Strike: Bases Series (Book Two)

by Grace, Hazel

  “I’m not like that,” she retorts. “I don’t go around hurting people on purpose.”

  “You say that, Bases, but how would I conjure up the right shield to keep you from owning me to the point where I can’t breathe without you? You’re with Gavin, and I—”

  She shoves me. Hard.

  “Don’t touch me again, Hayes,” she snaps, rounding me. I snatch her arm and pull her toward me.

  “What, now you don’t want me to be the bigger person?” I fume. “If you want to kiss me, do it. If you don’t have the balls to—”

  “I don’t want to kiss you. I want you to leave me the fuck alone like I’ve been telling you to do for weeks.” Steam is about to blow from my ears like a cartoon character because I’m two seconds from to losing my entire shit on a girl who can’t make up her damn mind.

  “Then I’ll just do it,” I growl. She thrusts me back into the small room.

  “We won’t work, like you said. I’m a—”

  “I’m not looking to date you,” I bite out.

  “Exactly,” she fumes on a small choke. “And Gavin is.”

  “It’ll only be a matter of fucking time before he shows you who he really is. You don’t know him like I do.”

  She steps away from me. “I know that he doesn’t do what you do.”

  “Yeah?” I retort. “He’s just like me.”

  Except I’d fight harder for us.

  “I don’t want to speak to you ever again.”

  “You mistake me for someone who is going to listen to what you have to say,” I throw out. “You wouldn’t be just someone on my arm like a trophy. With me—”

  “There is no with you,” she hollers.

  Silence falls between us, and I can feel her heavy breaths piercing the air. I do what I always do, I push. I shove so that I don’t let anyone into my life just to fall out of it. I ignore the problems in front of me so that I don’t have to face the truth. The clear facts that flash themselves in front of me. I hide myself behind my dream because it's all I have left. It was all my dad and I planned, all we ever spoke about and wished for. He used me to conceal the pain of my mother’s cheating until he suddenly cracked, and I can’t bring myself to grieve him because I’m afraid it’ll make me as weak as he was.

  “Do us both a huge favor, Hayes,” Sawyer stresses. “Forget about me.” She turns, about to leave.

  “Bases, wait.” But she walks into the darkness of the room and leaves me alone. My vulnerability creeps up my spine, warning me to listen. Alerting me to the dangers of my current path.

  If I continue this retribution, I’m going to lose myself. I can already feel my plans wanting to shift and bend. I need to remain away from the one person that could obliterate and wash away the last piece that tributes my dad.

  If I lose that, I’ll fail him. I’ll fail us. It’s not just my dream that will go up in smoke but also the man who went to all my games and taught me to pitch. The same man who told me to never give up no matter the costs.

  Sawyer would cost me everything.

  But everything doesn’t feel that way without having her in my life.

  Present Day

  “Jon, watch the ball,” I snap out loud, letting my inner irritation start to seep through my cool veneer.

  I’ve been holding on to it for days. No amount of jacking off has gotten the cliffhanger of the fucking century, starring Sawyer’s pussy, out of my damn mind. It replays over and over like a bad jingle or the catchy chorus of a song that the radio brainwashes into your skull.

  Inhaling a large gulp of air, I attempt to settle my ass down. It’s our fourth baseball game of the season, and my guys are playing like they’ve never played a day in their lives. It could be nerves, pressure, or my snapping at them all fucking day because my blue balls were finally getting the best of me.

  She was getting the best of me.

  Clenching my jaw, I watch Jon swing on an outside pitch. My fingers squeeze my clipboard to keep myself from chucking it across the dugout and bitching at him for not focusing. I need my concentration solely on this game, on my team, not on the redhead who, whenever she was within a twenty-mile radius, was always consuming my thoughts.

  “What’s your problem?” Ben mutters next to me, folding his arms along his chest. “You’ve been up their asses all day, chill the fuck out.” I want to tell my new assistant to go fuck off somewhere, but I adjust my tight jaw from doing it.

