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"I have to stay the entire time?" Marvin hisses in disbelief into his cellphone, scrambling to find his keys as Jason yells for him to hurry up.
"Of course you do," He hears his ex-wife snap in exasperation, "You have to stay and make sure he doesn't get kidnapped or maimed."
"Kidnapping and maiming, huh?" Marvin grumbles, "Little League sure has changed since my day."
Trina sighs, her voice softening, "It's only one practice, Marvin. I do it every Tuesday and Thursday, but my supervisor—"
"I know, I know," He consoles, "Look, don't listen to me, okay? I'm just joking. I love spending time with my son." Grinning in victory, he finally finds his keys in one of his discarded jackets, "Hey, I gotta go. Jason is about to have a heart-attack."
After exchanging farewells with his ex-wife, Marvin leaves his apartment and finds Jason pacing nervously in the hall. As soon as he spots him, Jason grabs his wrist and practically drags him out of the building, complaining the entire time about potentially running late.
"What, is your coach a hard-ass or something?" Marvin prompts as they climb into his car and strap themselves in.
"Not really, I guess," Jason relents, "But it's really embarrassing to do the walk of shame out on the field when everyone else is already playing. Also, I wanted to get there a little early to ask Aaron some questions about our English homework that's due tomorrow."
"I could help, you know." Marvin offers, earning a dark look from his son.
"Dad, the last time I asked you for help, you got into a fight with Mrs. Perkins and had to be escorted out of the school building."
"Hey, I could've sworn that I was right on that Revolutionary War question," Marvin defends feebly before he looks at his unamused son and concedes, "Okay, fine. Don't ask me then."
The car ride is punctured with silence after this brief exchange, and Marvin scrambles to find something else to connect over with his son. Only seeing Jason on the weekends has really taken a toll on their relationship, though Marvin has to admit that they really didn't have a great one even before he and Trina got divorced. Marvin was a bitter and selfish husband and father then, and ever since he's been on his own, he'd like to think he’s gotten better than who he used to be. After all, Marvin thinks wistfully to himself, glancing over at Jason who is already so close to his own Bar Mitzvah, we all have to grow up sometime.
"So," He prods finally, "Baseball, huh? How's that going?"
"Our team kinda sucks," The boy admits with a shrug, "But we're not, like, hopeless. Whizzer has taught us a lot."
"Whizzer?" Marvin repeats, "What is that? Some kind of ball-throwing machine?"
"No, Dad," Jason scoffs, rolling his eyes, "That's our coach. Whizzer Brown."
"Huh," Marvin remarks, "His name sounds like some kind of off-brand Dyson mop."
"He's really cool," Jason gushes, ignoring Marvin's pathetic attempt at a joke, "He's amazing at baseball, and he's really smart and funny."
"I'm really smart and funny." Marvin can't help but point out, masking his sudden wave of jealousy with humor. Whizzer Brown, huh? First, he had to deal with Mendel swooping in and trying to take his place as a father, and now he has to compete with some hippie named Whizzer for Jason's admiration?
"Really humble, too." Jason adds jovially with a smile, and Marvin can’t help but wonder how his son could still smile at him like that after all he's put him through. The car ride is intermingled with light conversation, but Marvin feels a stab of guilt every time he pauses long enough to think about how much Jason deserves someone better as a role model. And hell, maybe that someone is Whizzer Brown, but Marvin will be the judge of that.
:: - ::
Marvin slumps lazily on the bench with his head propped up with one hand, fighting the urge to check his watch as Jason and the other kids mess around on the field while waiting for their coach to show up. One of the mothers, Melinda-Something, has already informed an impatient Marvin that Whizzer was caught up in traffic and would be about ten minutes later than usual. In order to keep himself from falling asleep, he starts counting the many reasons that he dislikes baseball, but as time dwindles on, his eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Finally, just as he closes his eyes, the sharp noise of a whistle shocks him back to consciousness, his heart racing and gaze wide alert.
"Alright, bring it in, Blue Devils." A younger, cocky voice immediately follows the high-pitched sound as a man walks onto the field and into Marvin's sight...
And hot damn, the man looks like he just walked out of an Adidas commercial. His lean frame is clothed in a fitted, fashionable white shirt that corresponds with his bright white, almost scandalously short shorts that show off his tan legs. Half of his face is obstructed by large Aviators, but Marvin can still plainly tell how intimidatingly attractive he is. Marvin abruptly straightens in his seat and wills his heartbeat to decrease back into a steady pace.
