The Thursday afternoon light had that late-summer quality, warm but mellow, like it knew the season was running out of innings. Practice had ended an hour ago, but neither Shane nor I seemed in any hurry to leave. The rest of the team had drifted off toward the locker room or their cars, the sound of cleats on pavement fading until the only noise was the occasional metallic rattle of the batting cage chain when the breeze caught it.
Shane was still working on his swing, his focus so sharp it made time feel slower. Each pitch came from the machine with that familiar hiss, and a clean arc into the outfield grass followed every crack of wood against the ball. He had a rhythm.
I sat on the dugout bench, half-watching the ball sail, half-watching him. His jersey clung just a little from sweat, the fabric darkened in patches. A streak of dirt ran along his right thigh from when he’d slid earlier. Blond hair stuck out from under his cap in small tufts, catching what sunlight was left. It was one of those images that felt more like a photograph than a moment, something you knew you’d remember.
Eventually, he stepped out of the cage, breathing hard but grinning like a kid. “You’re up, Taylor,” he said, tossing me the bat. His fingers brushed mine on the hand-off, brief but electric.
We went back and forth like that for another half-hour, just hitting and talking, the kind of loose conversation that drifts from baseball to school to nothing at all. At one point, as I adjusted my helmet, Shane walked up behind me and said in a low, almost casual voice, “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, still facing the plate.
“You into… guys at all? Or girls? Or both?” His tone was calm, but I could feel him watching me, like my answer mattered more than he was letting on.
The question froze me mid-grip. I’d always pegged him as straight, confident, popular, the kind of guy people naturally gravitated toward. I took my time, letting the sound of the breeze and the distant hum of the highway fill the silence while I figured out how to answer. “Both,” I said finally, glancing over my shoulder at him. “Guess I like girls… but I think guys are hot, too.”
His eyes softened a little, and his mouth curved into a half-smile. “Good to know,” he said simply. No jokes, no teasing. Just a nod, like I’d just told him something he already suspected. Then he focused on something in the distance, quiet and serene. “Same here.”
From then on, something changed between us. We shared a secret. We’d still talk about the game, but now, sometimes, our conversations veered into new territory, quietly pointing out a player we thought was good-looking, comparing tastes like it was the most normal thing in the world. It made the space between us feel different, charged in a way I couldn’t put words to.
A few weeks later, on a Friday night, he came over to my place, a tiny couple of rooms next to my parents’ garage. We ordered pizza, flipped through channels, and ended up on the couch, half-leaning toward each other as we joked about whatever was on. The hours slipped by, the only light coming from the TV and the dim glow of the streetlamp outside.
I noticed, at some point, that his knee was almost touching mine, and when I realized it, I also realized I didn’t want to move away. The room was quiet except for the low murmur of voices from the screen, but it felt like something unspoken was getting louder. His arm rested along the back of the couch, casual enough to be nothing… but close enough that I could feel the warmth of him there.
It stayed like that for a long time, closer than friends usually sit, not quite touching, both of us pretending to be absorbed in whatever was on TV. Every now and then, I’d catch him looking at me out of the corner of my eye, and he wouldn’t look away right away.
By the time either of us moved, it wasn’t a sudden thing. It was slow, like the air between us was shrinking one breath at a time. My heart was pounding, but the rest of me felt calm, like I’d been waiting for this without realizing it.
The line between us was blurring.
Neither of us moved for what felt like a full inning, but the air was different now, thicker somehow, as if every second we sat there was pulling us tighter together. The TV light flickered across Shane’s face, catching the sharp line of his jaw and the little crease that formed when he concentrated.
I could feel my breathing change, slower but deeper. Every time his shoulder shifted even slightly, my pulse jumped. His arm was still draped along the back of the couch, but his fingers had drifted, subtle at first, then a little closer, until I could sense them hovering just inches from the back of my neck.
When I finally looked at him, really looked, his eyes were already on me. Not darting away this time. They held steady, blue but shadowed in the dim light. I couldn’t read everything in them, but I didn’t need to. The silence between us had stopped being awkward a long time ago, it was something else now, something alive.
Shane leaned in slightly, slow enough that I could’ve pulled back if I’d wanted to. I didn’t. My focus narrowed to the smallest details: the faint scent of leather from his glove still clinging to him, the way his breathing matched mine, the warmth rolling off him in steady waves.
His knee pressed harder against mine; it wasn’t an accident. My hand rested against my leg, but I felt his fingers brush against my knuckles, lingering there for a heartbeat before curling slightly, just enough to hook around mine.
No one said anything. The TV kept playing, a background hum that only made the quiet between us sharper. When he finally closed the last few inches, it wasn’t a sudden spark; it was more like a slow, steady flame that had been building for weeks.
