Chapter Twenty-Four

SECOND ONLY to one’s loyalty to baseball was the time-honored tradition of beer and pizza afterward. Forrester’s team had won the home game 11–9, and now they planned to tie one on good and proper at Smitty’s Pizzeria, a hole-in-the-wall Shiloh staple. They often got takeout at the office, but Kyle had never been inside, and he’d only had their salads—much to Forrester’s horror.

“Don’t worry, I’m ordering pizza,” Kyle said. “Today’s my cheat day.”

“They have the best pizza here,” Forrester told him as he held open the door. “You’re gonna love it.”

“I always say, pizza is like sex,” he chimed. “There’s no such thing as bad pizza. Only better.”

“Then this pizza is like last night,” Forrester whispered before he went inside.

Warmth brewed inside Kyle as he remembered how Forrester had woken him up, so desperate and needy. He knew Forrester was worried about his mother, but every time they made love, it seemed more intense than the last.

Forrester didn’t reach out behind him to grasp Kyle’s hand as he shouldered through the celebrating ballplayers toward the bar, but the mere fact Kyle had been invited and the privilege of sitting with Mrs. Giordano during the game told Kyle their commitment was solid.

Kyle leaned an elbow on the bar and took a look around. The gold-and-green plastic lampshades hanging over the burgundy vinyl booths and the pool tables gave it the vintage feel of an old pizzeria. Rather than being a specific decorating style, he assumed Smitty’s had not remodeled since the midseventies.

The bartender was as scarred and worn as the dark oak of his bar. But the smile he wore felt genuine. “You gonna have your usual, Frankie?”

“You bet, George.” He flipped a thumb at Kyle. “Bud Lite?”

He nodded his agreement, then asked, “What’s your usual?”

“An appletini.”

Kyle stared at him for a second, then busted up laughing.

“Blow me.” Forrester elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

Kyle quirked an eyebrow. If things went according to plan, that would happen later. Maybe on the drive home. Watching Forrester on the field was hotter than watching him at the cages.

“We mopped the floor with those Simmon’s Carpet bastards!” Joey pushed his giant body between them, slapping them both on the back. Kyle did his best not to wince from the force of it. “Pitcher of Miller Lite, George,” he called before looking down at Kyle. “Hey.”

“Hi, Joey.” Kyle smiled. “You guys played great. Congrats on the win.”

The game had been tied up in the seventh, and the “carpet bastards” tagged on two more in the top of the ninth. Forrester’s team had needed three runs to take the game, and Forrester hit a home run with the bases loaded. The crowd went crazy cheering. Kyle would definitely have to file the image of that grand slam into his spank bank for later. Of course, watching Forrester play shortstop had been a thing of beauty as well. No wonder his brothers had been so mad he’d missed practice.

“Thanks,” Joey said. “If we win next week, we’re going to the playoffs. You play ball?”

He suppressed the first retort that came to mind—No, I play with balls. “I played Little League, but track was more my thing.”

“Hi, Joey.” A buxom redhead sidled up between Joey and Kyle. She had one of those loud grating voices, which made Kyle cringe. “You looked good out there today.”

“You were at the diamond?” Joey wore a dopey expression, and Kyle had to turn away to hide his laughter.

The woman tried to be patient. “I saw you before the game started.”

His gaze dropped to her chest, and a smile broke out on his face. “Oh! Yeah, I remember now. Here, let me get you a drink. What are you having?”

“Pomegranate martini,” she said, ego soothed by the promise of a free drink.

“A Frankie froufrou drink.” Joey smirked in Forrester’s direction.

Forrester rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Joey.”

“He does love his froufrou drinks,” Kyle agreed. “You should see what he does if you buy him cotton candy vodka shots. Isn’t that right, Frankie?”

Forrester tossed up a hand irritably. “Perché io?”

Kyle chuckled, and Joey laughed, nudging Kyle in the arm. “You’re a funny guy.” He looked at Forrester. “I like him.”

“That makes one of us.” Forrester gave Kyle a playful scowl.

Once the redhead, Marla, had her martini, Joey switched places with Kyle so he could be closer to her. Thankfully, Kyle could escape her loud voice and the way her boobs kept accidentally brushing his arm.

Thrilled to be on a winning streak, Forrester’s teammates made toasts and liberally handed out congratulatory backslaps—Kyle taking a few more opportunities than necessary to pat his boyfriend on the back. Forrester took all the accolades with grace, buying drinks and never failing to praise the other men’s game. He introduced Kyle to the guys, making him feel a part of it all.