"Is that Whizzer Brown?" Marvin tries to ask Melinda-Something casually, though his voice has grown remarkably thicker.
"Yeah," Melinda-Something sighs dreamily, "He's nice to look at, isn't he?"
"Uh, yeah. He's very—" Pretty is the first word to come to mind, but Marvin doesn't dare say it aloud, "Handsome, some women might say." And this particular man right here as well, but he doesn't think that's appropriate to add.
The practice continues for an hour or so, Marvin paying as much attention to Jason as he does Jason's coach (Deep down, he knows that has no semblance of a shot with the guy, but hey, it doesn't hurt to look, right?). He knows nothing of baseball, but he knows enough to realize that his son was right: his team kinda sucks. Marvin hates to say that he expected this given that this is a team mostly consisting of young Jewish boys that have zero coordination, but he tries to be supportive by cheering Jason on from the stands (though Jason shoots him daggers from the playing field every time out of embarrassment).
At the end of the practice, Whizzer calls the boys into a huddle and seems to be giving them a strong and thoughtful message about improvement and teamwork and blah blah blah (Marvin sort of stops paying attention as he stares at Whizzer crouched down on his knees and thinks thoughts that are very inappropriate in this setting). When the huddle finally breaks, each boy runs over to his parent, but Jason lingers beside Whizzer. Ignoring the flame of hurt and jealousy, Marvin stands up and walks over to the two.
"You did great out there, Champ." Marvin compliments cheerfully with a cheesy smile, interrupting their previous conversation.
Jason smiles tightly, "Thanks, Dad. You actually paid more attention than I thought you would."
"Of course I did. You're my son," Marvin reminds him before turning to Mr. Look-At-Me-Your-Son-Thinks-I'm-The-Best and offers his hand, "We haven't been formally introduced. I'm—"
"Marvin," Whizzer finishes, a lopsided grin blooming on his face, "Trina and Jason have mentioned you a few times."
"Don't believe a word they say. I'm actually not that bad." He's honestly only semi-kidding, but he accompanies his words with a teasing grin nonetheless. Briefly, Whizzer's gaze flickers over him, and Marvin realizes just how unassuming he looks compared to Whizzer's physique. Marvin's no troll, but he's no Ryan Gosling either (he's also currently sporting baggy shorts and a faded tee-shirt, which admittedly he would've changed had he known Jason's coach was freaking Adonis). Whizzer doesn't seem repulsed, however, so Marvin will take his graces whenever he can get them.
"I'll be the judge of that." Whizzer counters with a smirk, taking his hand and giving it a firm squeeze. Marvin holds his steady gaze, locking eyes with the man for a long minute before Jason clears his throat.
"I'm going to go get my stuff." Jason tells them, "I'll be right back."
As his son walks out of earshot, Marvin admits, "You know, when Trina told me that he was one of the best players on the team, I didn't believe her. Watching the other kids though..."
"They're getting better," Whizzer defends them, "You know, I can already see a made-for-TV movie about the rag-tag team of Jewish kids making it all the way to State."
He snorts, "How, did the rest of the other teams contract the flu?"
Whizzer chuckles and shrugs, "At least they have fun. That's what baseball's all about."
"Really?" Marvin prompts derisively, unable to help himself, "I thought baseball was about meat-heads with 'roid rage standing in a field for three hours."
He sees Whizzer tense in front of him, and the man's smile loses its playfulness, "Actually, baseball is a really invigorating and challenging sport with a lot of strategy and endurance involved."
"Well, it's no chess." Marvin responds dismissively, his own smile dropping.
Whizzer arches a superior eyebrow, "You mean it's not a game for nerdy, pretentious old men? Yeah, you're absolutely right, Mr. Marvin."
"Chess is game of logic and tactic," He replies heatedly, "At least it has a faster pace than baseball. Hell, even golf is more interesting to watch."
"Your son seems to like it well enough," He counters quickly, seeming to forget himself, "I would think you'd be more supportive of your kid."
Every fiber of Marvin's being prickles at his words, and even though Whizzer sighs and begins to apologize, Marvin snaps, "Who do you think you are, huh? You don't get to judge how I am with my son when you probably haven't had a functional relationship in your life."
