XXX CHAPTER 25 XXX

A soft mist turned into a gentle summer rain as Emmett exited the highway onto the unfamiliar streets of Renton. Edward's folks probably lived in one of the more affluent suburbs, but Renton was a smart choice for Edward, a true melting pot of singles and young families, with its affordable homes and diverse restaurants. Emmett concentrated on the rhythmic swa-swish of the wipers, blotting out all conscious thought except his singular mission—relieving Edward of his guilt.

The Spyder crawled through the tree-lined streets, turning onto Morris a few blocks short of the river. There it was—325, a compact, symmetrical brick structure with a closely mown lawn. No white picket fence or smoke curling from the chimney, but Emmett could imagine the house, nonetheless, as a crayon drawing reflecting a perfectly adjusted, well-loved child. He locked the car and walked purposefully to the front door.

Edward answered the bell, the pinch-me-I'm-dreaming grin notably absent as he took in Emmett's presence on his stoop. Was Emmett too late to repair the damage he'd done? His heart sank at Edward's careful greeting.

"You're here."

"Yep."

"Ever been to Renton before?"

"Not that I can remember. But I see why you like it—no high rises."

Edward stepped aside so Emmett could step into the house. "Not an elevator in sight. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Water would be great."

As Edward led him toward the back of the house, Emmett peeked into the small dining room and living room spaces. Aside from a dining table with six chairs and a couple of paintings hanging on the wall, the rooms were barren. "I really love what you've done with the place."

Edward's chuckle followed him into the kitchen. "I only just moved in four weeks ago. I won't be throwing any parties for a while."

Guilt churned in Emmett's gut. "I guess I sucked up all your decorating time."

"Yes, thank god!" Edward handed Emmett a cold bottle from the fridge. "Mom's dug her hooks into me for this week. I figured while you were on the road . . ." He trailed off, coming to the same sad conclusion as Emmett had—none of that mattered anymore. "Anyway, it's a process. I do, however, have a very comfortable couch in the family room."

"Lead the way."

If the other rooms in Edward's house were the poor step-children, the room Emmett had just entered was the favorite son. Wall-to-wall plush carpeting in a warm, earthy tan practically begged for barefoot walking, while the brown suede, U-shaped sectional in front of the large screen invited a guy to sit down and stay for a while. Emmett wandered over to the other half of the room, where a square game table hosted what appeared to be three active chess games.

"Edward, have you been cheating on me?"

"Hmm, not really," he said, pointing to the closest board. "I started this game about a week before I met you."

"No shit?"

"Yeah, this is an old friend I met on the circuit back in the day. We each email one move a day."

"You are an exceedingly patient man," Emmett observed, not for the first time.

Edward shrugged. "I believe the important things are worth waiting for."

Unable to read Edward's expression, Emmett pressed him about the other games. "How about these two?"

Pointing to a Revolutionary War set of Redcoats vs. Colonists, Edward smiled. "This one is a recreation of a famous game by Spassky and Kasparov. I like to practice every now and then to stay sharp."

Emmett couldn't resist. "You're playing with yourself?"

Without missing a beat, Edward answered, "Yes, I like my chances."

Emmett gave him a touché nod. "And the other?"

Edward's smile broadened. "That's Dad. I eat dinner at their house once a week—the day varies based on his schedule—and yours," Edward added, tipping his grin toward Emmett, "and I keep a replica of our game here so I can study it."

"Holy shit. You can recreate the board from memory when you get home?"

"Sure. That part's not hard. It's trying to figure out what Dad's going to do next that keeps me up at night."

"Oh yeah? Your dad's pretty good, then?"

Pride lit up Edward's eyes. "He's kind of ridiculous."

This is all well and good, but time's a tickin'. "So . . . can we sit down for a minute?"

"Sure."

Edward led him to the couch and perched on the edge of the end cushion. Heart pounding right out of his chest, Emmett chose a safe spot toward the middle and cleared the gravel out of his throat. "Look, Edward, what I wanted to say was . . ." Shit! What the hell do I want to say? "You're a great coach, and I know you're going to be a fantastic teacher."

