The Prospects

by K.T. Hoffman

They’re good shoulders, if Gene is honest with himself, which he would really rather not be about this, but there’s the thought anyway, persistently gay: they’re good shoulders.

The fact that Luis has the audacity to have gotten hot—and not even yeah-he’s-fine-for-a-straight-guy hot, but legitimately hot—in addition to being the world’s biggest pain in the ass? Gene doesn’t care for that shit at all.

Baker suggested he get a boyfriend. Not ask his closeted gay teammate if he might want to make out on Gene’s couch for a while.

Gene stares at the ceiling, quilt pulled up to his chin and his fingers dancing on his arm, tracing the outline of his half-hidden tattoos and wondering when Luis started looking enough to notice them.

Gene types out, You have a thing for short kings? Luis smiles at him, but he doesn’t respond to Gene’s text. He settles back into the game, and Gene spends the remaining six hours of the trip wondering whether that was flirtation or a rejection, not quite sure he wants the answer.

Luis smiles, no teasing, and who gave him permission to be so soft? It makes Gene’s ribs too small for his heart. “Nes,” Luis says, and that’s also exactly right, like his name was made to be said in Luis’s voice.

Gene’s apartment isn’t dirty. He keeps it perfectly clean. It’s just that he goes through cycles of messiness, wherein his apartment will be without clutter for two weeks, and then one day he’ll inevitably be too tired to fold a load of towels and underwear, and everything goes downhill from there. The clean laundry in the hamper quickly overflows, taking over the armchair and then the top of his dresser, and if it’s already this messy, he might as well leave six half-finished books on the nightstand, too.

Gene tries to find something to look at that isn’t Luis’s arms, or the very tempting bed between them, or the satisfied way Luis likes to look at a job well done. He doesn’t succeed. But he sure does try.

Luis’s laughter drifts up, and he doesn’t let go of Gene until he absolutely has to. Gene is, he realizes on that baseball diamond, a little in love with that laugh, and a little in love with Luis.

“Easy” isn’t the right word—easy could never begin to cover the way Gene feels with Luis. That would imply that this feeling has no teeth to it; no. It isn’t easy. It’s natural—heady and hot and all-encompassing.

Luis, in flagrant disregard of Gene’s request, removes his hand. And then, with no trace of the hesitation or nerves he usually has, he says, “Do you want to sit on my face?” And, okay, now Gene has never felt better about himself.

For a minute, for a moment, Gene lets himself imagine what it would be like if they both made it. If they got the whole damn dream.

Mia rolls her eyes. Then she looks at Gene, her eyes so appraising that Gene mentally runs through a catalogue of things he could apologize for. Finally, she points at Luis. “He has had a fat crush on you for years,” she says. “And I’m telling you this because it’ll piss Louie off.”

“No, you don’t have a crush on me, or no it hasn’t been years?” “Okay,” he reasons, pressing his palms together and gesturing with both hands, “here’s the thing.” Gene leans in close, lowers his voice as much as he can. “Because you eat me out pretty enthusiastically for someone who isn’t into me.” Luis’s nervous smile turns into something looser, far more lopsided. “Fair.”

“In the showers? Really?” Luis says, though he makes no effort to remove himself from the wall. The water has started to wet his hair, and he pushes it off his forehead. With his other hand, he slides his fingers into Gene’s hair, right at the nape of his neck. “Sorry, do you need more ambiance for me to blow you?” Gene asks.

“Are you gonna fuck me or what, Nada?” “You are the most impatient little shit I have ever met.” Gene wraps his legs around Luis one last time. He is impatient, and he’d like Luis to do something about it.

It’s funny, in the worst possible way—because when Luis came to Beaverton, he thought Luis would fuck up his career, and he has. It’s just that, he’s ruined it in the opposite way from what Gene expected. He has shown Gene how good things can be, how much he misses out on when he lets himself settle.

“What’s the plan?” Gene asks him. “How good’s your fastball?” “Sixty? Sixty-five?” “Oh, Christ,” Ernie says, but his accent and his smile make it sound like a good thing, somehow. “Any curves?” “Only my ass.”

“Good. And your little boyfriend can come, too, if he wants.” “He’s not my boyfriend,” Gene says, because he hasn’t figured out how to talk to Luis yet, and he needs Baker to stop bringing him up. “Sure he is,” she says. “You can get your names hyphenated. It’ll take up your whole back.” Gene laughs, but the idea makes him a little dizzy. It sticks somewhere in him, beats along with his heart.

“You should wear my jersey more often,” Luis says, his voice muffled and edging toward sleepy against the top of Gene’s head. “I was going to say the same thing,” Gene agrees. “Maybe it’s a good-luck charm or something.” “Or we’re just horny.” “Or both.”

Luis holds the jersey out again. Gene grabs his own out of his locker, and they trade. They don’t really have to explain beyond that. They stand there in each other’s jerseys, tucking them in before Gene applies eye black to Luis’s cheeks and a quick kiss to Luis’s lips, and Kyle Rivera gives a distinct cheer of delight at that. “I knew it,” Ernie says. “You are always looking at his ass.”

“Do you think they’ll name the baby after me?” Gene asks. “I thought they picked a name,” Luis says. “Yeah, but I think that’s a decoy.” “A decoy baby name?” “So they can surprise me.” Luis nudges Gene’s legs apart to stand between them and drops a brief kiss on Gene’s lips. “I’m sure that’s it, Nes.”

Watching Luis slip his boots on, a curl falling onto his forehead and the early-afternoon sun bright through the windows, Gene knows—he will always want this lanky, anxious, beautiful dumbass. It will never get old, kissing him in this kitchen or the next. Waking up next to him, talking to him each day before anyone else.

Gene lets himself want Luis, and this unlikely little life they have. No caveats, no asterisks, no gimmicks—he wants, and he wants, and he lets himself have it.

Listen, if I’d seen this playlist or that note I would have known that Nada’s gay a lot sooner. —Gene