  No one here has done anything to me. My players have been busting their asses to get better, and I need to be a coach right now. Not some lust-filled maniac thinking of Sawyer’s pussy on top of a desk.

  “Just tired,” I deadpan, releasing my death grip on my innocent clipboard.

  “Then drink some coffee, you’re making the guys nervous,” Ben chastises. “Or you’re going to win Coach Dickhead of the Year if you don’t stop making everyone walk around on pins and needles. You’re making me feel anxious.”

  “Right,” I mutter, turning around to face the inside of the dugout, where my guys are seated on the bench. “Alright guys, listen up.”

  Bubble gum pops loudly from my second baseman. Sunflower seeds are spit out from my shortstop. My right fielder is as pale as a ghost, and my pitcher looks like whatever I say to them, I’m still a douchebag. Everyone else is waiting for my voice to rise and spill out some snappy bullshit like I’ve been doing for the last two hours.

  “We’re still pretty early in our season,” I convey. “We’re still getting the rest of the rust off from the winter. We’ve been at it for weeks, and you’ve been busting your asses all—” Ben nudges me, and I peer over at him.

  “Are you allowed to swear?” he mumbles next to me. I fight the urge to tell him to shut the fuck up because we’re not at a private Catholic school.

  “How many times did you cuss out the ump on a bad call when we used to play on this very field?” I turn my attention back to my team. “Let’s get as many runs as we can and just have a good game.”

  I get some nods and murmurs but nothing enthusiastic.

  Great, my team is boring as fuck, and I’m on my way for that douchebag award.

  “Burgers on me after the game,” I add in. Then they start high fiving each other.

  “Smith get on deck,” Ben issues. “You’re next up.” The dugout shuffles around, and I center myself back on Tyler, who’s at bat. Jon made it to first base, thank God.

  “Burgers, huh?” Ben recites.

  “What’s wrong with burgers?”

  “Nothing. I just hope your little outbursts and burgers don’t deplete your bank account.” I slowly turn my head to my officially annoying-as-fuck assistant.

  “If you got something to say...say it.” He meets my glare head on.

  “Sawyer Boyd,” he deadpans. My lungs seize in my chest. It catches in my throat, and I’m not the one who said it.

  I can’t even coach my own team, full of boys, without hearing the woman’s name. My cock jerks, but my mind clouds in thoughts of her. Everything she did, every stroke between her legs, the way her smile lights up her green eyes, and how sweet her voice sounds. How she can cloak herself into the girl next door one minute then the next a vixen in every man’s wet fantasy.

  My fantasy for the last decade.

  “What the fuck about her?” I snap, clutching my board because I’m currently imagining using it as a club to clobber him with.

  “She’s standing right behind you,” an all-to-familiar female voice sounds behind me.

  You’ve. Got. To. Be. Fucking. Kiddin—

  “What are you doing here?” Ben asks for the both of us but with a smile.

  “I’m tutoring Jace Cooper,” she informs. “I heard he was one of your best players.”

  God, is he? I thought his name was Jason or Jeffery.

  “Yeah,” Ben chimes. “Kid is a damn cannon at bat.”

  “Thanks, Coach,” one of the kids says in the dugout. I’m assuming Jace, but I’m not going to turn the h
ell around to look.

  I can smell her perfume, some flower bullshit. I wrinkle my nose at the scent, not because it smells bad but because it's her. It wafts around me intimately before hitting me upside the head. All the emotions running through my head make me dizzy.

  She’s in my fucking space again.

  This tug and shove between us, I can’t decide how I want to proceed, and I know I have to pick one.

  I either make her life a cohabiting hell or try to forgive her. But I know the latter just isn’t working. I’ve tried to accept the aftermath of what happened with Sawyer, what it did to me, the mental struggle I had to overcome to just feel normal again.

  And for a while, I seemed to be finding my footing, focusing on myself over everything else. I moved on, or tried to, at least, and I could have had a fiancee by now.