Edward's lips curled down at the corners. "Okay, thanks."

"You don't believe me."

"As they say, 'the proof is in the pudding.'"

Emmett chuffed, shaking his head. "There are a whole lot of other ingredients in this pudding, Edward. You can't be held responsible for all of them."

"C'mon, Emmett. It's not exactly a controlled experiment, but if you were to measure the environment before introducing the variable—i.e., me—and then observe the outcomes—"

"That makes no sense!"

Edward flinched. Quietly, irritatingly reasonably, Edward asked, "Why not?"

"Because you can't take something that's ninety percent emotion and try to dissect it with a microscope!"

"Ninety percent emotion? That's how pitching is for you?"

Emmett's blood was reaching boiling point, and he felt himself spinning out of control, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. "Yes, Mr. Spock. Now, what are you going to do with that?"

The couch let out a soft hiss as Edward leaned back into its comforting embrace. Emmett shifted his focus toward the TV, unable to bear the way Edward was regarding Emmett as if he didn't recognize him.

That makes sense; I don't recognize myself.

The air between them pulsed with Emmett's frustration and Edward's confusion. Edward opened his mouth to respond, looked completely lost when the words didn't come, then simply shook his head. Guzzling his water, Emmett waited for Edward to catch onto the fact that the public figure he'd idolized had turned out to be a giant asshole as a real-life man.

After a silence that must've stretched two minutes, Edward produced his solution. "Either way, it's my fault."

Emmett turned to him, incredulous that Edward was apparently hell-bent on taking the blame. "Fine," Emmett said, rising to his feet as the adrenaline coursed through his veins, "you know what? You're right. It is your fault!" Edward absorbed the impact of Emmett's cruelty with a heavy swallow.

"Of course it is. Who did I think I was kidding with the dime-store psychobabble?"

"Jesus, Edward! That's got nothing to do with it! It's not your ideas, and it's not your advice, dammit! It's just you!"

Edward's eyes narrowed into a squint as he tried to follow the raving maniac in front of him. "Me? How?"

"Goddammit, can't you tell? I'm completely fucked up over you!"

"I can definitely tell you're fucked up, but if it's not my advice, I'm not following what I've done to cause it."

"You've done absolutely nothing!" Flailing wildly and causing a tidal wave in his water bottle, Emmett ranted on. "You've just been there, acting all sweet and supportive and hot and logical . . . ugh! It's exasperating!"

Finally out of steam, Emmett slumped into the cushions and closed his eyes to ward off the repercussions, keeping them tightly shut until Edward's calm, soft voice reached him.

"Excuse me?" Emmett was reminded of a sweet, young boy who once asked him for his autograph at the grocery store. "Did you just say I was hot?"

Emmett chuffed. And away we go! "I guess I did."

Edward nodded slowly, adding the data to his computer and figuring the new results. "And this exasperates you?"

"Greatly." A grin spread across Emmett's face. Confession was actually pretty good for the soul after all.

"Huh. Well, thank you, I guess, but may I ask why?"

"You know, Professor, for a smart guy, you can be pretty dense."

Edward chuckled. "So I've been told."

Emmett twisted the lid onto the bottle and set it down on the coffee table. Leaning forward, he balanced his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together in between. "I have feelings for you, Edward." Emmett's big revelation took with it a giant swoosh of air.

Edward's jaw dropped open, and it would've been comical if Emmett's life weren't hanging in the balance. "Feelings?"

"Oh, man. You're really going to make me spell it out, aren't you?" Shaking his head, Emmett drew a deep breath before continuing. "Okay, man, here it is. I'm attracted to you, and Jesus, before you ask, yes, in a sexual way." Emmett held Edward's startled gaze. "In an intensely physical, want-to-rip-your-clothes-off-and-throw-you-down-and-do-all-kinds-of-nasty-things-to-your-body kind of way."

Edward's astonishment gave way to a childlike exuberance that burst forth in a brilliant smile. The next second, Edward opened his hand and smacked himself on the cheek. "Ouch!"

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You told me to stop pinching myself. I swear, if I'm dreaming right now, I am going to be pissed as hell when I wake up!"