It was a stupid and reaching jab, but it lands perfectly. Whizzer straightens his spine and stares at him with narrowed, hateful eyes. It's at that moment that Jason jogs back over to the pair, smiling innocently, "Ready to go, Dad?"
Marvin lays a protective hand on Jason's back, "Yeah, let's go, Buddy." He looks back at Whizzer, who is already slipping his sunglasses back on and running a hand though his hair, "Whizzer."
Whizzer looks at him vacantly with the vague atmosphere of dislike and superiority, "Marvin."
"Bye, Whizzer." Jason says cheerfully, looking between him and his dad with slight confusion.
Whizzer smiles and ruffles Jason's hair, "See you Thursday, Kiddo. It'll be you and your mom next time, right?"
Before Jason can respond in affirmation, Marvin interrupts, "I'm not so sure. After all, apparently I need to be more supportive of my son." Whizzer's mouth twists, but he doesn't respond. He smiles one last time at Jason before turning and walking back to his car. Even though Marvin now has an intense hatred for the man, he can't help but watch with interest at how his tight ass moves in those shorts.
"Dad," Jason hisses, hitting him in the hip and breaking Marvin's concentration, "What did you say to my coach?"
"Nothing," Marvin lies, "We were just having a friendly conversation. The guy is basically my best friend now." At Jason's unconvinced look, he continues, "Let's just go. I'll stop by and get us ice cream before I drop you off at your mother's."
Jason smiles brightly, "Wow, awesome!"
As Marvin and Jason return to the car, the older man replays his conversation with Whizzer and realizes how completely stupid and childish it was. He'll forget about it the next time we see each other, Marvin assures himself, not taking into account the possibility that Whizzer Brown is as if not more spiteful than even Marvin is.
:: - ::
When he gets home late after dropping Jason off (they stayed a little longer at the ice cream parlor than planned, but neither was complaining), Marvin feels enthralled and overjoyed with the time he spent with his son. He'd forgotten what it was like to see Jason more than just on weekends and the rare special occasion, so the next day, he asks Trina if he could take Jason to baseball practice every Tuesday. Trina is confused but seems pleased after Marvin explains his reasoning. The only downside to the plan was that Jason's baseball coach, Marvin is quick to discover, is a grudge-holding bastard that spites him at every opportunity.
"What is that, wash-and-wear?" Whizzer mocks derisively at one practice, gesturing to Marvin's suit.
"I mean, that is what I do with my clothes," Marvin snarks back, "Sorry I don’t sew them with gold and micro-manage every loosening thread like some people.”
Whizzer rolls his eyes but gets distracted by the pitcher that lobs the ball right at the batter's head, blowing his whistle and yelling, "Albert, aim for the center! Don't take James's head off, or I'll have to give your position to Francis."
Marvin asks, "When is their first game?"
"Next Saturday," Whizzer replies with dread, his lips pressing tightly together to form a thin line, "We'll improve by then, I think."
Marvin scoffs, "Yeah, maybe if they all work really hard, they'll only lose by thirty."
Whizzer sighs exasperatedly and shoos him away, "Can you go and sit by all the other parents for once instead of bothering me all the time? Your negativity is putting me off."
Marvin can take a hint, but it doesn't stop him from grumbling as he walks away, "Oh yeah? Well, your face is putting me off."
"I heard that," Whizzer calls after him, "And I highly doubt it!" Marvin doesn't argue because it is true; Whizzer has become a major pain in his ass ever since that first practice, but he is still very pretty to look at. Besides, Marvin would take Whizzer's mean but often funny insults any day over listening Melinda-Something and Hillary-Something gossiping about women that he doesn't know nor care about. Marvin flops casually on the bench and gazes disinterestedly at the field, praying that the practice is over soon and then he can finally spend an hour or so with his son before he drops him back off at Trina's.
"So, Marvin," Samantha Lewinson (yes, he actually knows her last name after a few weeks of coming here; he's been somewhat improving) prompts with a smile, sliding over next to him, "I didn't see you or Jason at Temple last week."
"Jason was puking his guts out," Marvin informs her with a groan, rubbing his face with his hand, "It was terrible. I think he caught that stomach virus that's been going around. He's better now, but he was a wreck that weekend."
