XXX CHAPTER 23 XXX

Determined to beat Edward to the beach for once, Emmett set his alarm for 7:30 and hopped out of bed without hitting snooze even once. He was tempted to jump in the shower but settled for sniffing under each arm to make sure he wasn't too offensive. He did, however, run a brush through his hair and make sure any remnants of green smoothie were long rinsed away.

Pulling on his trunks, Emmett tried to remember the last time he'd swum in the ocean. As much as he loved it, his summer days off were few and far between, and his fame had a way of sucking the peace out of the experience. Today might not be any different, but Edward had suggested a change of pace for game day, and after their hard post-Capital-Grille run the day before, Emmett was happy to give it a try. Also, Edward in a bathing suit . . . Edward in a bathing suit . . . fuck peace! Sliding into his flip-flops, Emmett grabbed a towel and his Oakleys, and off he went.

Emmett grinned as he reached their usual meeting spot at 8:15. No sign of Edward. Finally! It didn't take long before Emmett attracted a small crowd wishing him well and offering him colorful tips on how to beat the Red Sox that night. Through the blur of people, Emmett spotted Edward, patiently waiting on the sidelines.

"Sorry, folks, I have to run. See you at the game tonight!" The horde of fans parted for him, and Emmett jogged over to Edward, taking in the Mariners t-shirt and sexy, short, black swim trunks peeking out underneath. "How long were you planning on standing there?"

Edward shrugged. "I figured you'd be done when you were done, and I'd be here."

"I was done as soon as you got here. C'mon! The crowds won't follow us into the ocean."

Emmett led him to a slice of beach where they could throw down their towels and shirts. Edward reached over his head and grabbed the back of his shirt, giving Emmett a chance to ogle the sliver of bare skin at his belly that became an entire lean runner's chest revealed in one swift motion. Very nearly caught staring, Emmett quickly angled his body toward the water to pull off his own shirt. Not trusting himself to look back at Edward's extremely brief swim briefs, Emmett made his way toward the surf. The cool water pooled around his ankles, sending a shiver up his legs.

"Tell me again why I thought this was a good idea?"

Edward chuckled beside him. "Don't be such a baby. It's good for you."

"Don't make me toss you under."

"I don't think Trey would approve of you hurling large objects on game day."

"Or any other day, for that matter."

"Plus, ya know, he likes me."

Emmett shook his head while he laughed. "Lead the way, Coach."

Edward gave him a mischievous grin and took off. Three running leaps and a dive, and Edward's tempting little ass disappeared into the water. Not to be outdone, Emmett dove in after him, meeting Edward's huge grin just past where he could touch bottom.

"See? That wasn't so bad."

"I'll ask my balls how they feel about it if they ever descend again."

"You'll warm up when we start moving. Can I trust you to lead? I don't know what you need."

What I need is to wrap my legs around your hips and find out how those pretty lips taste.

"I'm just looking to stretch out, nothing too fatiguing."

"Why don't you swim until you've had enough, and then we can walk back."

"On the water?"

Edward rolled his eyes. "I think we're gonna need a new hashtag for that."

"All right, then. Follow me." Emmett started out with a slow breast stroke, finding a gentle pace, with Edward trailing in his wake. Edward was right; the water cleared Emmett's head better than running on the crowded beach could ever do. No distractions, no obligations to play nice with the fans, just Emmett and the expanse of water surrounding him . . . and the man watching his back.

He switched to freestyle, using his mental energy to draw in oxygen while keeping the salty water out as much as he was able. After a stretch, Emmett flipped onto his back, largely to rid his mouth of the salt, and backstroked for a bit. Edward swam up beside him, pulling his arms gracefully through the water, making Emmett feel like a manatee in comparison. After a few strokes, Emmett realized what Edward was doing. He hadn't caught up just to keep him company; he was slowing Emmett down, helping him conserve his energy and his lungs exactly the way he'd done so many times on the beach. Right now, he was watching Emmett the same way Trey kept a vigilant eye on him while he lifted. Edward had no specific training in this field, yet he seemed to have an uncanny knack for understanding Emmett's body. Once again, Emmett wished fervently to return the favor.

Any other day, Emmett might've pushed himself further and harder, but he'd accomplished his goal for the swim, and he was beginning to pucker like a giant raisin. Rolling onto his belly, Emmett turned toward the shore and waded in. Edward scurried ahead of him, leaving Emmett to gawk helplessly as Edward emerged from the water one delicious body part at a time.