Our foreheads touched first, just barely, and we both let out these quiet, almost relieved breaths. Then his lips brushed mine, light at first, like he was testing the shape of it, before settling into a kiss that was unhurried but certain.
I don’t know how long it lasted. I only know that when we finally leaned back, the room felt warmer, my heart was still racing, and neither of us broke eye contact for a long time.
Shane gave a small, crooked smile, the kind that didn’t need words. And I smiled back, because we both knew. We’d crossed something we weren’t going to uncross.
Friday night had ended quietly, no dramatic declarations, no awkward scramble for words. Just that kiss, that look, and the silent understanding that something between us had shifted.
By Saturday afternoon, we were back where we always were, on the field. The late-summer sun was high, bleaching the bases white against the baked dirt. The air shimmered faintly above the infield, and the smell of cut grass clung to everything.
The rest of the team was scattered across the diamond during warm-ups, but I was in the dugout, pulling on my batting gloves. Shane was already there, leaning against the rack of helmets like it was just another practice day. But when our eyes met, something passed between us, a half-second pause that probably meant nothing to anyone else, but to me, it was loud as a bat hitting the sweet spot.
He tossed me a ball without warning. I caught it one-handed, more out of instinct than skill, and he grinned. That grin stayed with me all the way to the batter’s box.
During drills, he ended up pitching to me. His wind-up was easy, but every time the ball left his hand, I caught the smallest flicker of amusement in his expression, like he knew something no one else did. And maybe he did.
Between rounds, we stood near the cage, waiting for our turns. The rest of the team was talking trash, calling out each other’s swings, but Shane drifted close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. He didn’t move away, and neither did I.
At one point, Coach barked for us to hustle, and we jogged back to the dugout together. Shane fell into step beside me, close enough that the back of his hand brushed mine once, then again, probably by accident. Probably.
By the time practice wound down, I realized we’d barely spoken all day. And yet, every glance, every small touch had said more than words could’ve managed. We didn’t need to talk about what happened the night before. It was there in the way he caught my eye from across the field, in the easy half-smiles we traded when no one else was looking.
Whatever this was, it had already made its way onto the diamond, and I had the feeling it wasn’t going away anytime soon. Nor did I want it to.
We’d pulled off a win we probably shouldn’t have. The other team had the better record, the bigger bats, but somehow, inning after inning, we hung on. By the time the final out snapped into Shane’s glove at first, the dugout exploded.
An hour later, the whole team had migrated to Miller’s Burgers, the little diner by the highway where the floor still smelled faintly of fryer oil and the walls were plastered with faded baseball posters. We crammed into booths, still in our uniforms, caps turned backward.
Shane ended up across from me, his cheeks still flushed from the game. His voice cut easily through the chatter around us, teasing teammates, replaying his best catches, but every so often his eyes would find mine. It was never for long, just enough to send that same flicker of heat from last night right back into my chest.
Plates clattered onto tables, greasy cheeseburgers wrapped in wax paper, baskets of fries, milkshakes thick enough to need a spoon. The noise was pure victory, laughing, clinking soda glasses, a few guys breaking into off-key chants just to be obnoxious.
Through it all, Shane and I barely talked. We didn’t need to. His foot found mine under the table once, light enough to pass for an accident, but the way he left it there told me it wasn’t.
By the time the group started thinning out, guys peeling away in twos and threes, some heading home, others talking about meeting later, Shane glanced at me and tilted his head toward the door. No words. Just that look.
Outside, the air was cooler, the pavement still holding the day’s warmth. The parking lot lights buzzed faintly overhead. We didn’t rush. We walked the few blocks to his place in a slow rhythm, talking about the game in low voices, our hands brushing now and then without pulling away.
Shane’s house sat back from the street, the porch light off. No cars in the driveway. I knew before he said anything.
“Nobody’s home,” he murmured, almost like he was telling me a secret.
At the door, he pulled out his key, glancing over his shoulder once before fitting it into the lock. The soft click of the latch giving way felt louder than it should have.
We stepped inside, the warm, quiet air swallowing us. And as the door swung shut behind us, the world outside disappeared. The door closed with a soft thud, and the house settled into that deep kind of quiet you only notice when there’s no one else around. It smelled faintly of laundry detergent and something warm, maybe coffee from earlier in the day.
Shane tossed his cap onto the entry table, the faint clink of his keys following. For a second, neither of us moved farther in. We just stood there, looking at each other, the space between us thinner than it had been even last night.
Somewhere down the street, a car passed, its headlights sweeping briefly through the front windows before fading away. The sound seemed far off, like the outside world was already a block away.
Shane stepped closer, his shoes barely audible on the wood floor until we were just a breath apart. His hand brushed mine, barely there at first, then settling, his fingers curling around my own.
