate. A perfect pitch."

MB: "Yeah, Towns is looking sharp now. Almost like that hit by Washington got him focused. Not what you want to see if you're the Roadrunners."

JJ: "The 0-1 delivery... a sharp-breaking slider that snaps back to catch the inside of the plate, strike two."

MB: "Another great pitch. If you're Crew Donaldson, all you can do is tip your cap. You just saw heat on the outside edge of the plate, and out of the hand you had to think that slider was going to hit you in the shoulder. Nothing you can do with that one either."

JJ: "Do you think Towns tries the slider again or goes back to the fastball?"

MB: "Shoot.... I don't know. I'm sure Crew is having the same debate in his head right now. You can see he actually just tip-toed a bit closer to home-plate, almost like he's daring Towns to try to sneak that pitch in again."

JJ: "Yeah, sometimes you'll see guys do that to try to close off a pitch slot. Or they'll want to make sure they can cover the entire plate."

MB: "The energy in Tooney has shifted right back to anxious, hasn't it?"

JJ: "Oh yeah... If Donaldson can't get Washington in here, the momentum will be right back with NCU... Towns shakes off a sign... he shakes off another sign... now he has what he wants. With the only runner on third base, he works from the full wind-up and delivers."

PLUNK.

NCU Pitcher Jacob Towns, load enough for all to hear: "FUCK!"

JJ: "Crew Donaldson has just been hit squarely in the left shoulder by a 99 MPH fastball that got away from Towns! He'll go to first base!"

MB: "Looks like he's okay! A little shake of the head and he's quickly shedding his shin strap at home plate before running to first! The fans love it!"

JJ: "You can't help but wonder if Crew baited Towns into that. Looked like Towns was just trying to push him back off the plate, maybe to go back to the slider on the following pitch. We'll never know because that fastball caught the batter."

MB: "And now the winning run is on first base!"

JJ: "Yes he is. NCU is going to have a quick mound visit with Towns who is clearly disgusted with himself for letting that one get away."

MB: "Yeah, Towns knew he had the Roadrunners in a bad spot. Now it's like we're back to square one. Runners on first and third with one out, Roadrunners are down a run."

JJ: "The NCU pitching coach returns to the 3rd base dugout and in steps in Marcel Molina, a guy who has hit the ball hard each time tonight with little to show for it. Three line-outs and a ball that was caught at the wall, you have to feel like he's due."

MB: "I have to believe Towns will want to be careful here. If Marcel hits it anything like he has all night, that spells trouble."

JJ: "The first pitch from Towns-CREW DONALDSON BREAKS FOR SECOND!"

MB: "What a jump!"

JJ: "The pitch is a low and away slider, and there's going to be no-throw! Crew Donaldson was practically halfway to second base by the time Towns had that ball going towards home. There was no chance to throw him out. The Roadrunners have runners at second and third with only one out, down 5-4!"

MB: "Just great heads up baserunning there by Crew. He knows Towns is probably going to throw something off-speed, and he knows that he's going to be a little extra focused on the batter after the mound-visit. Finding ways to win ball games!"

JJ: "And now NCU is between a rock and hard place. Conventional wisdom would tell you to go ahead and intentionally walk Molina to load the bases since the run at the plate doesn't matter... but do you really want to bring up Simmers who hit a homerun in his last at bat?"

MB: "I wouldn't. Molina hasn't recorded a hit all night. I know he's hitting the ball hard, but I think you just have to hope the baseball Gods are against him if you're NCU right now."

Strike One. 1-1

Strike Two. 1-2.

Ball Two. 2-2.

SMACK.

JJ: "Marcel Molina rips one into left-center field! If this is down, the game is over! The NCU left fielder has it in his sights and... makes an unbelievable diving catch onto the warning track! Just an incredible play to save the game for NCU. Anders Washington will tag up and score easily from third."

MB: "LOOK AT DONALDSON! Run Crew! Run Crew!"

