by Alexis Anne
But we won. Oh my god, we fucking won. I was the starting pitcher for a World Series winning game. Every boy who picks up a ball and a mitt dreams of winning everything. We imagine being the guy who brings it home, knowing it’s probably not going to happen.
It did happen, though. I lived it and now I got to celebrate it with the woman I was falling head over goddamned heels for. I was the luckiest son of a bitch who ever lived. Ever.
And to do it with my family and Trent in the crowd, with Liv right there on the field and Linc up in the stands. I had everyone I cared about surrounding me on the biggest day of my life. It was beyond special. And it seemed to only be getting better (as if that were possible.)
She came at me the minute the door closed. No awkwardness. No questions. I met her, abandoning any plans I had to talk or whatever foolish nonsense I thought was right. This was a woman who needed kissing. Good kissing. And I was ready to provide.
“Liv.”
She groaned as the kiss became painful. Her fingers tugged on my hair and she pressed her body against mine. My response was to tilt her head back and take her mouth, all while grabbing her thigh and pulling it to my hip.
We didn’t talk. Not really. Directions, names, sounds, that was it. Mostly it was a frenzied race to rip each other’s clothes off while trying to keep kissing and touching.
I shoved my hands into her jeans and finally—finally—cupped the ass of my dreams. It was firm and a perfect handful.
“Take them off. Take them off!” she said, but also ground against me so I couldn’t do anything except grip her ass harder and pull her against my erection. Then she growled with frustration and stepped away, pushing the jeans to the ground before launching herself back at me.
I am not complaining. The rest of our undressing was equally frustrating and simultaneously arousing. The push and pull of clothes felt good. The first contact of each inch of skin a momentary pause of shock before we resumed panting and grinding until we were finally naked.
From the moment the game ended I’d been chasing something to make me stop. Something to ground me. At first it was the pile on the field. I got trapped under at least ten other guys who all wanted to shake me, hug me, scream at me. But I liked it because it was all so overwhelming I needed to do all of the same things. Then it was beer and champagne, more hugging and high fiving and screaming and singing.
None of it slowed the adrenaline. I was floating, coming out of my skin, my heart pounding wildly.
Until Liv.
Yes our kisses were frantic but it was the only thing that felt real at this point. Her warm body, her soft kisses, her moans. I could focus on those and channel my energy into her.
My hands shook as I touched her bare skin for the first time. Not a slip under her shirt or over her bikini. This time touching was intimate because it was intentional and meant to bring pleasure. We’d seen each other in scraps of bathing suits dozens of times. It wasn’t like we were unfamiliar with our bodies. But this was entirely different.
I wanted Olivia. All of her. She was the home I was seeking when I came back to the island.
“You taste like stale beer,” she giggled as she kissed me, hands everywhere.
“So do you.” And I didn’t mind it one bit. In fact, I was pretty sure the smell was baked into every memory of today, and it was going to etch this experience into my mind forever.
I loved that Olivia couldn’t stop smiling. That there was no hesitation, no second guessing. We spent the last couple of months getting to know each other, and even though it was a weird, stressful time, I felt like I knew everything I needed to know.
I memorized her body with my hands because I couldn’t be bothered to stop kissing her long enough to memorize her with my eyes. There was time for that later.
“Yes, there,” she panted against my ear as I entered her. I froze, completely overwhelmed by the head to toe sensations washing over me. “More, Chris. Please?”
And how could I ever say no to her? Not now, not ever. So I began to move, our bodies combining into one, a feeling of completion filling me as I filled her.
“Oh, Liv,” I groaned, burying my face in the crook of her neck. Images of the day flashed through my mind. Standing on the field, throwing the first pitch, my last strike, celebrating...and then it all vanished into a black void. All I could hear was my heart pounding and Olivia’s gasps of pleasure, the taste of her salty skin mixed with our celebratory beer showers, the feel of her silky skin against my rough cheek.
Olivia coming for me.
“Oh my god, Chris!” Her arms and legs wound around me tight, her muscles locking and squeezing as she erupted in pleasure.
It overwhelmed me completely and I had no choice but to chase my own pleasure, to give myself completely over to the relief and the ecstasy.
I woke up blinking. The first thing that hit me was the scent of soap. After we made love we took a long hot shower together that ended in more pleasure for both of us. Then we passed out. Hard.
So it was a welcome scent filled with memories.
Then I realized I was cold and alone.
I sat up quickly, my head swimming so I had to stop and take a breath. Then I heard a crinkle. Looking down I realized there was a note on the bed beside me.
Chris-
Sorry to leave but I have to get Linc to school. Thank you for last night.
And congratulations!!!!!
xoxo,
Liv
“Fuck.” I knew better than to think Olivia would still be here in the morning, that I could enjoy waking up beside her...or relive last night with her.
I scrubbed my face, found my phone, and dashed off a quick text.