"I bet that was a hellish weekend for you, too," Samantha responds flippantly, twisting a piece of her hair with one hand and slowly sliding the other closer to his, "It's rough for a divorced parent, isn't it? Ever since Michael started shacking up with that twenty-year-old, I've had my hands tied with James twenty-four seven."
Marvin smiles and nods along politely, trying to figure out how she could think he's straight when he's literally almost always draped around Whizzer every time they're here. He likes the attention though, so he doesn't rebuff her immediately. Instead, he slides away only slightly and returns his attention back to the field. He's surprised to find Whizzer watching them and, realizing he'd been caught, immediately turning his own gaze back to the boys.
When practice is finally over, Marvin saunters over to Whizzer, provoking him deliberately, "I stand by my stance that I'd rather watch paint dry than a baseball game, but it is slightly more entertaining with Jewish boys that can't run fast to save their lives."
"That's funny," Whizzer replies coldly, "I thought you'd rather flirt with a desperate divorcee than watch your son practice." Marvin's already perfectly-crafted response falters as he processes Whizzer's reply, thrown by his words.
"You think I was flirting with Samantha?" Marvin says, laughing at the sheer ludicrousness of the thought, "Trust me, that's not what that was. She's not my type. At all."
"Hey, I don't care," Whizzer assures him with indifference, "You can bang all the desperate housewives you want. Just don't do it on my field with children around."
"That's not what that was!" Marvin defends himself, still chuckling, "Honestly, if you think I was flirting with her, then I really need to step up my game."
Whizzer furrows his brow, "What's that supposed to mean?" He thinks back to his own words and cringes, realizing that hey, maybe don't imply that you wanna see him naked because he already hates you enough as it is.
"It meant absolutely nothing," Marvin lies awkwardly, "I've never flirted with anyone—ever, actually. Like, in my entire life." Especially not, like, two seconds ago.
Whizzer stares at him like he's a maniac, "Yeah, clearly."
Marvin clears his throat and looks for his son, relieved to find him all packed up and ready to go as he stands next to the other boys, "Well, we should go. See you next week. And hey," He shrugs, smiling with the barest hint of encouragement, "I was watching the team practice, and you're right. They are improving."
Whizzer smiles slightly, softening a little, "Yeah, I think so, too."
"I mean, not enough that they won't get their asses handed to them in the game." Marvin amends, laughing as Whizzer drops his smile and shoves him.
"You need to learn some team spirit." He criticizes, adding with a maniacal smirk, "You know, the team could always use a cheerleader. I'll provide the pompoms if you get yourself the outfit."
"I don't think I could fit into any of those skirts," Marvin tells him with a shrug, "But I'll keep the suggestion in mind."
"I think the look would suit you," Whizzer says, his voice lower than before and his smile twisting slightly. And the way his eyes travel up and down Marvin's body (so quickly that he thinks he might've imagined it) sends Marvin's mind directly into the gutter.
"I'm leaving now." Marvin announces awkwardly, turning and fast-walking to his son, "I'll be—seeing you, then."
Later that night, after he'd gotten home from dropping Jason off and slipped under the covers of his bed, Marvin tries hard not to think about Whizzer Brown or his wicked grin or his tight ass or the fact that he essentially told him that he wanted to see Marvin in a skirt.
Like every other night, he fails. Miserably.
:: - ::
The following Saturday, Jason decides that he'd rather spend the weekend at a friend's sleepover/birthday party. Marvin assures the kid that it's fine and go on ahead, but he feels the decision like a stab in his chest. It's ridiculous to feel this misplaced sense of rejection, and he knows that Jason isn't doing it to directly hurt him or anything. It's just that Marvin is still selfish, okay? He's significantly less of a dick than before, but total improvement doesn't happen all at once.
In order to relieve stress, Marvin goes to the local court to play some racquetball. It's not his best sport, but he wants to feel the burn in his limbs that only the fast-paced activity can provide. He enters the courts and sees other people messing around and enjoying the company of friends and family. He secretly sneers at them spitefully and picks a deserted court, dropping his equipment and briefly stretching. He plays a game or two by himself, amazed at how pathetically bad he still is at the sport despite the time and effort he's put into it.
Again, he misses the ball and almost falls flat on his face. He stifles the urge to curse and wipes the sweat from his brow. And that's when he hears, "Wow. Rough day, or are you always that horrendous?" Marvin jerks around to see Whizzer staring at him with an annoyingly cocky grin.