  However, the moment my name left her lips and confirmed that we were standing within feet of each other in her parents’ foyer, I wasn’t alright anymore. I was in a whirlwind of emotions I’ve buried, stomped on for years, and now, they were being dug up slowly consuming me. In that moment, I was forced to confront the person that tore me up inside.

  “Coach,” Sawyer summons me, her voice sounding closer now. “After the game, I need to speak with you about Jace’s grades and—” I slap my clipboard into Ben’s chest and whirl around to face her, trying to look as cool as a cucumber in a heat wave.

  “How about now?” I convey, extending an arm for her to walk the fuck out of my dugout in her jean overalls and a black baseball cap.

  She looks like the innocent seventeen-year-old that I purposely put into detention and deliberately followed just to warn her again about Gavin. The sweet girl who stole my heart and didn’t know what to do with it besides throw it over the railing of a ship and let it drown.

  I follow her out of the dugout, smacking the cap off one of my player's heads for staring at her ass.

  Little fucker.

  Sawyer walks a few more feet away from prying ears and turns around to face me. Her red hair cascades over her shoulders, cupping her oval face and bronze skin. Her freckles are starting to become more prominent as the weather gets warmer, something I also noticed a decade ago.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you during your game,” she recites, shoving her hands inside her front pockets. “Principle Tanner couldn’t get a hold of you before—”

  “So, you decided to deliver the message?” I press with a raised brow.

  “I’m tutoring him now so...yes.”

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

  “You’re working at Freemont High now?”

  “Part-time,” she replies. “It’s for some credits that I need for my degree.”

  “What days?”

  She squints her eyes. “Why?”

  “So we’re not running into each other and I don’t follow you into another classroom,” I clip. She blinks; calculated, virtuous, a damn Eve with an apple.

  Mhm.

  I know that look, I’ve done it a million times. She’s been around me too fucking much. The victory, the smug look that’s starting to tug at her lips. It’s when triumph rings in your head and the victim looks shocked, timid, or exasperated. All three things Sawyer is and was.

  Someone needs a reminder.

  “You sound upset,” Sawyer prods smoothly. “But I came here to talk about Jace not have you crying on my shoulder about it.”

  “I’m not rattled, Bases,” I counter, taking a single step toward her. “You know I always loved a challenge.”

  “Aw, that’s cute,” she coos.

  Now, I smirk. “So, I’ve been told.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re adorable when you think you’ve won.”

  Her brow quirks. “I did. I came, didn’t I?” My cock remembers because it jerks in its boxers.

  Easy boy, we’re not there yet.

  I nod. “You did.”

  “Now, about Jace—”

  “I think you like seeing me squirm,” I interrupt, closing in on another step. “Do you like knowing that you have me in the palm of your hand? That you could possibly bring me to my knees and beg for you to put your pussy in my face?” She shifts uncomfortably, her face pinkening at my answer, and I inwardly scoff.

  Sawyer and I could apparently do this back and forth shit for years, and as fun as it would be to watch her wriggle and flounder each time I pulled some bullshit, the feeling of deep admiration is gone. Only the physical need to own her a few times and be satisfied remains now. Mentally, well, I’m working on trying to just forget it because I’m a little too petty for the forgiveness option.

  “Jace is failing history,” Sawyer digresses. “If he doesn’t pass his next test and writing project, Mrs. Benalu isn’t going to pass him.”

  “Who?”

  “The history teacher,” Sawyer chides. “Pay attention.”

  “I’m too busy thinking about your legs wrapped around my head,” I answer truthfully.

  Her jaw falls then quickly picks back up. “Colson, I’m being serious.”

  I half shrug. “So am I, but you’re not making this easy.”

  “As his coach, I’m supposed to make you aware of any issues with your player’s grades. If he doesn’t improve, he can’t play, and I don’t want that to happen.”

  On a serious note, I don’t either. All the guys are good kids, minus the eye fucking and shitty little remarks that they don’t think I hear about how I’m too hard on them.