JJ: "Crew Donaldson never left from 2nd base! He tagged up on the fly ball as well and is rounding third. He's going to try to score! NCU gets the ball into the cut-off man in shallow left field. The relay man hurries the throw to home. We're going to have a play at the plate!"

MB: "It's gonna be close!"

JJ: "The ball will beat the runner there, but the throw is... HIGH! IT'S HIGH! It sails over the catcher's head! Crew Donaldson scores standing up after tagging up from 2nd base! The Roadrunners win! The Roadrunners win!"

MB: "UNBELIEVABLE! CREW DONALDSON, YOU ARE INSANE!!!"

JJ: "Donaldson is tackled by a hoard of his teammates near the first-base dugout. The fans at Tooney field are going bananas! Drinks are flying, the bleachers are shaking! The Marion-Dixie Roadrunners are Regional Champions for the first time in nearly two decades!!! How can you not be romantic about baseball?!"

*************************************************

"DONALDSON!" Coach Swearingen screamed at me, "You're an animal, you know that?!"

He wrapped his arm around my neck to throw me in a joyful headlock. It was nice to see Coach let loose after a couple tense weeks. We all knew there was still work to be done, but we had to celebrate this one.

The locker room was a champagne soaked mess. Various articles of clothing and equipment were strewn across the floor. I needed to figure out where my hat had gone; I had replaced it with a regional champion hat a while back.

As coach was about to begin his post game speech, I checked my phone. I had about 20 texts and a missed call from my dad. I'd call him back in a bit; I opened a text from Max.

He said:

"What a game. Congrats! I'm sure you have stuff with your teammates, but let me know if you want to grab a bite."

I took a big swig of the champagne in my right hand. If it didn't taste like victory, I would have told you it tasted awful. Instead, it was delicious.

The adrenaline from the game was still charging through my body. Looking around the locker room at my teammates listening to Coach Swearingen's comments, I felt like I was 10 feet tall. It was as if I wasn't ready to be done.

I wanted more drama.

I typed out a message to send to Max:

"How about dessert?"

And sent it.

"OOOOOHHHHHH!" I whistled at myself, dropping my phone on the floor like it was a grenade as the message left. I had to jump up from my seat by the locker and step away from my phone. Maybe that was little TOO much drama.

"Shit," I thought to myself, "that's probably not something I should joke about. I know Max was kind of joking the other night, but he might take it the wrong way."

I realized I could go back and unsend the message.

But I kind of didn't want to. I kind of wanted to see what Max said back. It was all in good fun, right?

By that point I had meandered to the opposite side of the room from my phone and so I resigned myself to stay put until Coach's speech was over. I already felt like I might seem to be acting weird; best not add fuel to the fire.

Coach's monologue was the longest four minutes of my life. Even the part where he dedicated a specific round of team cheers to my performance in the game felt too long. I was done celebrating the last game; I was already playing a new one.

After the speech finally concluded, I scurried back to my locker.

A text from Max (!)

Before I could open it, Anders came up and smacked me on the arm.

"Hey bro, we're going to Ian's and then to the bars. You coming?" He asked.

I opened the text from Max.

"Okay."

I let out a sigh and blew raspberries from my lips. He wasn't joking back, he was for real.

"Actually bro," I replied to Anders, looking up from my phone, "I'm pretty tired. My dad called, I'm gonna call him back and just head home."

"Alright man, talk tomorrow." Anders accepted, patting me on the back before he walked away. But then he stopped-

"You know, I saw your roommate after the game," he started, "He was dressed up for you."

"Nahh," I said, brushing it off, "he's just into fashion."

Anders looked at me, smiled and shook his head.

"You're a funny dude Crew. Have a good night."

And he walked away.

Calling my dad back on the drive home kept me from thinking too much about what I was heading home to. Dad always started the conversation by telling me I did a good job, but then it quickly turned into his personal assessment of the entire game.

"Alex Gordon sure is a tough kid. Swearingen should have let him finish the 7th."

