Summary:
“You know, I waited for you.”
Lowell Baker is convinced that life is random at best, and good things rarely triumph in the end, but that doesn’t mean that life excludes exhilarating moments, like the one when Sven literally knocked him off his feet and landed sprawled across his body face-to-face and almost mouth-to-mouth. Those moments just required taking a few extra risks to bring them about.
“I waited for you, too.”
For Sven Paulsen, there is safety in the predictable and expected. He’s the handsome, strong, sturdy guy on everybody’s side. He has endured a string of bad luck, but he’s certain that sticking close to well-worn paths will right the ship and send him sailing off toward a comfortable horizon.
In fact, that was the plan until Sven literally collided with Lowell at second base on the softball field. Face-to-face once more, their shared history is recalled, but it leaves the path forward uncertain. Sven is comfortable as friends, but Lowell wants a little more…even if it ultimately requires convincing Sven to take a leap from more than 10,000 feet off the ground.
Always Waiting is a 50,000 word gay romance with friends becoming lovers and a touch of second chance. It contains steamy scenes and a happily-ever-after ending. It is the third book in the series The League and includes several characters from the first two books The Complete Game and A Second Glance. It is possible to read Always Waiting as a standalone novel, but readers will benefit from reading the stories of Ian, Blake, Reggie, and Connor from the preceding books.
Can a May-December romance provide a young teacher with a solution to his bad luck dating crass and shallow men his own age? And if so, how can he find the man that stirs his heart, body, and mind?
For second-year high school math teacher Jordan Vaughan, that man might just be Marshall Easterling, the 46-year-old left fielder for gay softball league defending champions the Soft Serves. They meet when Marshall’s teammate Blake Powell applies for an open coaching job at Jordan’s school.
It looks like a perfect match until past memories and insecurities begin to creep into the picture. Marshall is haunted by memories of his first partner, and Jordan can’t let go of insecurities about his age and relative lack of life experience.
Will Marshall’s teammates and Jordan’s teaching colleague Karen help them both understand that they just might be two uneasy pieces that are a perfect fit?
Uneasy Pieces is a 50,000 word gay romance centered on a May-December romance. It contains steamy scenes and a happily-ever-after ending. It is the fourth and final book in the series The League. It includes multiple characters from the first three books Complete Game, A Second Glance, and Always Waiting. It is possible to read Uneasy Pieces as a standalone novel, but readers will benefit from reading the previous books in the series.
Summary:
At last - A never-before-released novella Making Magic completes The League series box set.
Four previously published novels and one never before released novella tell the story of the Soft Serves, a gay recreational softball team battling for the championship each season while teammates find love. The League details the stories of five different couples. All of the books are individual standalone romance stories, but they are best read as one seeing how all of the characters are interwoven with their friends in each book. The stories are packed with steamy scenes and plenty of happily ever afters..
Complete Game - Blake Powell was a minor league baseball player on the cusp of making it to the majors. His career promised fame, fortune, and the chance to play the game for small armies of fans. Then the roof caved in. A moment of distraction caused by a kiss, a wrong step, and a bone-shattering injury put an early end to his baseball career. While nursing his injury, he met his new next-door neighbor Ian Chapman, a player-manager of a local gay softball team. Their first meeting is brief, but six months later, neither has forgotten that first encounter.
A Second Glance - As he stood on third base, leaning toward home, ready to score, Reggie Wolf couldn’t believe what he heard from the third baseman. “After the game…you and me alone…drinks.” Reggie wasn’t a stranger to first dates. He had a long dating history from humorous to nearly catastrophic. But none were ever as ruggedly handsome as Connor. For Connor Ryan, it was all about Reggie’s face. He got lost in it every time their eyes met. Reggie wasn’t traditionally handsome, but his gaze drew Connor like a moth to a flame. He had to find out more.
Always Waiting - Lowell Baker is convinced that life is random at best, and good things rarely triumph in the end, but that doesn’t mean that life excludes exhilarating moments, like the one when Sven literally knocked him off his feet and landed sprawled across his body face-to-face and almost mouth-to-mouth. Those moments just required taking a few extra risks to bring them about.