  “Then keep me updated,” I agree. “Do you need anything from me?”

  “Can he start practice maybe thirty minutes late without having to run laps?”

  I exhale a heavy breath. “I don’t know Miss Boyd, that’s asking a lot.”

  “Colson…” she half pleas and warns.

  “What do I get?”

  “Your best player to play,” she says with furrowed brows. I reach for a lock of her hair and twirl it around my fingers. I want to tug on it but refrain, knowing we’re not in a place where she can yell at me for touching her.

  But the need always overpowers the right decision, and at this moment, I want Sawyer Boyd between me and a hard surface.

  “Then I’ll be seeing you around, Bases.” I nod toward the dugout. “Was there anything else?”

  “No,” she seizes, stepping away so that her hair falls from my soft grasp.

  “Just let me know if that changes,” I advise. “I’d love to help you out—” I let my eyes take in her curves covered in denim. “—for the next time, Bases.”

  She scoffs half-heartedly. “Sure, Hayes.”

  I smile. “I look forward to it.”

  “Keep looking forward.” She turns on the heel of her Chucks, letting me view her ass and the way her hips sway only when she wants me to look.

  I see you, Bases.

  All of you.

  Present day

  I haven’t had a moment to myself in over a week. School started Monday, and I’ve been spending most of my time in my Chevy Malibu transporting my butt back and forth to Texas for classes.

  I have a lengthy syllabus for just one semester, papers to write, and I’m exhausted after day three of running around. On Tuesdays and Fridays before baseball practice, Jace and I plan on talking about his writing project that Mrs. Benalu gave out and study for his upcoming test. On top of that, Dad has been on me about hiring another assistant—I’ve been keeping the real reason I fired Veronica in the first place to myself.

  More like dodging it all together.

  There’s no reason to tell and get him upset, so I’m going to just keep my mouth shut. If he wants me to bring on a new assistant, I’ll hire one.

  One that’s older and won’t be an easy target for Colson.

  Dad sits behind his desk on Thursday afternoon when I walk in after driving back from class. He’s sifting through papers and doesn’t hear me come in, giving me a moment to study him.

  He looks more fragile, not the sturdy man that used to swing me around and co
ach me for softball games. After this last heart attack, it’s left him more haggard-looking and weak. The constant bags under his eyes haven’t disappeared, and I’m starting to realize it’s from the stress of the business and the possibility of me running it.

  I’m sure it takes a lot of his pride to ask for my help and accept it without a fight. Maybe I need to loosen up on the reins and give him a few more things to do that won’t be too stressful.

  “Oh, Sawyer, I didn’t hear you come in,” Dad announces. “Come sit down, I have your friend Jake bringing us dinner.”

  I almost choke midway to the chair across from his desk. “Jake?”

  He peers up at me and removes his reading glasses. “You do have a friend named Jake, right?”

  “I—yeah, but how...where did you…” I trail off. Jake flew home last week, but he checks in on me every day.

  I feel bad about his visit, I didn’t get to spend much time with him nor was I mentally “here” to have a normal conversation.

  “He came by to see you, and I told him you weren’t here. He offered to pick us up something to eat when I explained you’d be here soon to help me interview some new assistants.”

  “Um, that’s great,” I manage, sitting in the cracked leather chair. “But was he tall, dirty blond hair, kinda built, and—” I stop when Dad raises a brow.

  “Yes...what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I respond quickly. He stares at me for another minute before returning his attention to the piece of paper he was holding.

  “So, do you want me to ask the questions or do you want to do the good cop, bad cop thing?”

  “Sawyer couldn’t be the bad cop if she wanted to, Mr. Boyd,” Jake conveys behind me. I smile at the sound of his voice but stay seated even though I want to throw my arms around him.

  Let’s just say I didn’t have casual dinner conversations with my parents about my fuck buddy for the last few years, or that we flew back and forth from Oklahoma to New York to stay with each other.

  He kisses the top of my head and places three bags of food on the desk. “Brought your favorite, Freshman.”