“You still hungry?” he asked, but his voice was low, almost distracted, like the words were just an excuse to stand this close.
I shook my head, though I couldn’t have said what I was answering to, the question or the unspoken thing between us.
The light in the hallway painted his features in soft gold, catching the edge of his jaw, the curve of a smile that didn’t quite reach full strength but carried a lot more than it said. He glanced toward the living room, then back to me.
We moved without deciding to, walking deeper into the house side by side, the sound of our footsteps muffled by the carpet. I noticed his shoulder brushing mine once… twice… and then not moving away at all.
Somewhere outside a dog barked twice. Then the quiet deepened. Whatever was about to happen, it belonged entirely to us now.
Two hands moved up the side of my body and found themselves with palms against my cheeks. “Taylor.” His voice carried to my ears by the warmth of his breath tingled my inner being. “I burn for you.”
I remembered those words from a poem in high school English class. I had thought the poem silly, possibly trite. My eyes gazed more intently at Shane. “I understand those words now.”
Shane’s head moved closer to mine until our lips touched. On the field, he did everything with such aggressiveness that the gentleness of his movements made me yearn more intently for him. I knew, without words, that he wanted me, and he wanted me the way I wanted him. Even without the clarity of speech, no miscommunication was possible. I pulled slightly back to give myself enough room to unbutton my shirt. He stood silently, backlit by the soft glow of the dim illumination from the living room windows. With my last button freed from its slot, my hands moved to the top of his chest, and I began to work on his.
His eyes locked onto mine, searching, as if he could see the words I couldn’t say. The air grew heavier, thick with the weight of our unspoken truths. Shane’s fingers traced a slow path down my chest, each touch igniting sparks that danced across my skin. His breath hitched, and I felt the warmth of it against my collarbone. “Taylor,” he whispered, his voice low and raw, “I want you.”
My heart pounded, a drumbeat echoing in the quiet room. The fear that had held my tongue captive began to unravel, thread by thread. I reached up, my hand trembling as I cupped his face, my thumb brushing the stubble along his jaw. “Shane,” I managed, my voice barely above a breath, “I love you.”
The words hung between us, fragile yet unshakable. His eyes widened, a flicker of surprise giving way to something deeper. A slow smile curved his lips, and he leaned down, his forehead resting against mine. “I love you, too,” he murmured, the words a soft vow that sealed the space between us.
Our lips met again, not with the urgency of before, but with a tenderness that spoke of promises and futures. His body pressed closer, our skin flush, every movement deliberate, as if we were memorizing each other. My hands roamed his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath my fingertips, grounding me in this moment. His kisses trailed lower, from my neck to my chest, each one a quiet affirmation of what we’d just confessed.
Shane’s hands slid down my sides, his touch both gentle and possessive, igniting a heat that pooled low in my belly. He shifted, guiding my hips closer, our erections brushing together in a slow, deliberate rhythm that sent shivers through me. I gasped softly, and he responded with a low moan, his lips finding mine again as he pressed himself closer. My fingers found his length, tracing its firm contours, and he shuddered under my touch, his breath hot against my ear. “Taylor,” he whispered, the sound of my name laced with need.
I moved my hand slowly at first, exploring him, feeling the warmth and pulse of him against my palm. His hand mirrored mine, wrapping around me with a tenderness that made my heart ache. Our movements synced, a silent conversation of touch and response, each stroke building a crescendo of sensation. His lips grazed my nipple, his tongue flicking against it, and I arched into him, my body begging for more. The intimacy of it, his breath, his touch, the way he looked at me, felt like a confession in itself, as if every caress was a declaration of love.
He shifted again, guiding us so that our bodies aligned perfectly, my thighs parting to welcome him closer. The friction of our bodies moving together was electric, a dance of heat and pressure that blurred the edges of the world. I felt him press against me, not rushing but savoring, his eyes never leaving mine. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his voice trembling with care. I nodded, pulling him closer, my hands gripping his shoulders as we found a rhythm that was both urgent and reverent. Each thrust, each slide of skin against skin, was a promise, a shared vulnerability that bound us tighter.
The world outside his room faded, leaving only us, two hearts finally aligned. As we moved together, the rhythm of our bodies became a language of its own, speaking what words could only begin to capture. The log cabin quilt lay forgotten at the foot of the bed, and the dim light from the nightstand cast soft shadows over us, painting our entwined forms in hues of gold and dusk.
In that moment, I wasn’t afraid anymore; I wasn’t alone anymore. I was his, and he was mine, and the silence that had once held us captive was now filled with the sound of our shared breaths, our whispered names, and the unspoken dreams we’d carry forward together.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