He sighs, lying, "I'm always a little rusty starting out. I usually just have to pick up some momentum."
Whizzer nods to pacify him, but he looks very unconvinced. He glances around and asks, "Jason not with you this weekend?"
"Sleepover at a friend's house," Marvin answers tightly, "Apparently, Derek Harrison is cooler to hang out with than his old, loser dad."
"Go figure." Whizzer responds, though his voice lacks any malice.
Marvin eyes the racquet in his hand and asks, "You wanna play a few games?"
Whizzer snorts, "Trust me, I don't think you want to embarrass yourself like this."
Marvin shrugs, smiling, "I play better when I'm against someone. What? You scared?"
Whizzer laughs, "Hardly. You serve."
Two hours later, Marvin is out of breath, sore, and regretting all of his life choices that led him up to this moment. His only consolation is that Whizzer is also sweaty, but while he looks like a glistening Greek God, Marvin doubts that his own heaving body has the same appeal.
"Play again?" Whizzer prompts breathlessly, causing Marvin to groan and immediately collapse on the ground.
"If we do, be prepared to perform a heart-transplant." Marvin advises, whining, "Even my hair and teeth hurt. I didn't know that was possible."
Whizzer laughs and offers him a hand, helping Marvin stumble to his feet, "Come on, let me buy you some lunch."
"What's this?" Marvin exclaims, narrowing his eyes, "You're being nice to me. Whizzer, you do realize I was just kidding, right? I'm not actually dying."
Whizzer shrugs, feigning indifference, "You can never be too careful." And that's how Marvin ends up going to a Deli with his sworn enemy, hearing Whizzer try to smother his snickers at his incredibly bad jokes and feeling better than he has for a long time.
"I never apologized for what I said that first day." Marvin realizes as Whizzer not-so-secretly steals his fries, "It was out of line, and I shouldn't have said those things. I guess I was just jealous that my son liked you so much instead of me."
"Are you kidding?" Whizzer demands, surprised, "Jason worships you. He's always talking about his dad. I have to say, I had pretty big expectations when I first met you."
"And I disappointed you by unintentionally acting like an asshole." Marvin finishes sardonically, "Great."
"I used to play baseball with my dad when I was a little kid," Whizzer admits, his voice growing soft, "It was about the only thing we had in common. When I got older, we got into a huge fight and stopped talking for years. We got back in touch two years ago when he was on his death-bed, and that's how we finally reconnected. So I'm kinda overprotective of the sport. When you insulted it, I was a dick to you instead of accepting that everyone has their own opinion."
"What happened with your dad?"
"He died," Whizzer responds, "I became a baseball coach for kids right after."
Marvin nods, offering, "Well, you're pretty good at it."
Whizzer smiles wryly, "Thanks."
"Can I have that last bite of your BLT?"
Whizzer rolls his eyes, "I knew that compliment was given with an ulterior motive." He makes a move as if to give it to Marvin, but at the very last moment, he snatches it away and shoves it in his mouth.
"What a dick." Marvin complains.
Whizzer laughs, licking the sauce from his fingers, "Takes one to know one."
:: - ::
The next practice, Marvin hangs around Whizzer like usual, but their interaction is more light-hearted than it was before. Whizzer still complains about his lack of style, but his jabs are less barbed. Marvin still trashes baseball, but his tone is more jovial. They still bicker and insult each other, but all malice has seeped out of their words. It's more playful now, border-lining on flirtatious almost. Marvin thinks he must be imagining it though until Jason blurts out on the drive home, "He's gay, you know."
"Who?" Marvin asks, pretending he didn't jump at the sudden sound of his son's voice.
"Whizzer," Jason clarifies, "He's single, too. I double-checked."
Marvin's brow is furrowed, "Okay. And why are you telling me all of this?"
"I know you have a crush on him," Jason explains, looking uncomfortable with the conversation but continuing, "And I think he likes you, too. So, I guess, if you want to ask him out or whatever gay guys do, I'd be okay with it. I mean, as long as you don't kiss in front of the team or anything."
Marvin clears his throat, the color of his face darkening, "Jason, I appreciate the support, but I don't need my son playing matchmaker."
"You haven't dated anyone since you and Mom got divorced," He points out, "Mom's already remarried, and she's really happy. I want you to be happy too."