"You need to tell your buddy Ian to spend less time in the bars and more time in the batting cage."

"Simmons has to find a way to knock down that ball in the 9th."

He was still rambling on when I got to my apartment door.

The most nerves I had felt all night greeted me at the entrance to the apartment. Some of the adventurousness I had felt right after the game had worn off. Suddenly this all seemed like it might be a terrible idea.

I could tell that the lights in the kitchen were off. Maybe Max had gone to bed? If that were the case, I didn't need my dad's retelling of the entire game I just participated in to wake Max up. If Max WAS in bed, I could just sneak in and we could laugh about it tomorrow.

I got off the phone and went inside. Max was not asleep.

Littered across the room, there must have been a hundred tea light candles lit. They were on the coffee table, the kitchen counter, even on the floor. You could practically feel their heat there were so many tiny flames.

I set my bag down on the ground gingerly as I admired it all.

"Kind of wild, right?" Max called out from the couch. I hadn't even noticed him there. "I thought I might set off the fire alarm but it seems like it's okay."

I looked over at Max in the flickering room.

Max was sitting on the couch looking over at me. He was wearing a royal blue strappy lingerie set. The only thing it covered completely was his dick and balls.

I took a big swallow. Max was indeed ready to offer "dessert".

I was torn. I still didn't really think I was gay. And this was undeniably gay. Even if Max was all dolled up.

But that was the problem. Max looked GOOD. Problematically good. There wasn't a single hair to be seen across his blemish free body. His cream-colored legs looked like something I would want to kiss (or bite).

Max popped up from the couch and took a step towards me. I could see it looked like he'd added a dash of eye shadow to his earlier look.

"You know," he started, "I appreciated you spiking that ball to first in the 9th inning. I thought it was sweet of you to make sure there was a little extra excitement the first time I came to watch."

He stopped and put his hand on his hip, standing now just a few feet away from me. He had that stupid wry grin on his face that he usually did when he thought he was being smart.

But this time, he wasn't just trying to get under my skin. No, this was a taunt. A dare. He was baiting me just like I had baited Jacob Towns to hit me with that pitch. There had been so many times where he had said some smart-ass remark and smirked at me and I couldn't come up with any way to respond to it.

Now there was something I could do.

I stepped towards Max. In the trembling candlelight, I could see a cocktail of uncertainty and excitement in his eyes. In the back of my mind, I wondered how long he had been waiting for this opportunity.

In the movies, this is where we shared some deep passionate kiss, finally reconciling our forbidden love for one another. But I wasn't feeling love; I was feeling a deep-rooted urge to fuck the attitude right out of this man.

I bent over, wrapping my arms around his slender legs, before hoisting him up over my shoulders. Max's hands latched on to the sides of my back to keep himself from tumbling over, and he held on as I turned to leave the room.

As I walked, I noticed his round, buttery ass, bouncing along next to my face, so I turned to give it a large bite with my teeth.

"HEYYY!?" Max cried out from behind my head.

"You're fine." I assured him, releasing my bite. With one nibble, I suddenly felt ravenous.

Leaving the kitchen with Max on my back, I was headed for my bedroom when I noticed the candle trail continued into Max's room. Peering inside, I could see the room was just as well it as the kitchen and living room had been.

"I see this is where I'm supposed to go..." I muttered, turning to take Max into his room. Throwing him down on his bed I asked, "Is this going how you planned it would?"

He smirked up at me, "Yeah, so far, you're exceeding expectations."

I yanked my t-shirt over my head and began unbuckling my belt and pants. I could see Max was watching me intently with a finger in his mouth. He was nibbling on a fingernail in anticipation.

With my shirt and pants off, I stood beside him on the bed for a moment. All that was left were my boxer-briefs that revealed the gradually growing outline of my cock. I wasn't fully erect, but it was well on its way to its standard 7 inches of length.

I looked down at Max's concealed penis and balls, a bulge that had seemed to grow since I'd first noticed it in the living room.