Uneasy Pieces - Can a May-December romance provide a young teacher with a solution to his bad luck dating crass and shallow men his own age? And if so, how can he find the man that stirs his heart, body, and mind? For second-year high school math teacher Jordan Vaughan, that man might just be Marshall Easterling, the 46-year-old left fielder for gay softball league defending champions the Soft Serves. They meet when Marshall’s teammate Blake Powell applies for an open coaching job at Jordan’s school.
Making Magic - The entire Soft Serves team is distraught when Sally considers closing their favorite bar the Toolbox. Meanwhile, Dean, a new bartender meets Vance, Ian’s latest softball recruit. Can the rest of the team save the Toolbox while Dean and Vance seek to comfort each other as they set out on a new relationship journey?
Always Waiting #3
1
Sven
I assumed the roof collapse was either a rite of passage for a young homeowner or the cherry on top of the sundae of my recent string of bad luck. Maybe it really was a little bit of both. The house felt like a dream come true on closing day when I signed the mountain of papers, and the keys were pressed into my eager, waiting hand. Now, truthfully, it was more of an ongoing nightmare, and it was getting more difficult to wake myself up from those horrible dreams.
Time after time, after something broke or even crumbled, I maintained my sunny point of view that everything was fixable even if it required a significant outlay of cash. Then a roof caved in…literally. The little roof over the back patio to be exact.
I was standing at the French doors that provided an exit from my kitchen to a beautiful brick patio out back. I had a mug of coffee in hand, and I was contemplating a back yard edged in beds of voluminous flowers spilling out on to the grass.
The morning was windy. Thirty-mile-an-hour winds were blowing in off the lake. Most mornings in the Bayview neighborhood, just three blocks from Lake Michigan, were windy. My house was nearly eighty years old, and I was used to minor creaking noises every time the wind blew hard.
The only warning of the collapse was something that sounded ominously like a crack instead of a creak. It sounded like it came from above. I cast my eyes toward the ceiling and then back down toward the doors just in time to see the corner posts holding the roof buckle and come unmoored. A split second later the far side of the roof itself crashed to the bricks with a loud crunching sound.
My first reaction was to simply turn away and place my mug in the coffee machine to brew another cup. Instinctively, I knew that I would need more caffeine to deal with the situation.
As I watched the invigorating brown liquid slowly fill my mug, I tried to think about what my father did in a situation like this. Unfortunately, I couldn’t come up with a precedent. The Paulsen family homestead back in Minnesota was apparently a much more sturdily constructed one than the city bungalow that I recently purchased in Milwaukee.
As I stared out the doors to the patio again, just to make sure I hadn’t imagined the collapse, I hoped this was the climax of the recent string of disasters I experienced. I reached up and raked my fingers through my straw-colored hair and wanted to blame it all on the breakup with Stuart. I reasoned that his ghost must be haunting me.
Stuart and I were three years into a mostly well-functioning relationship when I received word from my bank employer of a promotion opportunity that required a move to Milwaukee. Stuart didn’t want to move. He made strong arguments about the sophistication of Minneapolis, but we both agreed the promotion was difficult to turn down. I explained that a few years in the future I would likely have the opportunity to return to Minneapolis with an executive banking position.
In the end, Stuart followed me to the shores of Lake Michigan, and I purchased a house using my bonus pay as a big chunk of the down payment. He rented an apartment, but we lived at my house…for three months, a miserable late spring and early summer.
Stuart hated everything about the house. He woke up in the morning complaining that the kitchen cupboards were on the wrong side of the sink. When he slept over, he went to bed complaining that the toilet was too short. I won’t even get started on his comments about the city in general. His mood bounced back and forth from grey to black.
Our best day together in Milwaukee was a day at the beach. Stuart stood barefoot on the sand staring out at the horizon on a windy day. The waves were being whipped occasional whitecaps. Stuart turned to me, poked at his glasses to push them further up his nose, smiled and said, “It really is pretty.”