Marvin sighs, taking one hand off the wheel and grabbing Jason's hand, "I am happy. I have you."
"Dad, you realize how sad that sounds?" Jason shoots back, laughing slightly, "I don't want to be responsible for your entire happiness. Just get a boyfriend already, won't you?"
"Okay, fine. I'll try to romance your baseball coach," Marvin concedes, "Happy now? Just don't hang all your hopes on Whizzer. He'll probably turn me down flat in a second."
"I'd take that bet," Jason mutters, and at Marvin's questioning look, he explains, "He stares at you—a lot. And at practice today, he took me aside and asked if you were dating anyone."
Marvin fights to keep a smile from his face, "Did he now?"
"Yeah, it was pretty embarrassing." Jason admits, "I mean, you guys are grown-ups, so nut up and ask him on a date already."
:: - ::
The first baseball game of the season is met with sparsely populated stands of enthusiastic parents and the occasional uncle or grandmother. Marvin arrives around fifteen minutes before the start with a nervous Jason in tow. Trina and Mendel stand up in their seats and beckon them over with waves.
"You look so cute and grown up in your uniform," Trina fusses over him, smiling with tears in her eyes, "This is so exciting!"
"Mom, I think I'm going to throw up." Jason confesses with a grimace.
Marvin dismisses him with a wave, "You're fine. It's just the nerves. Once you start playing, you'll feel better."
"You're going to do great, Jason!" Mendel promises cheerfully before adding, "And if you don't, we can dissect your failure and zero in on the underlying problem. It's a win-win."
"Well," Marvin says with a questioning look at his psychiatrist, slapping Jason on the back, "With that winning pep talk, go get 'em, Tiger." With one last dreadful look, Jason slinks over to his team. Marvin spots Whizzer beside the group of boys, a pencil in his mouth as he stares hard at the playbook in his hand.
"Where are you going?" Trina asks.
Marvin makes vague gestures to Whizzer, "I gotta talk to the coach. I'll join you two in a minute."
Marvin touches Whizzer's shoulder to get his attention and smiles, "I just saw the other team. They have Warren 'Inhaler-Dependent' Fitzgerald. You'll do fine."
"I shouldn't encourage the boys to step on the other team's feet, right?" Whizzer questions, "That would be wrong, right?"
"You heard him, Kids," Marvin says loudly in order to get the boys' attentions, "Don't intentionally vaguely threaten the other team with harm at every opportunity. That would be 'bad.'"
"Stop that!" Whizzer snaps at Marvin before sighing and addressing the team, "Look, Guys, we can win this the right way, okay? Albert, remember to aim for the center and not the other guy's head. Maddox, keep your glove open at all times; don't scrunch it up. And Jason, remember to keep your head in the box and eye on the ball when you're up to bat. If we can just focus and try our best, it'll all work out okay."
"Well, you seem to have your hands full," Marvin says, patting Whizzer on the back, "I'll see you after the game, okay? I have something to talk to you about."
"Okay." Whizzer agrees uncertainly, "Because that doesn't sound vaguely threatening."
"Just focus on the game first. And hey," Marvin grins, "You're gonna do great."
Whizzer smiles softly at him before turning his attention back to the boys, reminding them of specific instructions that they most certainly will forget by the time they enter the field.
"What was that about?" Mendel asks as Marvin rejoins him and Trina.
Marvin stretches out on the metal bench and shrugs, "Just wished the team good luck." Mendel cocks his head and begins to question him when the umpire blows the whistle, signaling the commencement of the game.
"Let's go, Blue Devils!" Marvin yells in encouragement, clapping loudly as Jason's team takes the field. He manages to catch Whizzer's eye and give him a thumbs up. Whizzer rolls his eyes but mimics the gesture nonetheless.
"You know," Marvin tells Trina and Mendel with an optimistic smile, "I honestly think they can win."
:: - ::
They lose.
Though the loss is devastating in that of itself, the other team only beats them by two points, so it's not so bad. The team is somewhat despondent, but Jason is in high spirits, bouncing over to his family and saying, "Guys, guys! Did you see me hit the ball?"
"Yes, we did!" Trina confirms hoarsely after spending the last hour or so yelling praises and encouragement, "I'm so proud, Honey!"