I had never slept with a man before, nor had I ever imagined myself in this scenario, so I was a bit lost on what to do. From my various experiences with women, I knew that foreplay was encouraged, so I figured I would try my hand at that.

Climbing onto the bed, I placed myself on my knees between Max's legs. His body tensed slightly as he looked down at me, trying to decide what I was going to do next.

"When you imagine this..." I began, as I pulled the material covering his penis and balls away, "is this what happens next?"

Max looked down at me with his eyes wide, clearly surprised that the first thing I had done was go to his own genitalia. He gave me a small shake of the head "no".

I looked down at his now revealed dick and testicles. His penis was somewhere between flaccid and hard, and like his balls, shaved perfectly smooth.

"Well. Here goes nothing." I thought to myself.

Opening my lips wide, I sealed myself around the entirety of his cock, beginning to massage the member with my tongue. Max's legs straightened and his hips thrust upward at the sudden attention he had received and a gasp of "Ohhh" slipped from his lips. I assumed that was a good sign.

As my tongue wrapped itself around him, I began to taste a bitter saltiness as precum began to drip from him. With his arousal, his penis grew, and eventually it was too much for me to keep entirely in my mouth. Pulling my lips away, I could see that it had extended to somewhere in the vicinity of 5-6 inches long. Not quite what I was working with myself, but nothing to be ashamed of either.

I began to glide over the head of his penis with my lips while stroking it with my right hand. Looking up to Max, his gaze was pointed towards the ceiling, likely in some sort of shocked state that the evening had gone the direction that it had. My own cock was starting to throb against the material of my underwear, and I was growing tired of the apparel restraining it.

I jumped up from the bed so I could slide the underwear off, revealing my fully erect penis. Max looked from my penis to my face, and back to my penis. Still laying on his back, he ran his fingers through his fair with a small smile on his face while letting out a soft whistle of admiration.

Seeing my own cock so filled and eager, I realized I could only take so much foreplay.

Getting back onto the bed, I grabbed Max by the waist and rolled him over onto his stomach.

Face to face with his round, perky bottom, I took a brief moment to appreciate the view. His ass was probably the biggest thing about him, although nothing about Max was very large. The cheeks were round and firm, hiding a nearly impossible to see asshole between them. I nearly ejaculated just imagining what it must feel like to have my cock squeezed into it.

I placed my hands on each of his ass cheeks, giving them a slight spread. Indeed, there was a pink, tiny, hairless hole, waiting for me. I could see Max gripping the pillow underneath his face, his chest rising and falling with a few deep breaths.

Diving for it face first, I gave the hole a long and determined lick, like the first swipe at an ice cream cone on a 100-degree day. The warm skin was inviting and almost tasted sweet, like it had been glazed in honey.

I continued my licks, combining passes around the hole with soft pushes inside. I could feel Max begin to relax as I worked to the point that it seemed as though he was pushing his ass back into my face. I certainly didn't mind; I wanted as much of it as I could get.

After a couple minutes of that, he stopped me:

"Hey," He said, looking over his shoulder, "I can't take it anymore. There's lube over on the desk. Please and thank you."

It took me a second to follow along, but then I realized what he was instructing me to do. Before I got up, I looked back at him to make sure we were on the same page. He had pressed himself up onto all fours, and I could see that there was a puddle of precum that had formed on the sheets beneath him.

He was ready.

With the lubricant collected, I began to slather my cock and his asshole in its slippery relief. I tried to work quickly as I could sense we were both growing impatient for the next part of this ritual.

Worried that I might hurt Max with my cock, I carefully pushed at his asshole with my forefinger in an effort to reach the lube inside of him. After an initial resistance, I entered without issue and was met with an incredible heat. The second finger came with a slight wince, but not a peep from my partner.

Everything and everyone was prepared. The scene was set. I stood on my knees behind Max who had remained on his hands and knees while his hole was prepped for my rod.