He never did find a job after the move, and that should have been the flashing neon light to tell me that he wasn’t planning to stay. He told me that he was looking, but I never heard about any job interviews. Stuart’s uncle promised that he would keep a job open in case his nephew wanted to return to Minneapolis. In the end, he left without saying goodbye. He didn’t show up for dinner as planned, and he didn’t answer phone calls or text messages.
Three days later I received an e-mail that said, “I’m sorry.”
After I finished another mug of coffee and was satisfied that I’d stared long enough at the collapsed roof to make sure that I wasn’t imagining things, I called my office assistant Anita. I said, “House disaster number 13, or is it 27? It certainly feels like 27.”
Her voice was soft and supportive. She said, “I’m so sorry Mr. Paulsen. That house has just been one thing after another. Are you okay? You didn’t fall off a ladder or anything, did you?”
“If I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, does that mean I’m okay?”
With a gentle laugh of her own, she said, “I’ve already checked your schedule. None of the meetings today are urgent. I will take care of notifications. Do you expect to be in tomorrow?”
I said, “I’m planning to be there by 2:00 p.m today. Clear the schedule, but I can handle any communication, and Rodney should have a report for me by noon.”
Anita said, “Perfect, Mr. Paulsen. Have another cup of coffee, call the insurance company, and we’ll laugh about the house when you get here.”
Work was the one part of my life that continued to move along just as I planned. I was on a fast track toward being a banking executive. I was told that I had an easy, confident charm that built trust from clients and coworkers almost instantly. Maybe they just liked looking at a tall, blonde, blue-eyed Norwegian, too. I was happy with any explanation for my success as long as it worked to my advantage.
I couldn’t complain about my slowly expanding circle of friends either. The day that I received Stuart’s “I’m sorry” e-mail, I visited one of Milwaukee’s most durable institutions for the first time, the local bar. In this case it was a gay bar named the Toolbox.
After downing two Old Fashioneds, I was shocked to hear a pathetic pickup line roll out of my mouth. The line was actually true, but it still sounded desperate.
I said, “Did anyone ever tell you that you have the most handsome smile in the room?”
I was surprised that the target of my ham-fisted attempt at an introduction didn’t just throw shade and exit stage left. Instead, he said, “No, but that’s very sweet of you.”
That’s how I met Ian. A few minutes later, he introduced me to his best friend Reggie. Over time, the acquaintances grew into solid friendships. By the time Christmas rolled around, both Ian and Reggie were comfortably settled into solid dating relationships with Blake and Connor respectively. They began to turn their attention toward looking for my Mr. Right.
As winter began to wane, Reggie leaned on me to play in their gay softball league. The thought of it brought back memories of high school gym class and the easy ball I dropped after Kyle Becker shouted, “This one’s for you, blondie!”
I wasn’t completely lacking in athletic skills, but most teachers, coaches, and jocks assumed I would be more talented on the sports field than I was. In a word, I was awkward. I hit my growth spurt early, and as a teenager it felt like my feet were more fitting for a clown than a teenage boy. I was almost always one of the boys picked first for teams in gym class, but my performance rarely lived up to expectations.
I tried to convince Reggie that the trouble I would cause would far outweigh the benefits of having me on the team. Our conversations followed the same pattern time after time. He said, “But we just play for fun, Sven, and you would look good on the field. Half of the point of gay softball is looking good.”
I shook my head and said, “Looking good doesn’t win games.”
Reggie answered, “But if you can’t win, it’s the next best thing.”
I gripped a pint of beer in my right hand and laughed. I said, “I just really don’t know.”
Then one night at the Toolbox, he brought Ian over to deliver the trump card. Ian said, “It’s a great way to meet guys, and you can’t stay locked up in that house by yourself forever. We won’t allow it.”
They were both perfect examples of how love could be found on the softball diamond. Reggie’s boyfriend Connor played for an opposing team while Ian’s boyfriend Blake was the best player on their team the Soft Serves. I sighed and said, “But it will just be embarrassing when they see how bad that I play.”
Reggie said, “No one cares about that as long as we have fun. When Blake joined the team, he couldn’t hit the ball out of the infield to save his life.”
