back any time. I’ll hook you up.”
“I appreciate it,” he said, knowing he wouldn’t be back. He only wanted one man, and though he’d come here thinking a quick hook up would help him forget Bentley’s denial, time and introspection had brought him to his senses. No one else would do. Maybe in a few months, maybe never, but his loss was too fresh tonight.
He paused. “Hey, call me a cab?”
“No problem.” Roger reached for the phone.
Smiling, Sean raised his hand in silent thanks as he moved toward the door.
The night was still. The low buzz of traffic on a nearby well-traveled thoroughfare along with the music still leaching from the bar swirled around him as he waited outside for his ride.
Bentley would never be his. He remembered the woman he’d met at his house. Was that Ashley? Probably. She seemed comfortable enough answering the door at his house. He tried to remember if she’d been wearing a ring, but for the life of him he couldn’t recall. He’d assumed she was one of many who paraded through Bent’s life, but in the last few years he’d made a point of not looking too close, so it was possible he’d known her long enough to make a serious commitment.
Hell. Did it make any difference if Bent had known her a week or a year? The fact was, he was going to marry her. It didn’t matter when he’d asked her. She’d said yes, making Bentley off limits to other lovers, of either gender. Which was why he’d flung the information in Sean’s face tonight—to warn him off.
You got it, buddy. Have a nice life. Just leave me the fuck alone.
* * *
Sean felt like hell. His body ached all over, and his head felt like a Little League team was using it for batting practice. By the time he’d dropped into his bed in the wee hours of the morning, exhausted and nowhere near drunk, he’d had four hours to sleep—which would have been enough if he’d actually slept. Instead, he’d listened to his roommate snore while he relived every second of the minutes he’d spent in Bentley’s room.
Like game film, he analyzed every move, looking for ways he could have changed the outcome. What if he’d pressed him to say what he really wanted? What if he’d cut through the bullshit and kissed him? What if?
This scenario came down to one thing—the asshole was engaged to be married. To some bimbo named Ashley. Nothing he could have done would have changed the facts. One of the things he loved about the man was his honor. He wouldn’t back out on his fiancée. He’d given his word, which meant, he would keep it.
Unless she backed out. No matter what he felt for Sean, he wouldn’t want Ashley hurt. Finding out her fiancé has the hots for a man would devastate her. No, he couldn’t imagine the news would go over well.
Unless she’s an extraordinarily understanding woman with an open mind about sex. He didn’t know shit about women, but he was certain the majority of them weren’t into sharing—not their shoes or their beauty secrets, and for damn sure, not their men.
Hat over his heart for the national anthem, he focused all his lagging energy on the game ahead of him. As soon as he got back to the hotel, he could crash. Sleep was over rated anyway.
* * *
Bentley felt like hell.
What the fuck were you thinking? Just stay the hell away from him.
He didn’t want to think about the night before, but there was no way around it. His brain wouldn’t let the memory go. After Sean left, after what he now thought of as a mini nervous breakdown, he’d called Ashley. Hearing her voice, listening to her plans for their wedding had reassured him. He was a normal guy. He did normal things like tune out his fiancée when she rattled on about flowers and the color of bridesmaids’ dresses.
But as soon as he hung up, the incident with Sean came flooding back in.
I love Ashley. I do. I want to marry her.
The national anthem ended. He ducked back into the dugout for his glove before
“I appreciate it,” he said, knowing he wouldn’t be back. He only wanted one man, and though he’d come here thinking a quick hook up would help him forget Bentley’s denial, time and introspection had brought him to his senses. No one else would do. Maybe in a few months, maybe never, but his loss was too fresh tonight.
He paused. “Hey, call me a cab?”
“No problem.” Roger reached for the phone.
Smiling, Sean raised his hand in silent thanks as he moved toward the door.
The night was still. The low buzz of traffic on a nearby well-traveled thoroughfare along with the music still leaching from the bar swirled around him as he waited outside for his ride.
Bentley would never be his. He remembered the woman he’d met at his house. Was that Ashley? Probably. She seemed comfortable enough answering the door at his house. He tried to remember if she’d been wearing a ring, but for the life of him he couldn’t recall. He’d assumed she was one of many who paraded through Bent’s life, but in the last few years he’d made a point of not looking too close, so it was possible he’d known her long enough to make a serious commitment.
Hell. Did it make any difference if Bent had known her a week or a year? The fact was, he was going to marry her. It didn’t matter when he’d asked her. She’d said yes, making Bentley off limits to other lovers, of either gender. Which was why he’d flung the information in Sean’s face tonight—to warn him off.
You got it, buddy. Have a nice life. Just leave me the fuck alone.
* * *
Sean felt like hell. His body ached all over, and his head felt like a Little League team was using it for batting practice. By the time he’d dropped into his bed in the wee hours of the morning, exhausted and nowhere near drunk, he’d had four hours to sleep—which would have been enough if he’d actually slept. Instead, he’d listened to his roommate snore while he relived every second of the minutes he’d spent in Bentley’s room.
Like game film, he analyzed every move, looking for ways he could have changed the outcome. What if he’d pressed him to say what he really wanted? What if he’d cut through the bullshit and kissed him? What if?
This scenario came down to one thing—the asshole was engaged to be married. To some bimbo named Ashley. Nothing he could have done would have changed the facts. One of the things he loved about the man was his honor. He wouldn’t back out on his fiancée. He’d given his word, which meant, he would keep it.
Unless she backed out. No matter what he felt for Sean, he wouldn’t want Ashley hurt. Finding out her fiancé has the hots for a man would devastate her. No, he couldn’t imagine the news would go over well.
Unless she’s an extraordinarily understanding woman with an open mind about sex. He didn’t know shit about women, but he was certain the majority of them weren’t into sharing—not their shoes or their beauty secrets, and for damn sure, not their men.
Hat over his heart for the national anthem, he focused all his lagging energy on the game ahead of him. As soon as he got back to the hotel, he could crash. Sleep was over rated anyway.
* * *
Bentley felt like hell.
What the fuck were you thinking? Just stay the hell away from him.
He didn’t want to think about the night before, but there was no way around it. His brain wouldn’t let the memory go. After Sean left, after what he now thought of as a mini nervous breakdown, he’d called Ashley. Hearing her voice, listening to her plans for their wedding had reassured him. He was a normal guy. He did normal things like tune out his fiancée when she rattled on about flowers and the color of bridesmaids’ dresses.
But as soon as he hung up, the incident with Sean came flooding back in.
I love Ashley. I do. I want to marry her.
The national anthem ended. He ducked back into the dugout for his glove before
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