"I can promise you, you're awake."

"I . . . wow . . . sorry, I can't quite wrap my head around this."

"So, is it safe to assume you're interested?"

"You seriously need to ask me that?" Edward chuffed. "I all but branded your number on my ass! I only have the hugest crush in the history of crushes! But not once did it occur to me to even imagine you'd return the sentiment! Okay, that's not exactly true. I've imagined it plenty, but in a porn-star-for-a-day kind of way. Never in my real life."

Once again, Edward's true confessions had a way of making Emmett feel as if he were standing naked in the middle of a crowded stadium. "I had my suspicions about your feelings toward me, but I wasn't sure. As a pro athlete, I get a lot of straight men guy-crushing me in a hetero way, if you know what I mean. Sometimes it's hard to tell what's what."

"In that case, let me be exceedingly clear. I'm gay. I've been out since middle school. I just haven't been with anyone in a while. School and moving and . . . honestly, since you started playing baseball, you pretty much ruined me for other men."

"I guess we're even then." The two exchanged embarrassed glances and blushing smiles.

Emmett was grateful when Edward broke their awkward silence. "If I might ask, how long have you been feeling this way?"

A dark guffaw left Emmett as he whipped out his phone and showed Edward the screensaver, his favorite of the three locker room shots—the first one, the unguarded admiration plastered on Edward's face. "That day we met in the locker room, when we did this."

"Holy shit!" Edward stared at the photo as if he'd just uncovered buried treasure. Handing the phone back, he said, "I'm confused; I really thought you were straight."

Well, if nothing else, this conversation was at least entertaining. "No, Edward. I'm not straight. Not even a little bit."

"So Tammy . . .?"

"A beautiful smokescreen."

"Wow, had me fooled." Edward stared at Emmett, shaking his head every so often and repeating "wow." Emmett grinned, reclining in his front-row seat as he watched the movie scroll through Edward's head. The man was as transparent as the water bottle in front of him.

"You seem to be catching on."

"Let me recap here. You're not straight, and you want to do nasty things to my hot body. How am I doing so far?"

"Accurate." Emmett felt the blush rise to his cheeks as Edward's confidence grew.

"So, why didn't you tell me? All this time . . . we could've been . . ." Edward finished the sentence by fanning himself.

"Let me ask you something. How many gay pro ballplayers do you know?"

"Ah." Edward's smile retracted like a scared turtle. "I hope you know I would never tell a soul, Emmett. Your secrets are all safe with me."

Emmett nodded. "That's why I'm here."

"Excuse my bluntness, but exactly why are you here, Emmett? Earlier today, it seemed you wanted nothing more to do with me and now . . . you're here, getting me all hot and bothered!"

"I'm sorry about all that, about everything, Edward. If I'm sending mixed messages, it's only because my head is spinning, and I honestly don't know what to do about all this, and frankly, it's making mincemeat out of my brains."

"Hence your pitching woes."

"Basically, but I couldn't leave you with the impression that you'd done anything wrong. Honestly, you've been amazing for my game . . . when I'm not getting all frustrated and distracted, that is."

"So it really is my fault?"

"No, it's my fault because I can't handle this. God knows, I've tried."

"What can I do to help?"

Emmett looked into those earnest eyes of his trusted friend, ashamed of himself for trying to push him away. "There is one thing . . . if you could stop being so damn hot, it might help a little."

"I'm sorry, but that's just not gonna happen," Edward teased. "Seriously, though, would it help if I stayed away from the games the days you're pitching?"

Emmett had to admit, the idea did hold some appeal, but he immediately chided himself. "You love the Mariners, and I know how much going to the games means to you and Carlisle. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the thought, but I could never ask you to give up your seat."

"Yes, I do love my team, and if what's best for the team turns out to be me watching at home on that screen right there, I would do it in a heartbeat. This isn't about me. I'm just one stupid fan."

"No, you're actually by far the smartest fan. And that's not the solution because you're not really the problem; I am. This is my problem, and I have to work it out."

"We have to work it out."