Blake worked at the Toolbox as a bartender. He was as tall as me and muscular with sandy-brown hair. I looked up to see him mixing drinks behind the bar. Every movement Blake made seemed to shout that he was a natural athlete.
I said, “I don’t believe that.”
Ian nodded saying, “It’s true. Reggie and I had to give him private lessons. He’s great now, but it did take a little extra work.”
My resistance was beginning to wane. I liked the idea of meeting new guys who were active and social. I loved the idea of doing something on a regular basis with my new friends. I was still wary that my clumsiness on the field could be humiliating. I asked, “Will you help me out if I need it?”
I was greeted with simultaneous smiles and nods.
The next day my patio roof caved in.
I made it to work by 1:45, and it was an easy afternoon. Anita and I laughed hard about the patio roof, and I said, “I’m not sure there is a lot more left that could happen to my house short of a car skipping the curb and driving into my living room. Maybe then I would make the evening news.”
Anita said, “Don’t even think about something like that, Mr. Paulsen. You might want to take that back.”
That evening when I arrived home, I found a note attached to the kitchen screen door. Then I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and shined the flashlight at it so that I could read the tiny scrawled letters. In better light, I also noticed the screen door was new. The little gash in the bottom right corner of the screen that I growled at every morning was gone.
The note read, “I got the door replaced, Sven. I’ve got a couple of weeks with an easier schedule, so we can get rolling on more of your projects. I have an idea about a good contractor for that patio work. Call me.” It was signed, “Louis.”
Louis was the handyman Anita suggested. When I contacted him just after Christmas, he was willing to work for me, but he couldn’t promise completing projects on any particular time schedule. The bulk of his work was on larger commercial projects, but he did his best to squeeze in residential work for friends on the side. Lacking the stomach for a diligent search for other options, I hired Louis with the verbal agreement that I would be first in line when he had any free time slots available.
I took the note and the new screen door as signs that my luck was changing. All that I needed to do was stick with the plan. My father always said, “Sven, it starts with a solid house and home. Keep that in shape and the rest of the dominoes of life will all fall in place. Trust me, son. That is the way it all works.”
I peered around the corner of the house briefly and saw the plastic sheeting that I’d hastily tacked over the hole torn in the soffit rippling in the wind. I sighed heavily, but then I held up the note from Louis and smiled. I said out loud as though the entire world could hear, “My luck is changing.”
Uneasy Pieces #4
1
Marshall
I curled my legs up tighter toward my chest on the end of the sofa and swallowed another mouthful of beer. I said, “It really sucked, Billy. I mean it wasn’t even funny. What the hell are guys my age turning into?”
Billy Alvey tilted his head to the right and said, “Hmm, don’t know, Marshall. Maybe they’re turning into guys your age.”
I growled, “That’s not even funny.” Then I downed the last of the bottle of beer. “I even saw him slip the blue pill into his hand before he excused himself to visit the restroom, and then when we got to the bedroom, he still couldn’t keep it up.”
Billy’s eyebrows furrowed. He asked, “How old did you say this guy was?”
I said, “47. He was just a year older than me. He had a saggy little belly, and I think he complained three different times during dinner about getting old.”
Staring back at me, Billy said, “I guess not everyone can be as well-preserved as you, Marshall. Don’t go getting bent out of shape either. I mean that as a compliment. Look at you. The muscles are still rock hard and any wrinkles in that face just make you look rugged. I’d do you if I was gay.”
I sighed and said, “I do work on it. It’s not out of vanity either. It really does feel good to stay in shape. I hop out of bed in the morning with energy. I do fifteen pushups before I grab my first cup of coffee.”
“Well, we don’t have to talk about your personal insanity,” said Billy. “I’m doing well to just make it to the kitchen before coffee.”
Scratching my head, I said, “And then it was like he didn’t know anything that had happened in popular culture in the last fifteen years. He was still repeating catchphrases from the first go-round of Will and Grace and humming old Madonna songs.”
“And you’ve seen the latest episode of Game of Thrones?”