Kyle couldn’t really tell a difference between this Forrester and the one he played darts with at Reverends or the fun-loving man in the bookstore. Aside from the occasional laughing agreement when one of his friends or brothers made a joke about chicks, one would really have to know both sides of Forrester to know he wasn’t so much agreeing with the observations, just laughing along.

Kyle ordered a second beer, and Forrester a third froufrou drink—his boyfriend progressively getting more and more animated the greater his alcohol consumption became. Yet never once did he fail to face Kyle as he spoke.

A guy named Larry, married to one of Forrester’s cousins, raised his beer for yet another toast. “To Frankie’s grand slam!”

Kyle clanked his beer to Joey’s and those of a few other players he didn’t know, unable to wipe the proud grin off his face. He thoroughly enjoyed watching Forrester be the center of attention.

“It was Tony’s pitching that made the difference,” Forrester argued.

“That’s right, pipsqueak. Don’t be stealin’ my glory,” Tony laughed, pulling Forrester into an affectionate headlock for a noogie, overturning his drink in the process.

“Hey! Watch it, ya big meathead.” Forrester elbowed him out of his space. “These things are ten bucks!”

Kyle gestured to the bartender to get Forrester another.

“Just have a beer like the rest of us.” Tony laughed and slapped Forrester on the back again.

“I like my froufrou drinks.” Forrester dried his arm off on his jersey.

Tony glanced in Kyle’s direction. “Hey, Benson. I saw you sitting with Ma during the game.”

“She was trying to set me up with your cousin Gina.”

Tony grinned, his white teeth perfect and even. He was attractive in a bear sort of way. Kyle could just picture him in leathers. “Figures. But trust me, you don’t wanna call Gina.”

“I don’t?” Kyle asked, enjoying the way Forrester scowled at him.

“Because once she finds out you’re a lawyer, she’ll be after your money,” Tony said seriously. “She’s always been that way.”

“Don’t be a fool, wrap your tool.” Joey burst out with over-the-top laughter, acting just as goofy as Forrester did the more he became lubricated with alcohol. He and Marla had been doing tequila shooters. “Hey, Kyle. What you drinkin’? I’m buying this round.”

Kyle held up his bottle. “Beer, what else is there?”

“You could learn something from him, Frankie,” Tony said seriously.

Forrester made a stupid face, accepting another fancy green drink from George. “I’ll stick to my liquid candy, thank you very much.”

“Beer’s better for you than that junk. It’s like a nutrition drink,” Joey insisted. “It has barley and hops.”

“This has apples in it,” Forrester countered, holding it up with a smirk before he took an elaborate sip. “Yum.”

“Hey, boys!”

Kyle smiled at the familiar sound of Amanda’s voice. This joint was just like Cheers. He kept waiting for Cliff or Norm to come in.

Amanda had pulled her blonde hair into a ponytail, tucked under a Buckeyes baseball cap that matched her snug red Buckeyes T-shirt. Her tennis shoes and white short-shorts made her look like an off-duty, albeit pregnant, cheerleader. With a wide, red-lipped grin, she walked up and gave each of the three Giordanos a punch in the arm.

“Ow!” Forrester flinched, laughing. “What was that for, Preggo?”

“Because you guys won, duh. Dino’s right behind me. He just dropped Ma off at home.”

“She okay?” Forrester asked.

“Yup,” she said casually. “Hi, Kyle.” To his surprise, she followed up her greeting with a big hug.

“Hey, Amanda. I wondered if you would be here.”

“I had clients all day,” she explained, clicking her nails behind his head. “Then I had to go home and change.” She pulled back with a wince.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle said, instinctively looking down at her belly.

“It’s not you.” She pressed a hand into her side. “This little shit has been kicking me all day.” Totally shocking Kyle, Amanda grabbed his hand and placed it on her stomach. “Get a load of that kick. I swear she’s gonna be a soccer player.”

Kyle had never touched a pregnant woman’s belly before, and it felt strangely intimate to do in the middle of a bar. When the skin under his hand rolled and tapped against his palm, a smile spread across his face. He gave her a squeamish giggle when he realized he could see the baby moving. “Oh my God, that’s so freaky. It’s like Alien.”

She swatted his arm. “Don’t be talking about my daughter like that.”

Kyle laughed. Forrester watched the two of them with a curious expression. Happiness, maybe?