The goggling started with that crop of wild hair Edward worried with his fingers whenever he was agitated, somewhat tamed now in its wet, tamped-down state, but not exactly docile. His gawping continued, following the water droplets as they rolled down Edward's back, alive with goose bumps now that the air had hit it. Pausing briefly to pay homage to the two deep dimples punctuating his lower back, Emmett's gaze slipped lower to feast on the main event—the briefest of briefs.

What the hell was that thin band of material stretched within an inch of its life across Edward's cheeks? Fresh from the ocean, the whole thing was tantalizingly transparent, especially down the heavenly divide, where it was clinging to the contours of the firm handfuls of flesh on either side. An old-school Speedo would've been less cruel without the tiny teases of fabric pretending to cover the very top of his thighs and doing a lousy job of it. If not for the frigid water, Emmett would've found himself in an extremely compromised situation. Even so, he reached inside his trunks to check on things before popping up to the surface.

All bets were off when Edward turned around. Drenched and dripping, running his hand through his hair, Edward stood on the beach with his feet spread just enough to create an inviting space between his thighs—the exact spot Emmett got lost until he remembered himself and lifted his gaze.

He needn't have worried; Edward wasn't looking at Emmett's face either. He stood on that beach, exuding the same raw need Emmett had seen in the locker room, the kid set loose in the candy store, not knowing what to sample first. Emmett's body tingled in response as Edward's hungry gaze devoured his chest and meandered to the ridges of his belly. If Edward dared look any lower, he'd see exactly what he was stirring in Emmett, cold water be damned.

"Smooth backstroke you got there," Emmett said, his words snapping Edward's attention back to the safety of Emmett's face.

Realizing his lapse, Edward slapped a smile across his face. "Thanks. How do you feel?"

Horny as hell. "Good. Relaxed. Hungry!"

Edward laughed. "I don't suppose you want something from one of those trucks."

"Not today."

"Well, I guess we should head back so you can get ready."

"Yes, you can work your voodoo on the walk."

They walked at the edge of the water, both men keeping their eyes forward. The occasional elbow bump was at first met with a mumbled, "Sorry," but as they continued along, Emmett noticed fewer and fewer apologies.

Edward had done his homework—no surprise there—weaving in specific Red Sox stats and customizing his ideas to help Emmett face down tonight's opponent. They reviewed the concepts that seemed to have helped Emmett in Tampa Bay, and Edward threw in a few new twists from their swim. Emmett was so focused on their talk, he nearly forgot about the hot man in the skintight suit beside him.

And then Edward bent over to pick up his towel.

Was it possible he was oblivious to the effect he was having on Emmett? It was hard to believe, but maybe it was like Tammy had said—he wasn't looking for it, so he didn't see it. Emmett had to wonder how long that would be the case. This need inside him was building in urgency, and suppressing it was taking more energy than he had to spare.

Giving Emmett a final bro-handclasp, Edward's parting words made Emmett's blood run cold. "See you at Safeco. Well," he said, grinning, "you won't see me, but I'll see you."

XXX

"Patience, patience, patience," Coach Waits said. "The Sox are going to test you today, and you're going to win."

"I hear you, Coach, but I want to stay in this game. If I start throwing to a full count with every batter, you're gonna have to yank me in the fourth inning!"

"I know it's a challenge, Mac, especially for you, but you're not going to win this game with firepower. You throw a juicy fastball anywhere near Ortiz or Pedroia, and it's good night, Charlie."

"Will you consider upping my pitch count today? The shoulder's doing great lately." The swim had helped; Trey had noticed the difference stretching him out before the game.

"Let's see how it goes, son. I'm not making any promises. Now go out there and throw me some balls!"

Waits sent Emmett to the mound with a healthy swat on his backside. Following Coach's game plan, Emmett mixed up his pitches, pitching more balls wide and low than he was used to. The Sox weren't biting at the balls, just waiting—maddeningly waiting. The first several innings passed without incident; Emmett walked three batters, but none scored. Seaver hit a home run for the Mariners in the bottom of the fourth, driving in Chavez for a 2-0 lead. With the small cushion, Emmett pushed a little harder in the fifth inning, successfully striking out two, and forcing the third batter to ground out.