I laughed. “I guess you’ve got me there, but I do watch the cooking shows.” I slipped my spine down further into the cushions and stretched my legs until my feet were just inches from Billy’s on the opposite end of the couch. I said, “At least he was a bottom, so it wasn’t a requirement that he stay hard. I can still keep it up for a good long time…”
Billy interrupted. “Seriously, Marshall, I don’t want to say ick, but the details of sex between two men does nothing for me. I promise not to give you a blow by blow on the best way to excite a clit with my tongue.”
I said, “Thank you, I appreciate that Billy. I feel like I’m being kind of an asshole complaining about this so much with it all centered around age, but we’re not that old. I think he could do a better job of taking care of himself.”
Billy flexed his right arm and showed off a strong, wiry muscle. He said, “Yeah, I understand that point. I’m hoping to be a little more like you when I’m your age.”
“Damn, why can’t I date you, Billy? Just think of how much fun it would be. You can take me to the tattoo parlors, and I’ll show you how to impress the other guys at the gym.”
Billy laughed out loud. “Ever the romantic. How about dinner, Marshall? Or maybe a movie? Could you take me to the beach? The gym is more like a necessary evil to me. It’s not the most romantic place I can imagine.”
Billy was a great friend. Our relationship began with an altercation at a bar. I most often stick to the gay bars in the city, but I was tagging along with Sara and Joseph, a married couple, for a night out. They were both friends from back in high school. I was in my early 30s feeling lonely, and I was looking forward to their company and the comfort.
I like the old-fashioned Milwaukee bars that haven’t changed much since the 1950s. They are the ones with little tears in the booth seats that have been patched over with duct tape. Some of them still have old pinball machines in the back and usually two or three pool tables that rent by the hour. It’s a great way to sink into the city’s past, and the health board makes sure the bars stay clean.
As the three of us ordered beers at the bar, I notice a pair of men playing pool on one of the bar’s two tables. They looked young, maybe just out of college. One of them wore a leather jacket with long black hair down his back and piercings that glistened in the dim light. The other was clean cut. He was tall, built solid, and I wanted to take a closer look. I leaned in close to Sara and asked, “How about we amble to the back. I want to check out the guys playing pool. Maybe we can even rent our own table.”
Joseph heard my comment and he asked, “Are you hunting tonight, Marshall?”
I grinned and said, “I just like to keep my eyes open.”
The three of us made our way to the back but stood a respectful distance away from the table. While the leather-clad man leaned across the table to make a shot, I gave the other man a clear once over gazing from head to foot.
“Looks like we’ve got company, Billy,” said the man.
A 23-year-old Billy made the mistake of responding by rattling off a homophobic comment within earshot, and in the next moments we nearly came to blows. Billy’s friend and Joseph pulled us apart.
Instead of us both turning to head the other direction in a huff, we each waved off our company and actually sat down and had a talk. Three hours and three bottles of beer later, I had witnessed the birth of one of the best friendships of my life. Our other friends were long gone. Billy gave me a ride home, and we’ve been close since. I can depend on him in any emergency, and also for great company just whiling away the time.
A few years later I joined Reggie’s gay softball team. When Reggie mentioned that each team was allowed a couple of straight guys on the roster, I called Billy immediately. Tucked beneath his long-haired, pierced, and tattooed exterior, lurks a magnificently talented softball player. He told me that he played Little League baseball and joined the high school team, but then he ran into conflict between his need to personally express himself through appearance and the clean-cut wishes of the high school coach.
Billy stuck by his personal independence, and it brought an end to his baseball career. In athletic skill, he’s what I would call a natural. Outside of Blake, and his prodigious talents, Billy is the best player on our team.
I asked Billy, “Will you date me if I promise to take you to nice romantic places? We’ll have dinner out along the lake, and I’ll stroll with you at the art museum.”
He frowned. “Marshall…um…no. I think Becca would be jealous.”
“How are things with Becca?”
Billy smiled. “She’s a lot of fun. She’s really into architecture in the city, so we go on walks downtown, and she tells me about what we see. She knows so much about city hall and the old warehouses and department store buildings. It might sound like a geeky kind of thing to do, but it’s interesting. And we do have fun in bed, but I’ll spare you those details.”
