Dick Pics (Peterick) **REWRITTEN**

04

CH. 4 -- PATRICK

"Ow!" I almost scream. When I open my eyes, Dallon is standing over me with a pillow in his hands. "What the hell?"

"Your goddamn phone keeps going off. Tell whoever it is to get a fucking life before I throw it out the window." He threatens, and I flip him off before he walks back to his bed.

I roll over and grab my phone off the night stand. Two messages from an unknown number. I open it, and my eyes widen.

All for you, baby girl.

Is what is says. The message is accompanied with a picture of someone's dick. After taking a closer look, I see a tattoo on the lower stomach.

So some dude just sent me a picture of his dick in the middle of the night. Clearly it wasn't meant for me, but still. I click on details and block the number before deleting the message and turning my phone on do not disturb.

Holy shit.

I don't think about it again until the next day when I'm walking to the field. "Hey, man." Pete says, smiling as I approach the dugout. I simply nod my head as I walk past him and put my bag down. "What's your number? I don't have half the people in the baseball group chat."

I walk over to Pete and pick my number out, and he tries to text me, but I don't get it. "Why didn't I get the message?"

"I don't know, dude, check your settings. I'll get our practice jerseys from Coach while you figure that out." Pete says, running off to the locker room. I scroll through my settings trying to figure out what's wrong.

When Pete comes back, he's holding his jersey, number three, and mine, number zero. He tosses me mine before pulling his shirt over his head. My eyes trail down to his toned abdomen before stopping on a tattoo. The same tattoo from the picture from last night.

I gasp, and Pete looks up, eyebrows furrowing. "S'wrong?" He asks, pulling his shirt on. I shake my head.

"Nothing, I just figured out what was wrong." I say, smiling at him. He returns it before searching through his bag. I go to messages and blocked and unblock his number. "Text me again."

He grabs his phone and texts me, and sure enough, I get it this time. Fuck, I've seen Pete's junk, and he doesn't know. He can't know, it'll make things awkward.

"Wanna throw?" Pete asks. I shake my head immediately, seeing Nick walk up.

"I promised Nick yesterday that I'd throw with him." I say, and Pete nods, waving at Nick, whose eyebrows raise as he puts his bag down. I pull my other shirt over my head and replace it with my practice jersey. "Don't ask."

--

"Here are your grades. When I call your last name, get your test." Williams calls out to us, and I zone out until I hear him say 'Stump,' and I trudge to the front, knowing I must not have done good. He hands the test to me with a smile on his face. "Nice job, Mr. Stump."

My grade reads a sharp '100,' and Nick huffs when he sees it. He shows me his '68, FAIL,' written in all capital letters. "Fuck." He lies his head down on the table.

"Dude, we have a three game series starting tomorrow night, right? We can study on the flight there if you want. He's not cutting anyone any slack, especially not you." I say, and Nick lifts his head to roll his eyes at me before nodding.

"Yeah, man. Has Coach assigned you a roommate yet?" Nick asks, and I shake my head. "I'd offer to be yours, but my assigned roommate is Gerard, the center fielder, and Coach is adamant about who rooms with who. You should really find out who yours is."

We walk together out of class, trying to find Coach. He ends up being in the locker room, coming up with plays and defences.

"Hello, Stump, Schimeca, what can I do for the both of you?" He asks before either of us say anything. He doesn't even look up from his clipboard.

"Uh, Patrick was just wondering if you'd assigned him a roommate yet." Nick says, and Coach looks up, smiling at us. He points to another clipboard hanging on a wall.

I walk slowly over to it, skimming down until I reach my name, paired with.. a guy named Spencer Smith. I don't even have a fucking clue as to who that is.

"You're paired with the second baseman and only senior, Spencer. He's got great potential and is being looked at by the Cubs, the Yankees, and the Dodgers." Coach says, walking towards us. "I need to speak to you alone." He grabs my arm and pulls me into his office. My eyes widen, and he laughs when he sits down, gesturing for me to do the same. "I just want to give you this. Everyone that joins the team gets these. He hands me a pair of white and black tennis shoes, my size, a hat that has a big W on it, and a wristband with the play number and pitch calls on it.

"Wow, Coach, thanks." I say, struggling to hold onto all of it. Coach waves me off.

"Pete was the one who reminded me. I'm sure both of you are glad to be back on the same team. We're winning us a World Series this year, I can feel it." He winks at me and pats my back, a signal that I can now leave.

As soon as I make it back to the locker room, Nick helps me carry some of the stuff Coach gave me, laughing the whole time. "I literally dropped every piece of mine last year when he gave it to me. Spence helped me pick it up, actually. He's a chill guy, don't worry."

I nod my head as we go back outside, and I shove most of the stuff into my backpack, putting the hat on my head in place of my old WCH hat from high school. As we part ways, I see Pete walking my way, phone in hand. I narrowly avoid him seeing me.

He doesn't even know about it, yet I'm acting so peculiar. He'll figure out if I'm not careful. All I can do is hope he won't be mad if he finds out.

yo my softball team came in second place in pre-state and I pitched six games (500+ pitches) today so my arm's about to fall off. thanks for reading!!