Then Forrester’s gaze drifted above and behind Kyle just as something hard tapped Kyle’s shoulder. He pivoted, coming face-to-chest with a giant, scowling Italian.

“Who are you? And why are you touching my wife’s stomach?”

“Um,” Kyle sputtered. Mrs. Giordano had pointed out all her sons, but Kyle hadn’t appreciated how wide Dino really was from a distance.

Thankfully, Amanda pushed her belly between them. “Back off, Dino. It’s Frankie’s friend, Kyle.”

“Frankie’s friend, huh?” He raked Kyle with another glare, then looked back at his wife. “How is it you know him well enough to let him touch your stomach when I never met the guy?”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Jeez, jealous Italians,” she muttered to Kyle, who wisely kept his face neutral. “Kyle was the stripper at Patty’s bachelorette party. And he gave me a couple of lap dances.”

“Amanda!” Kyle cried, his jaw dropping in shock. Hadn’t the woman ever heard the phrase don’t poke the bear?

Dino looked just shy of murderous, but Amanda and Forrester busted up laughing. “I’m just kidding, ya meathead,” she said, resting a placating hand on his chest. “I met Kyle the other night at Patty’s bachelorette party. He was there with Frankie and his friends. It’s their fault I was out till three and my feet were swollen like sausages.”

“Sure that wasn’t all the times you and Holly kept saying, ‘This is the best song ever,’ and dragging us back out to dance?” Kyle teased.

“The DJ was amazing,” Amanda insisted.

“And those CFM shoes had nothing to do with your sausage feet, did they?” Forrester said.

“What are CFM shoes?” Dino demanded.

“Come-fuck-me shoes,” Amanda said. “Now, aren’t you gonna kiss me hello?”

Dino threw Kyle another suspicious glare, and then his entire face softened with happiness as he reached out to embrace his wife. “Hey, beautiful.”

Then to Kyle’s surprise, he gave her an enthusiastic kiss with a whole lot of tongue.

Apparently height, tongue action, and jealousy came honestly to those of the Giordano bloodline.

Arm still hooked tight around Amanda’s neck, Dino kept her close, similar to the playful way Forrester did with Kyle. But he stared right at Forrester.

“What?” Forrester wiped at his face. “I got food in my teeth or something?”

Dino kissed the top of his wife’s head, then took Forrester by the arm. “C’mon, shoot some nine-ball with me.”

“Hey, George!” Amanda called out as Dino dragged a protesting Forrester away. “Get me a Diet Coke! I’m dying out here.”

“Comin’ right up, sweetheart.”

“This bartender likes you,” Kyle observed.

“And here I don’t have to pay for it.”

“Good. A man could go broke buying you Diet Coke.”

“You offered,” she reminded him with a smile. Then she looked at him in the same curious way her husband had just been studying Forrester. “And you didn’t even know me. That’s the sign of a good man. You’d make a good boyfriend.”

“That’s it,” Tony announced with a slap of his hand on the bar. “I’m out of here before you start playing matchmaker, Maria Junior.”

Amanda stuck her tongue out at him, then turned back to Kyle. “You sat with Ma during the game, huh?”

He picked at the corner of his beer label. “Yeah, I got to hear all about your beautiful cousin Gina.”

Amanda groaned. “Jesus Mary and Joseph.”

“Did you know it’s a good thing Gina has two kids with two different men, because it means she’s fertile?”

“For crying out loud.”

“She did thank me for introducing her to Chuck,” he whispered.

Amanda’s pretty face softened. She placed a hand on Kyle’s forearm. “Thanks for pulling strings. And the list. Very thorough.” She spoke in half sentences so Joey and Marla couldn’t hear, though they were engrossed in each other. “I don’t know if”—she jerked her head to the side of the bar where Forrester stood by the pool tables—“would’ve remembered all that.”

“Anytime,” he assured her, putting as much meaning into his smile as he could. “It’s what people do when… you know…?”

Amanda heard the rest of his unspoken words and raised her brows. “You do, eh?”

It pleased him that Amanda understood he and Forrester were seriously devoted to each other, not just playing around. “Oh yeah.”

“Lucky bastard.”

He pointed his bottle at her on point. “That would be me, actually.”

Feeling absurdly happy hanging out, and better yet fitting in, with Forrester’s family, Kyle took a long pull on his beer, glancing across the bar to where his boyfriend had disappeared. He did his best to keep his smile under wraps when Forrester leaned over the pool table to rack, his ass stretching those snug white uniform pants perfectly.

Ahh, thank God for Lycra.