I miss you and my bed is cold. Last night was the best night of my life, and I’m not talking about the game. See you soon. X
Then I ordered room service and tackled the text messages first. I smiled as I skimmed over the ones from friends and family, and opened the series from my media manager. She warned me last night that I’d have interviews starting at noon and she wasn’t lying. I had back to back interviews from noon until after dinner. All the sports channels, most of the baseball journals and apps, and local evening news. Then first thing in the morning I was booked into every national morning news show.
There were also media requests from Japan and South Korea.
And that wasn’t even dipping into the appearances or the parade. I knew winning would be exhausting, but damn. This was a lot.
There was a soft knock at my door that I assumed was room service. It was not.
“Knock! Knock!” Wes said in a falsetto. “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!” He pushed right past me and threw himself on my bed.
Erik shuffled in after him. “Sorry. But we were sent to make sure you were awake.” Then he glared at Wes. “Someone has no boundaries.”
Wes curled up in my sheets. “Ah! The fresh scent of stale beer, soap, and sex.”
I slammed the door. “Really?”
He shrugged. “You did, right? You finally sealed the deal with the world’s best photographer. A.k.a Hot Momma Extraordinaire. A.k.a. MILF of the Year.”
“Please, please never use any of those words ever again.” I even laced my hands together and physically begged.
Wes looked at Erik and then back at me. “What? All of it’s true!”
“You’re just so naturally an asshole you can’t see when you’re an asshole,” Erik grumbled.
Wes threw his hands in the air. “What? Olivia is super talented and super hot. And she’s a mother. Where am I wrong?” Then he turned to me. “We’re just super happy for you. On your big day you got to celebrate in all the ways. Right?”
I sighed because Wes was a force and there was no reasoning with him. He was like a tarpon on a hook, the more you fight him, the longer and harder he fights back. So I gave in. “Yes. Olivia and I had a celebration of our own last night. Happy?”
Wes beamed. “Yes. I am very happy for you!” Then he le
apt out of bed and put me in a headlock.
Erik shook his head. “Anyway, no one had heard from you this morning so we were sent to make sure you were up and checking your schedule for today. The three of us have the same rotation so we can give you a lift if you like.”
“Yeah sure.” I grabbed the dress clothes set aside for today’s interviews. “I have breakfast coming up. Can you let them in while I get changed?”
Erik threw himself into the armchair in the corner while Wes took the rolling desk chair. “I think we can manage that.”
Twenty minutes later I was dressed, fed, and walking into my first round of interviews. I had just enough time left to send Olivia one last text.
Going to be crazy for the next couple of days. I’ll call when I can. Miss you. X
Then I steeled myself for the media circus. “All right. Let’s do this.”
13
Only if it’s you
Olivia
It was weird to meet up with Summer and Linc after spending the night with Chris. Even weirder to return to our normal lives. The island almost felt foreign after the weeks of playoffs. For a small pocket of time we lived in another universe—one dominated by a drive for success and frosted over with my newfound creativity. I wasn’t the person I was when all this started. The house felt different.
It was quiet.
I had nowhere to be. No exciting new day to capture with my lens.
I tried to equate it to returning home after a vacation. When you realize your home has a scent you never otherwise notice. You see the clutter on your bedroom shelf or the disorganization of the bathroom in new ways.
In a few days everything would fade back into normality.
And for some reason that made my skin itch.
So I set about giving the house a good once over and then settled into my office to edit. I lost hours fine tuning the shades of gray, cropping images to draw the eye to a particular point. By the time dinner rolled around I threw together a salad and mac and cheese and looked at my phone, realizing I hadn’t heard from Chris all day.
This was perfectly normal. He had non-stop interviews scheduled. I shot him a text letting him know I missed him. I got Linc, grabbed a seltzer, and sat on the back porch to listen to the crickets as I checked the news. Chris’s interviews were already everywhere and I enjoyed watching them.
But I was also sad that after so much time together, we were apart.
I got an apology message at two in the morning. The next day was more of the same. As I shot off proofs to each of Chris’s teammates and coaches, getting almost instant replies and thanks, I began to feel the weight of Chris’s fame. He wasn’t just any ballplayer. He was the ballplayer of the moment.
So I was irritated—rationally or not—when he did finally call.
“Liv. I’m so sorry. It’s been nuts!”
I found it hard to hold a grudge considering the circumstances. “I’ve seen some of the interviews. They’re keeping you on your toes.”
“It’s no excuse. I should have found time to call. How are you?”
I closed the project I was working on so I could focus on the conversation. “We’re good. Back to normal for us. Linc has an art project due tomorrow and I’m trying very hard to let him do it himself.”
Chris laughed, and it soothed some of my wounded emotions. “I can only imagine. What else? Tell me everything.”
His enthusiasm made me smile and I tried to forget that we had barely spoken since our night together. “I’ve been editing and sending off proofs. The orders are coming in hard and fast and I’ll have to stop editing so I can send out invoices.”
“It’s incredible. The guys can’t stop gushing. The only thing better than winning a World Series is having a work of art commemorating all the hard work. I’m so happy for you.”