I lifted my cock to Max's ass. Seeing my penis next to his tight hole, it seemed an impossible fit. As badly as we both wanted to make this happen, I worried it might not be feasible.

I started to push my hips forward, providing the head of my cock some assistance as it tried to sneak into a space a fraction of its own size. At first, it seemed like it had run into a wall, but with some ginger wiggles between Max and myself, it seemed to be sneaking inside slightly.

Just as I went to pull myself away to add additional lube, Max shoved himself backwards.

"PLOP!"

I was in.

It felt as if someone had walked up and grabbed just the head of my dick in their first and gave it a squeeze. A warm, oily squeeze.

"Ohhhhh gosh...." Max let out an exasperated moan, no doubt feeling some of the repercussions from forcing my cock inside of him.

Looking down at my penis trapped in Max, it was all I could do not to grab his hips with both hands and pull him further onto me. The rest of my shaft was starting to feel left out.

After a few more breaths, Max spoke out, his head still looking down at his pillow.

"It's okay. Just smooth and slow at first please."

"Max, are you sure dude? We don't have to do this." I insisted verbally, lying mentally.

"No," Max chirped back, "I want you so bad."

I shook my head to myself. Alright then.

I slowly pushed my cock deeper into his straining hole. The resistance was significant, but it was less than the initial push to get inside. Max's breathing was focused and steady. I don't know if he was enjoying it, but he was determined not to give up on it either.

After a few minutes, I felt as though I could move in and out in an established rhythm. Max's soft breaths were becoming soft coos. I decided to give it some additional gumption.

Max took notice.

"Oh fuck!" He muttered under his breath.

"You good?" I asked, worried that I was being overzealous.

"I'm great," he snarled back, looking over his shoulder with a crazed look in his eye, "you worry too much. Do what you have to do All-Conference".

"Alright, bet." I answered with a glare back at him, accepting his challenge.

This time, I allowed myself to grab his hips and pull his body back onto mine.

"FUCK!" Max cried out, perhaps slightly taken aback by my willingness to oblige his taunt.

"Yeah, that's right." I called back as I fucked him, "I thought you said I should do what I have to do?"

He said nothing back.

Max was now taking about 3/4 of my cock, but I was ready for him to take the full thing. I jumped up onto my feet, crouching behind him on the bed. I grabbed his pixie cut and shoved his face down into the mattress. His ass was now straight in the air where he had no escape from my erection.

I thrust back and forth, keeping his face plastered into the sheets. Max began to let out muffled groans of pleasure as my cock reached its full length inside of him.

Pulling him up by his hair, I whispered into his ear-

"I know what you've been doing around the house with your little outfits. You've been showing me this ass for months now waiting for me to treat you like the little slut that you are."

In his fuck-dazed state, Max whispered back,

"Took you long enough."

Even with my cock buried in his ass, this dude still had an attitude. I couldn't believe it.

I pulled up and away from Max, removing myself from inside him so I could twist him to face me. His make-up was smudged from the time his face had spent smeared into the sheets. His cock was still hard as a rock, continuing to drip pre-cum. His lingerie set was hanging on for dear life. He looked incredible.

I desperately needed to put him in his place.

Jumping up from the bed, I turned to face him.

"Where are you going? Tired already?" Max asked playfully.

"No," I assured him, "I was just starting to feel warmed up."

I could tell Max was just about to roll his eyes when he stopped because I was lifting him up. With my hands collecting him from under his arms, I went to place him on me.

"Wait-what are you doing? Oh fuck, no, ah, fuuuuuuckkkkkkkk...." He groaned out as I impaled his asshole slowly down onto my cock. Max clung to me like a koala to a tree, trying to spare himself the experience of his entire body weight collapsing down onto my member. His arms were wrapped around my neck, our faces only a few inches apart.

His eyes met mine.

"You're out of your mind." He spoke softly.

I dropped his asshole just hardly further down onto my penis as I replied.

"Maybe," I answered, "or maybe I just have a hot roommate that needs to be put in his place?"