Feeling good in the dugout, Emmett let his gaze wander out into the stands. You won't see me, but I'll see you. Emmett couldn't see more than a blur, but he knew exactly which blur was Edward. Look away, the little voice warned, but it was too late.

Snippets of their morning together flooded his mind: Edward pulling off his shirt, emerging from the surf in his skin-tight trunks, and worst of all, the pure, unmasked desire on Edward's face as he openly ogled Emmett. If he'd thought the little python-pump session in his shower had obliterated his need, Emmett was clearly and sorely mistaken.

Do not let this fuck you up. Patience, balls, pacing. You've got a team and countless fans . . . not to mention a paycheck relying on this. One tight ass in swim trunks is not worth risking all that.

Ah, if only he were just that. No, Emmett knew Edward was so much more to him already . . . and what haunted him day and night was what Edward could be if Emmett would only take a chance.

Patience. Balls. Emmett jogged out to the mound and faced down Bogaerts. A consistent hitter with an impressive on-base percentage, Bogaerts was not a player to underestimate, especially with Ortiz right behind him in the lineup. Emmett opened boldly with a sinker, fairly certain Bogaerts would play the waiting game and watch the strike sail over the plate. Instead, he snagged the pitch and hit a low, screaming grounder to left field, landing him safely on first. All of a sudden, the tying run was at the plate, and the tension had ratcheted up twentyfold.

Ignore the 108,000 eyes shooting laser beams into your back, your sides, your front. There he stood on the mound, a lightning rod in a gathering storm. This was the thrill Emmett lived for, the make-or-break at-bat that would make him tonight's hero or tonight's villain. Emmett drew in a deep breath and visualized his swimming partner, but the useful advice was delivered by the hot guy in the skintight trunks. He couldn't access one without the other.

Deciding no Edward at all was preferable to the package deal that included his very ample package, Emmett shook Edward out of his mind and focused on his coach's advice. Patience. Balls.

David Ortiz loomed large over the plate, a monster home run hitter in any inning. Emmett threw him two balls, and the big man barely blinked. Emmett hunkered down for a long showdown. Seaver signaled for the curveball, and Emmett shook it off. Big Papi was getting another ball, and if he stared this one down, another one was coming after that.

Pop! Swing and a foul tip into the screen. Papi crouched again and twirled the tip of his bat in menacing circles. Emmett threw a sinker, catching Ortiz off guard and drawing a second strike. The count was two and two. The fastball would've been Emmett's go-to pitch in this situation, but Coach wanted him to throw in another ball and let Ortiz whiff.

Releasing a deep breath, Emmett wound up and pitched a curveball that was meant to swerve away from Ortiz just as he was reaching for it, but the bastard caught the outside of the ball with the sweet spot of his bat and sent the damn thing flying over the right field wall for a home run.

At the edge of the dugout stood Waits, arms crossed and head dropped forward in defeat. The crowd grew silent as Bogaerts and Ortiz rounded the bases. Seaver threw out the new game ball to Emmett, who passed it anxiously around the field to his teammates, attempting to quell his emotions. He'd been outwitted and outplayed by Ortiz, and Emmett was pissed.

Coach left Emmett in the game, an act of faith in his player Emmett was determined not to abuse. Emmett didn't take any more big chances; if he wanted to throw a ball, it wasn't going to turn into a hit. He stretched himself to make it past the 100-pitch count, but fatigue was settling into his joints. A fastball to Drew got away from Emmett, and the Red Sox batter sent a stinger past him for a double.

Coach was out on the mound before Emmett could slap the ball into his mitt. "Okay, Mac. We'll take it from here."

Emmett sulked in the dugout the rest of the inning and watched the remainder of the game from Trey's table. The no-decision was a narrow escape, and Emmett knew it. He didn't need Jasper to interpret the signs for him. Thoughts of Edward had grown more intrusive by the day to the point where they'd become dangerous. Emmett had a decision to make—either cut off his association with Edward altogether, or push their friendship to the next level and let the chips fall where they may.

By the time he reached home, Emmett had made up his mind.

Author's Note: Dun, dun, DUNNNN! Feel free to guess Emmett's next move! Inspiration for Edward's bathing suit may be found (and posted!) in the patch!

Hey, I may be a Mariners' fan "on paper", but my baseball heart belongs to the Sox...and damn those boys for their patience! Makes for some long ass games! Special shout out to my baseball consultants—Mr. H and Jayme TyZane.

XXX ~BOH