A comforting wave of warm fuzzies fluttered through Emmett's belly. It seemed the professor didn't give up easily. When he responded, Emmett felt the grin crawl across his face. "And what exactly do you propose?"

"Okay . . . let's look at this logically. We don't even know if we have any chemistry together. We should test that."

The flutter grew into a persistent thump as Edward scooted over on the couch until their thighs were touching.

"What are you doing?"

"We should kiss. Then we'll know if it's a false alarm."

Nerves got the better of him, and Emmett burst out laughing. "You can tell all that from one kiss?"

"Always. Can't you?"

Of course he could. "I guess."

Edward angled his body toward Emmett. "Well?"

They were so close, Emmett could see the soft pink of Edward's tongue resting just behind his teeth, could feel the warm puffs of Edward's minty breath on his cheeks with every word he spoke. Staring into the warm, encouraging eyes, Emmett inched closer to the point of no return.

"Ready?" Emmett whispered, more to himself than Edward.

Edward's lips twisted into a crooked grin as he leaned in. "I seriously doubt it."

Their eyes tracked until they were too close, and Emmett swooped in for the kiss. Logically, Emmett must've first felt the meeting of eager lips, must've sampled a hint of Edward's taste, but what Emmett would remember most about that delicious moment of their first kiss was the complete meltdown in his groin. Liquid on the inside and granite on the outside. Edward deepened their kiss, boldly opening Emmett's lips with his own, pressing his tongue against Emmett's, moaning into his mouth.

The humming intensified, becoming a quake against Emmett's lips. Puzzled by the odd sensation, Emmett opened his eyes to find Edward laughing against his mouth. Emmett pressed his hand against Edward's chest, pushing him back just enough to make room to ask, "What the hell's so funny?"

"I'm sorry," Edward answered. "It just hit me all of a sudden that I was kissing Emmett McCarty."

Emmett grabbed him by his shirt, reared up, and flipped Edward onto his back on the couch. Straddling his hips, Emmett crouched over his victim and pinned Edward's hands over his head. "Maybe I should pinch you this time!"

A spike of desire flashed from Edward's sexy bedroom eyes. "Kiss me again. Please."

Emmett nosedived as the plea left Edward's lips. Weeks of pent-up passion and frustration hijacked Emmett's lips; Emmett was more plundering than pleasuring, but his partner's loud groans and upward hip flexes egged him on. There was no peace to be found until Emmett had completely devoured him.

Pleasantly aroused and delirious from the kissing, Emmett rolled onto his side between Edward and the back of the couch. "Sorry I kind of attacked you," he said with a mischievous smile that clearly conveyed he wasn't the least bit sorry.

Edward shrugged. "It was all for the good of science."

"Yeah, at least we know now there's no chemistry," Emmett said.

Unable to contain his smile, Edward answered, "I was thinking the same thing."

The endorphins were doing a fine job of keeping Emmett's end-of-days morbidity in check, and the two of them lay there for several blissful minutes, just grinning at each other. After a while, reality wormed its way between their hard, excited bodies, and Emmett had to ask. "Now what, Coach?"

The smile Edward turned on him reminded Emmett of Buddha—pure serenity and wisdom rolled into one happy, chubby guy. "Now we figure it out."

Author's Note: Well, day-umm, that's a load off! I wish you could see my smile. THIS was the chapter I've been sitting on...waiting for all of you to meet me. This is the scene that drove the prequel, and I wrote it and rewrote it at least four times before I was even close to this point in the story. Of course, when I finally did get here, my characters had their own way of reworking the script. I had originally written Emmett slamming Edward against that door and pounding him with kisses before saying a word, but then Emmett let me know that'd be a real dick move, considering where Edward's head was. You can't play with a guy like that. And of course, Edward needed to talk it all out, get all logical, understand the incomprehensible before letting himself go. I think we all knew Emmett would pop like an overfilled balloon and slip a little something he didn't mean to.

Now, for those of you who are worried this is where the story ends, nope! I've got to get you to t-ball season, don't I? So sit back and enjoy the show! Thanks for your patience, all. Hang in there, Mr. H...
XXX ~BOH