“It is what it is.” Cross was determined to be good and follow orders. He’d seen more than one great player push too hard to come back too soon, and never reach their old potential with a nagging chronic injury.But yeah, not fun.
The elevator dinged discreetly and opened. Cross wheeled into the hallway and eyed the sign on the wall. “Head right.”
The suite, when they reached it, had a wide front room, with a couch and a loveseat far enough apart to allow a wheelchair to pass. The desk had space to pull a chair up to it, and the doorways to the bedroom and bathroom were wide.
Rusty hesitated a second in the entrance, then followed Cross inside and pushed the door shut.
Cross suggested, “Close the curtains? Although no one’s likely to see in up here.”
“Might as well.” Rusty tugged the curtains across, dimming the room. Late afternoon light seeped around the edges, but Cross hit one of the conveniently low switches to turn on a lamp.
Rusty hovered by the windows. “So.”
“We should eat.” Cross wanted to bridge the awkwardness. “Stick the bigger bags in the bedroom and let’s check out room service.”
“I could eat.” Rusty’s grin was a shadow of usual, but better than the serious face he’d worn since meeting his classmate.
Could’ve done without that little encounter rubbing in the money.At least Ben hadn’t seemed inclined to chat or ask questions. “And maybe watch a ball game? Are you a Mariners fan?”
“Fuck off. Royals all the way.”
“Aww. Poor baby.”
Rusty gave him the finger, then scooped up their bags and hustled them into the bedroom. He came out immediately. “One bed. Big, though. Are we going to…”
Cross held up a hand. “We’re going to eat, watch some other poor schmucks play through pulled muscles and bruises, and then we’ll figure it out. Okay?” He’d chosen one bed on purpose, but the couch also pulled out.
“Sure.”
He scanned the QR code by the TV and pulled up the menu. “So, Kansas means good steaks, right?”
“Just stay away from the surf part of surf ’n turf.” Rusty came and leaned over his shoulder, checking the options. “Ooh, twenty-ounce prime rib. I could eat that.”
“I’m going filet.” It was more expensive than the prime rib, which should help put Rusty at ease, and Cross hadn’t spent the day working cattle.
Once Cross had their order placed, he successfully transferred from the chair to the couch, pushed the chair aside, and patted the seat beside him. “Come on, sit down. Take a load off.” When Rusty hovered, he added, “Grab the remote and let’s find a ball game.”
They had a choice of Phillies-Jays, or Cleveland-Detroit, and decided to cheer the Jays over a team they both despised. The score was already two-nothing Jays, which seemed promising.
Rusty sat beside Cross, just far enough away that their thighs didn’t touch. Cross would’ve liked an arm around his shoulders, but didn’t make a move. Just having Rusty beside him, razzing the umpires and cheering the hits, lowered Cross’s stress levels. They didn’t talk about anything more fraught than baseball, and that suited him fine.
When food came, Rusty got up to let the employee with the cart inside. The guy set up places for them on the desk without comment. Cross dug out another tip from his pocket and passed the bill over via Rusty, but when the door closed behind the server, he told Rusty, “Bring that stuff over here and we’ll eat in front of the TV. If we drip on the couch, I’ll buy it.”
“It’s good to have a sugar daddy.” Rusty grinned and settled Cross’s plate on his napkin-covered knees, then sat down and dug into his own.
Cross mulled that comment over in his mind for the good and bad as he ate a decent steak. From the noises of pleasure Rusty was making, the prime rib was apparently to his liking. Cross didn’t want to be a sugar daddy but at the same time, he lovedpaying for stuff that pleased Rusty. And Rusty had said,“It’s good to have.”Was that a sarcastic joke, or willingness to accept a little spoiling?Am I overthinking this?
He’d ordered crème brulée for Rusty’s dessert, figuring the egg custard had some protein with the sugar. Watching Rusty lick the creamy pudding off the spoon with his eyes drifting closed flooded warmth into Cross’s chest. Rusty made a soft sound of pleasure, then his eyes popped open and he flushed. “It’s amazing. Didn’t you get yourself any?”
“Nah.” Cross patted his stomach. “Getting soft. There’s only so many calories you can burn off with arm days.”
Rusty reached over and laid a hand on Cross’s T-shirt-clad abs. “Doesn’t feel soft to me.”
A jolt went through Cross and he stared down at those long fingers splayed across his midsection. After a breath, Rusty pulled his hand back, but not abruptly, and he went back to eating his dessert.
Once Rusty had pushed the cart with their dirty dishes out into the hall, he sat back down right next to Cross and stretched his arm along the back of the couch. Cross took that invitation, leaning into him, his head tipped against Rusty’s shoulder. The ball game went into extra innings, and even Rusty’s enthusiasm flagged. Cross drifted, the stress and sleepless night catching up with him. The announcers babbling on created enough white noise to intercept his toxic brain and Rusty’s sturdy warmth let Cross’s tight muscles relax. Even the chronic background throb of his ankle faded.
He came awake with Rusty nudging him. “Hey, you’re gonna get a crick in your neck. Let’s head to bed.”
