Page 35 of Switch Hitter

He pauses, voice lower.

“I want you,” he says. “And I’m not ashamed of that.”

The words land like a punch, and my body goes hot. My brain goes cold.

Wanting me out loud sounds terrifying because it means this is real.

That we’re two men who want to be with each other, and the whole world could see that.

I want to be with him.

Emiliano steps closer again, sliding his hand from my wrist to my palm, fingers curling around mine. Not lacing this time, just holding.

“I’m not here to force you out,” he says, like he knows my fear. “I’m here to stop you from disappearing into the hole you’ve dug yourself into.”

I swallow hard, voice shaking. “And what if I can’t stop?”

Emiliano’s gaze holds mine, steady as the mound.

“Then I’ll keep showing up,” he says simply. “If that’s what you want.”

I hate him. I want him. I’m terrified of him.

I’m relieved he’s here.

It’s too much, and as Emiliano’s thumb strokes once over my knuckles.

I want to break down, to fall into his arms and just let it all go.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs.

My voice comes out small. “I don’t know how.”

He leans in slightly, not for a kiss, but just close enough that I feel his breath on my neck.

“You’re doing it right now,” he says.

SEVEN

EMILIANO

He’s standing in front of me looking like he’s about to bolt. Like the air in this apartment is too thick, and my presence is a fuse that could explode if I move wrong.

But he’s still here, so I guess that’s something.

Sean O’Malley has a mouth built for war and eyes built for truth. The mouth is what he uses to survive. His eyes are what betray him, and right now those green eyes are shining too bright, like he’s holding back tears and rage at the same time.

He looks furious with himself, and it hurts me somewhere deep, because all I want is to love him. To show him that he means more to me than this thing we’ve built out of rivalry, sex, and fear.

Sean swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. I could take control of the situation right now. It would be easy. He’s right on the edge of it, breath uneven, pupils a little blown. I could say one dirty thing in Spanish and he’d fold like a lawn chair.

I didn’t come here to take the easy route.

I didn’t cross the country to fuck him into silence. No, I came here to keep him from disappearing into his own shame. I know I pushed too hard by coming here like this, but I need him to know he still has a choice.

So I do the harder thing. I lift my hand slowly and touch his cheek, my thumb brushing the warm skin there. He flinches, barely, startled, like tenderness is a language he doesn’t trust.

“Cobre,” I say softly.