Page 6 of Built to Last

“Ready to lose?”

“Nope.”

That was it. Maybe our gazes lingered a little longer on each other than they should have, but no more words were exchanged. He marched off to his team’s side of the field and I joined my team at the other.

It was a casual league. There were leagues like ours all over Philly. Guys and a few gals who got together after work through the summer months, while there was still enough light to play in community fields that charged little or no rent, organized under an informal league. Someone had picked up an ugly trophy at an auction years ago that we now all played for, but the real prize was bragging rights and the losing team buying the first round at the bar afterwards.

The Walruses and the Barracudas were pretty much evenly matched. Despite being informal, our games were always competitive. I loved the low-pressure excitement and the support from the partners, spouses, and kids of the guys on both teams. I noted Diccon Meyers and his boyfriend, Theo Callihan, who was the architect I’d hired to design the shop, in the sparse crowd. Whether they were there to cheer for me or Gilbert was a whole other story.

It would have been a lot more fun to play against Gilbert if I could easily thrash him. Instead, the bastard was just too damn good. The first time I pitched to him, he hit an easy double off me. It would have just been a base hit if our leftfielder had been faster to throw the ball to the second baseman.

The second time Gilbert and I faced each other, Gil only got away with a base hit. But then he stole second when I was distracted, which left me cursing under my breath.

The third time we stared each other down, Gilbert winked at me from home plate. I shouldn’t have let it get to me, but I did. I felt that wink all the way down to my balls, which caused me to lob the damn ball perfectly at him. He smashed it well over the heads of the fielders and beyond the boundary we’d set up for a home run.

“Shit,” I hissed, leaning over, hands planted on my knees. I shouldn’t have been so turned on by the annoying man’s baseball prowess. I kept my head down as the crowd and Gilbert’s teammates cheered until I was certain I wasn’t blushing and that I wouldn’t give everything away the second I looked at Gil rounding the bases and heading home.

The Barracudas ended up winning the game.

“Good game, good job,” Lon, our captain, congratulated the captain of the Barracudas as we all headed in to collect our stuff, then wandered across to the far side of the park, where the Red Lion Inn stood. “That’s only the Walruses’ second loss this season, right?”

“That’s right,” Lon replied, grinning at the other captain like the whole thing truly was just friendly and not the biggest grudge match in this history of boyfriends that had never actually been boyfriends. “If we keep this up, it’ll be us and you in the finals in two weeks.”

He said that just as Gilbert stepped into view, walking up to stride beside me as our group of players made it to the bar.

“You and me playing against each other in the finals,” Gilbert said, then snorted and shook his head, like he couldn’t believe his luck. Or maybe his bad luck.

I really wanted to dazzle him with some sort of scathing comeback, but my mind went blank. All I could do was stare at his flushed face, the brightness of victory in his eyes, and the way his t-shirt clung to his lean muscles with the sweat of a game well-played.

In another version of my life, the two of us might have ended the night together. I would have peeled that shirt off his back and licked the sweat off his chest before making my way lower. The two of us might have showered together, then gotten sweaty all over again.

Oh, the things that could have been if Gilbert Meyers hadn’t walked away.

“Kyle Jameson?”

The light, tenor voice that caught me as we walked into the bar had me turning away from what could have been and looking right at one of the prettiest men I’d ever seen. He was short with dark, curly hair and olive skin. His blue eyes were a contrast to his decidedly Italianate features. He was dressed nicely, too, which always did it for me. In fact, I couldn’t have ordered up a man who was physically more my type than the man who walked towards me from the bar with a big smile.

“Marco Andreotti,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m glad we finally get to meet in person.”

“Same,” I said, taking his hand and shaking it. I really was glad to finally have someone to rent the new shop from me.

Relief was the very farthest emotion from my mind when Gilbert stumbled to a stop a few feet away and turned back to stare at me. Or maybe to stare at Marco. Or the two of us together. He didn’t just stare. He backtracked and planted himself just a few feet from me, an angrily curious look in his eyes.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” he said in clipped tones, like I was cheating on him and he’d caught me.

I felt a certain sense of satisfaction in being able to say, “Gilbert Meyers, meet Marco Andreotti. Marco will be renting the shop. He’ll be your neighbor by mid-October.”

“Neighbors?” Marco said, his buoyant enthusiasm growing to include Gilbert. He dropped my hand to shake Gilbert’s. “You must be one of the owners of Common Grounds,” he said, pumping Gil’s hand once he took his.

“I am,” Gilbert said, suddenly confused. It served him right for assuming things he had no idea about. He cleared his throat and went on with, “What sort of business will you be opening in the shop?”

“A gourmet food emporium,” Marco said, peeking past me to the tables, which were quickly filling up with players from both teams.

“Oh. Really?” Gilbert asked, his expression falling even more into curiosity instead of animosity. “Like wine and cheese and stuff?”

“Exactly,” Marco said as I shifted to the side to snag one of the tables before it was too late. “And gourmet olive oil, artisanal breads, all sorts of nibbles for cocktail parties and special occasions. I did my research, and Glenside seems like the perfect spot for a shop like that.”

“It is,” Gilbert agreed. “Our little strip of shops does very well. At least, when there aren’t big, honking construction projects blocking the entrance and causing a huge mess and crushing noise.”