His eyes locked on mind.

"PLEASE put me in my place." He begged.

I kissed him.

"You got it."

His arms tightened around my neck as he allowed his to sink fully down onto my cock. Standing strong and tall next to his bed, my hands cupped under each of his ass cheeks, I began to pound his body, lifting him nearly off of me before dropping him down.

Max moaned loudly, digging his finger nails into my back. I picked up the pace.

"Fuck! Oh, gosh Crew, PLEASE! You're incredible. Oh my gosh, this feels amazing!"

Max felt amazing too. His asshole was like a furnace, and his hole gripped onto me like something I had never experienced before.

WHAM WHAM WHAM.

His body rose and fell down on my rod effortlessly, each stroke culminating with the satisfying smack of his ass checks against my pelvis. I had total control over his body. All he could do was hold on for the ride.

WHAM WHAM WHAM.

From his lips escaped pleasure-saturated whimpers, the sound a person makes when their brain is being overloaded with pleasure and there's nothing they can do to stop it.

WHAM WHAM WHAM.

"Wait, oh fuck! Oh fuck!" Max cried out. I looked at his face to make sure he was okay, but his eyes had rolled to the back of his head.

Suddenly I felt a wet warmth between Max's chest and my own. He was cumming.

Wanting to give him the ultimate orgasm, I began to thrust even harder. Max screamed out,

"Oh CREW! PLEASE! It's too much. You're too much! OOOOHHHHHH."

His entire body began to shake in my arms. His asshole began to seize, twitching in a frenzied state. Maybe it was too much for him?

But it was too late.

"FUCK!" I yelled out. It was too much for me.

My cock had erupted inside of Max, filling his stomach with my seed. With each pump of cum injected into his body, Max's convulsions continued until his entire body resorted to a gentle tremble.

When my ejaculation finally subsided, I carefully lay him down back on the bed and removed my girth from his tired asshole. Looking down at him, I could see Max was in a semi-conscious euphoric state. His eyes stared emptily at the ceiling as my seed began to pool at the exit of his asshole. His own penis had lost the blood that had been running through it, but the flaccid member continued to drip the result of his own orgasm. The room felt as though it were on fire (and as the tealights continued their slow burn, in some ways it was).

************************************************

I sat on the couch and looked around at all of the candles that had finely burned out in the living room. Crew was probably right; they probably WERE a fire hazard. Oh well. I would clean them all up in the morning.

My mind was still in a fog from the pounding I had just taken from Crew. I wondered if he man-handled girls like he had man-handled me. You'd think he was probably a bit more soft-handed, but I didn't know.

Neither of us had said very much while we sat together in the living room and he ate a bowl of cereal before bed. What was there to say?

"Hey roomie! Thanks for the sex! Until next time!"

As I thought about it, that probably wouldn't be a terrible thing to hear.

I couldn't help but worry that I might have messed everything up between Crew and myself. Maybe I should have left well enough alone. Now things would probably be weird. He would probably want a new roommate after the semester. The post-nut clarity would come soon enough for him.

As I sat in my own cloud of self-imagined concern, Crew finished putting his cereal bowl in the dishwasher. He turned to leave the room but stopped when he noticed me sitting in the dark.

"Yo," He called out, "You good?"

What a loaded question.

"Yeah, I'm good. Hey..." I called back, not able to help myself, "is this going to make things weird between us?"

He looked at me blankly.

"What do you mean?" He asked. Man, he could be dumb sometimes.

"I MEAN you just came in my ass and fucked me until I came on your chest. That's what I mean."

Crew let that thought swirl around in his mind, realizing that it might have merit.

"I don't know. Is it going to be weird if when you walk around in your yoga pants that I'm going to come up and grope you?" He asked.

"Yeah," I blushed, "that'll probably be weird."

"Well," he said plainly, "then it's probably going to be weird."

And he went to bed.

I thought about what he said for a moment before whispering to myself.

"I need to buy more yoga pants."