"I mean, the pitcher caught it in the air," Jason admits, "But I hit it!"
Marvin chuckles and ruffles Jason's hair, "That's my boy."
"Hey, Dad, can I talk to you over here for a second?" Marvin sends him a questioning look but complies with his request, noticing how Jason leads him directly out of earshot of Trina and Mendel.
"Listen," Jason conspires in a low, quiet voice, "I'm going to ask to go back home with Mom and Mendel."
Marvin prickles at the notion, furrowing his brow, "What, why? What did I—"
"I am going home with them," Jason repeats, emphasizing the words with pointed eye contact, "And you are going to go over to my baseball coach. And then do—you know, stuff that I don't want to be anywhere near." Oh.
"Jason—"
"I love you," He admits with a small embarrassed smile, looking a little flustered but sincere nonetheless, "So, yeah. Go get him, I guess? I'll see you again Tuesday." With a wry smile, he holds out a fist bump. Marvin meets him hesitantly, chewing on his lip and wondering what the fuck am I going to say to him?
When they both rejoin the couple, Jason explains with a feigned pitiful voice, "Mom, I still feel really bad. Can I go home with you and have some of your chicken noodle soup?"
"Well, if it's okay with your father." Trina says, looking at Marvin for confirmation.
Marvin nods and clears his throat, "Yeah, the boy's sick. I can't deny him the healing powers of a mother's love in the manifestation of a chicken noodle soup."
Trina nods and begins fawning over the boy, pressing a palm to his forehead, "My poor baby. Let's get you into bed, huh?"
"Okay." Jason says meekly in a wobbly, whiny voice. Marvin has a strong inkling that he has used this ploy several times before, but given that his son is currently being his wing-man here, he'll let it slide for now.
"Hope you get to feeling better, Jason."
"Thanks, Dad," His son says and pauses before adding, "Oh, and I think Coach Whizzer wanted to talk to you about something."
"He did?" Marvin exclaims, feigning complete surprise (though if Jason's expression is an indication, maybe he needs to dial it back a bit), "I guess I'll go see about that." Bidding another farewell to the three (and maybe stalling for time a little), Marvin turns and starts looking for Whizzer. He finds him in the dugout of the mostly abandoned field, looking petulant and disappointed. Marvin enters the dugout and sits beside him, stating, "Well, you can't win them all. Or any, in this particular situation."
"We've only played a single game, Asshole," Whizzer points out, though at least he’s smiling meekly, "Next game will be ours; I can feel it. The Blue Devils will come back with a vengeance!"
Marvin laughs, "Okay, Bruce Willis, take it easy." He lets himself marvel at the man beside him—at his warm eyes, his infectious smile, his soft hair.
Whizzer gives him a puzzled look, “What?” And Marvin suddenly forgets the entire speech that he’d crafted on the walk over here.
So he decides to keep it simple, “I hate baseball—“
“God, not this again,” Whizzer interjects with a groan, “Marvin, I know—“
“Let me finish,” Marvin demands, “This is about to get really sappy and romantic.”
“Romantic?” Whizzer repeats, his voice dropping any pretense of feigned annoyance and adopting a softer, almost hopeful tone, “Okay, I’ll shut up.”
Marvin sighs and declares simply, “I hate baseball…but I really like you.” It’s not like Marvin expected Whizzer to swoon into his arms or anything, but Whizzer laughing directly in his face is a little uncalled for.
“You are so lame.” He snickers, and just when Marvin is about to back-track really fucking fast, Whizzer catches his chin with his hand and drags him into a passionate, messy kiss.
It takes several more seconds until Marvin leans back, “Don’t get me wrong. I really don’t want to stop this—ever, in fact—but I think we should make-out somewhere other than a Little League dug-out.”
Whizzer nods hurriedly, and Marvin has to stifle a laugh at how flustered and unkempt he looks with his red cheeks and tousled hair, “Good call.”
As they walk back to Marvin’s car, Marvin casts a glance behind Whizzer, “You’re aware how great those shorts make your ass look, aren’t you?”
Whizzer gives him a smug, cocky smirk, “Trust me, it’s not the shorts.”
Marvin lets out a startled chuckle, admitting quite frankly, “I really wanna see you naked.”
“Well, the day’s still young.” Whizzer assures him, and yeah, Marvin can already tell that this right here—this is gonna be fun.