“And you said she works at the animal shelter?”
“She runs an animal shelter. She’s the head honcho. She really loves pets. Becca has two dogs of her own. Do you need one, Marshall? Maybe it’s the perfect thing to keep you company.”
I waved a hand. “No, I don’t need a dog or a cat. There’s too much responsibility there. I would never get to leave home again, and I’m allergic to walking in the rain and snow.”
“Becca has a big Great Dane that they rescued from an abusive home. It’s an amazing dog. She would let you have first choice, Marshall.” Billy leaned forward trying to convince me.
I crossed my arms over my chest and said, “No.” I added, “I’ll just live vicariously through the pets of others. You can tell me stories about the Great Dane and share pictures. That’s enough pet ownership for me.”
Billy rubbed the razor stubble on his chin. He said, “Maybe you just need to date a younger guy, Marshall.”
“Younger?”
“You know, in his 20s or, at oldest, early 30s. He would have more energy and keep you feeling youthful.”
I leaned back again and said, “Do you mean like Ian?”
Billy’s eyes opened wider. He said, “Oh, that’s right. You did go on a date with Ian. I thought the two of you would look great together, but there was a lot of other stuff going on.”
“Yeah, he was on the rebound from Blake, and I think he was just looking for a piece of eye candy.”
“You have something against being eye candy, Marshall? I definitely don’t mind stripping down and having Becca tell me exactly which tattoo she likes best, and then she has me trace the outline so she can see it even better. I really like when she’s in the mood to talk about the ones down south.”
I growled. I always felt my cock stiffen in my jeans any time Billy talked about his body, and he liked to talk about his body. I’d only seen him completely nude one time, and it was well worth the viewing.
Billy said, “Okay, so not a guy like Ian, but there are young guys out there who are really into great-looking older men. They are looking for daddy types.”
I hesitated before I said, “I’m not sure I’m a daddy type.”
“Those long, strong arms, big muscular chest, and that chiseled jaw. Yeah, you at least look the part. And then, Marshall, you could have someone more like…” Billy stopped himself.
I finished the comment and said, in a questioning tone, “Like Neil?”
I was nearing the 25th anniversary of my first date with Neil. I could remember it as plain as if it happened yesterday. I remembered being nervous when I was getting ready to meet him. I stared at the mirror and brushed my hair first one way and then another trying to get it just right. At the last minute I roughed it up with my fingers and decided the tousled look was best.
Completing my efforts to get ready, I tugged on my jeans, the ones that fit nice and snug across my package and made even me want to see what was tucked inside. Then added the shirt that was probably tighter than it should be, but it advertised the fact that I had a broad chest sculpted by long hours in the gym. Bright red sneakers and three condoms in the pocket were the finishing touch. I was ready for that first date.
Neil and I had three years together. Actually, it was a little less. We dated for a year before pledging ourselves to each other as a committed couple, and six months later we were crushed by the AIDS diagnosis. Sixteen months after that, I watched Neil’s casket lowered into the ground forever. In a bitter twist of fate, if the disease had begun its devastating journey through Neil’s body just a year or two later, breakthroughs in medication would likely have kept him alive and healthy for years to come. We were unlucky.
Billy groaned, “Damn, Marshall, I can really be a shit sometimes. I didn’t mean it that way. Please forgive me, buddy. Maybe you just need to wrap a strip of duct tape over my mouth.”
I shook my head. “No, Billy, it’s fine. Whenever I think about young guys, it’s hard to not have Neil come to mind. I don’t remember him much like he was after he got sick. I remember the sexy Neil. I remember the guy that made my heart pound in my chest every time I came close. I’ll never forget.”
Saturday Series Spotlight
Declan Rhodes
Declan Rhodes is an author of gay romance. He is fascinated by exploring male/male relationships in a world changed by worldwide progress in lgbtq civil rights.
He is based in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and loves men, cooking for friends and family, travel, and long walks along the shore of Lake Michigan not necessarily in that order.
Uneasy Pieces #4
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