“I guess I should thank you for the inspiration. It wasn’t planned.”
“My parents always say that’s the best work they ever do—unplanned creative inspiration popping up out of nowhere and consuming everything. I can see a lot of you in them these last couple of weeks.”
Since Paint the Wallflower Gold were amazing musicians, I took that as an enormous compliment. “Thank you, Chris.”
“I miss you. I hate that we’re apart after what happened,” he said in a rush.
My chest ached. “I hate it too.”
We were both silent for a while, but then I heard him clear his throat. “Do you regret it? Because I don’t.”
Did I regret crossing that line? I sat up every night thinking and thinking, trying to understand how I felt. The answer I always came back to was complicated. “I don’t regret being with you because it was what I wanted and I honestly think I might have combusted if we didn’t do something. But I have doubts, if I’m being honest.”
It was too familiar. All those nights alone while Beau traveled or simply didn’t want to come home. I knew they were different men in different circumstances, but the icky feelings inside my heart couldn’t distinguish between the two at the moment.
“Doubts?” His voice was rougher now, tinged with emotions. “Because I’ve been gone?”
“Yes and no. This has just been a reminder of all the things that scare me. It doesn’t mean I believe we’re doomed.”
He chuckled without humor. “Ah, doomed. So great. The bar is set really high.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
He was silent for several beats. “I know. And if I’m being honest, I have doubts as well.”
That confession was like a stab to the heart, which, of course, made me a hypocrite. It wasn’t fair of me to say those same words and yet hate hearing them sent right back to me. “What are your doubts?”
Another pause and heavy exhale. “I didn’t want to do this over the phone.”
“Well we’re in the weeds now.” If we stopped I’d do nothing but obsess until he got home in a few days.
“Fuck. Okay.” More empty silence. “I made you a promise and I’ve already broken it. I’ve been beating myself up over it between every interview, every second I have to breathe, I analyze and over analyze where I should have stopped us.”
“How? How could you have stopped us?” I was angry now. I hated the insinuation that sex was somehow wrong. “We’re adults who are more than attracted to each other. What we did was natural and quite frankly, took an amazing amount of strength to wait as long as we did.”
He huffed a laugh. “You have no idea.”
“I think I have a pretty good idea actually.”
“Fair enough. I’m not saying the sex wasn’t mind altering. In fact, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” His voice grew louder, more frustrated, more determined with each word. “I made a promise to you and to Linc, and now I’m in very real danger of breaking it. Smashing it into a million pieces. I need both of you to know I’m all in. I’ll always come home.”
But I did know that. I didn’t need more time for him to prove his heart was built with the same stuff as mine. “I’m just having a bad day. Nothing more.”
I heard him swallow as the line went silent again. “I...I don’t like you having bad days. Ever.”
“They’re going to happen, Chris.”
“Not if I can help it.”
I smiled because I knew he meant it. “We‘ll talk more when you get home.”
“You better believe it. I miss you like crazy. I’m so overwhelmed with everything. I just want to sit on my boat alone for like, three days straight.”
My mind immediately flashed back to grumpy half-drunk Chris. “Do you want company?”
I could feel his smile through the phone line. “Only if it’s you.”
“I’m so pleased to meet you, Carmen,” I gushed. It wasn’t often I was so starstruck I could barely speak, but taking a video call with Carmen Ayres—the writer, director, and producer of my all time favorite documentary—was definitely cause for complete meltdown.
“The pleasure is mine. Your wor
k at the World Series caught my eye and then I realized I’ve admired your work in the past. I’m glad to see something new from you again. It’s been a while.”
Oh. My. GAWD. I went thermonuclear from the praise and embarrassment. Carmen Ayres admires my work! “That’s an incredible compliment. Thank you.”
“Your Everglades project definitely hit my radar a few years ago, but it was your series on the 2010 oil spill that really put you on my watch list. The way you captured the people fighting to save the environment really spoke to me.”
I was...I was speechless. I was on Carmen Ayres radar all those years ago? So much so that she remembered me now? How was this possible?
“So here’s the reason I requested to speak with you. I’m about to launch a new project. A documentary on how baseball has shaped culture in America, and how culture in America has shaped the sport. I want you on my team.”
I die. I’m fairly certain that’s what this was. My heart had stopped, my brain synapses no longer fired, there was no air in my lungs. “Me? In what capacity?” Sound professional! It was a miracle I hadn’t burst into tears!
“Have you seen my work before?”
Had I seen her work? Had I seen her work?
“The History of History changed my life. It completely altered the way I see my role as photographer and encouraged me to help launch the Calusa Key history project.”
Carmen smiled warmly. “Now that is truly a compliment. So you’re familiar with how I mix interviews with video and photographs?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I don’t have a photographer yet. No one has clicked. I need someone who can see the person inside and manages to bring it out. I don’t think anyone I’ve worked with in the past can do what you did with the Mantas. I need a combination of raw talent and a deep understanding of the sport. That’s what I see in your work.”
