by Mj Fields
Inside the elevator, I hit our floor number and pull her in front of me.
Behind me, I hear, “New kid’s fucking the new doc.”
“Which new doc?” another one asks.
“The one with the big, fuckable ass.”
I turn my head and spit, “Show some fucking respect.”
Left fielder, Vander, rolls his eyes, acting as if I didn’t just fucking speak, and looks at center fieldman, Leland Locke.
“I owe you a hundred bucks. Guess I was wrong when I thought that Wonder Boy couldn’t speak after getting mangled in that accident. He’s just a cocky, arrogant little shit.”
“Doc, these motherfuckers seriously shit talking you and me as if we aren’t in the same elevator as they are?”
She looks up at me, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Possible initiation to the team. An attempt at a grownup version of pledge week for a fraternity.” She leans around me and looks at them. “Epic fail, by the way.” Blue eyes sparkling and a gorgeous grin on her face, she looks back up at me and whispers but loud enough for them to hear, “More than likely inferiority complexes. Either way, it will work out. Just go easy on them; athletes have delicate egos.”
Hotter every day.
One of them laughs. I don’t look back to see which one. Doesn’t matter.
I start to open my mouth, but she gives me a stern shake of her head, telling me no.
The elevator stops, and they exit.
I step halfway out and call to them, “See you tomorrow.” They both flip me off.
I turn to look back at Ellis, but she’s not behind me anymore. She’s jetting out the door, a door that closes before I can get out.
“Goddammit, Ellis!”
“Chill, kid.”
I look back to see who the hell is telling me to chill. It’s John Paul, aka The Pope, scrolling through his phone.
“With all due respect, Pope, I have zero chills for the way they spoke to her.”
“They’re all bark and no bite. She seems to have more bite than they do. She put them in their place. She’ll be fine.” He puts his phone in his pocket. “But you need to make an effort. She’s not wrong; they’re all worried about losing their spot on the team, and none of them are getting any younger. Make the effort, Steel, be the bigger man. Do it for your team, because those two, along with half the rest of the team, sure as hell won’t. Step up, if you got it in you.”
The door opens.
“Thank you. Much appreciation. See you tomorrow.”
I hear him chuckling as I jet toward the stairs.
I fling open the door and run out into the hall, looking left then right. I don’t see them, but I hear laughter, her laughter, and I follow it.
Play Ball
Stepping off the elevator and facing this head-on is necessary. Mr. Costello—I mean, Buck—told me I was going to have to deal with this, I agreed to it, and I’ve yet to do so.
I feel bad that I tricked Amias a bit by sneaking off the elevator, but I’m one hundred percent certain he wouldn’t have let me handle it alone, and I need to.
“Could I have a minute of your time, gentlemen?”
They both turn at the sound of my voice.
“You bring Wonder Boy along or—”
“Amias and I are friends.”
“We can tell.” Locke chuckles.
“Friends with benefits?” Vander asks.
“Okay, have your fun, make assumptions, get it out of your systems now, because, as the last placed team in the MLB, years running, I kind of expected there to be a problem with how you play as a team. That alone told me I wouldn’t be welcome with open arms.”
“I’ll welcome you like Wonder Boy has and open my arms if you’ll give me what you’re giving him and open your legs.” Locke winks.
“Good one.” Vander fist bumps him.
“Let’s talk about spread, shall we?” I look at Locke.
“Let’s.” He smirks.
“I’ve studied the tapes, and over the past year, your flexibility has seriously diminished. I looked through your medical records and was pretty surprised to see there were no injuries causing it. So, either you’ve gotten lazy and complacent, or you’ve got some issues that need to be addressed.”
“Shit.” Vander chuckles.
“You’re not off the hook here, either. You’re apparently a pillar of health, too, yet your reach has diminished. You take a hell of a lot longer getting off the ground when you dive for a ball, and you’re delayed by a good half a second when throwing it infield.”
“Shit happens when you get older, sweetheart,” he sneers.
“You’re twenty-nine years old, Vander, and Locke’s thirty-three. I wouldn’t say, at your ages, if I were a professional athlete, that I’d be ready to be put out to pasture.”
“You sure about that, Ellis Stavros? Weren’t you a gymnast? And now—”
“I deferred my Olympic dreams to go to college because I was given a full ride. Then I got pregnant, and then in an accident that had me in traction for a month. If I were in your shoes, I’d be doing whatever I could to stay in the game, which means utilize me and my knowledge of training from being a gymnast since I was eight years old and my schooling for the past seven.”
“Ball buster.” Vander chuckles.
I shrug. “My job is to keep you at the top of your game, so yeah, I’m going to bust your balls.”
“Bring it on, BB.” Locke smirks.
“Consider it brought. When we get back to Jersey, I’m going to give you all an assessment and a plan.”
“Gotcha.”
“Oh, and one last thing, if I were Amias Steel, I’d expect my peers, my team, to see that I was willing to put in the work to get my ass back in the game. So show him some respect.”
“That our physical therapist talking or the girl who wants to—”
“You get this once, and then you shut it down. I knew Amias before his accident. It was a coincidence we met up again.”
They look past me, and Vander asks, “You and he a thing?”
“See? You don’t get that personal information. It’s not any more your business than it is mine to question if you two are going back to your room and going at it after hours.”
The shocked look on both their previously smug faces is the perfect time to exit.
When I turn around, I see Amias, and he’s not at all happy.
I hear the two idiots chuckling behind me.
“Ice cream?” I ask.
He doesn’t look at me when he growls, “Doc.”
“Amias, ice cream, now.”
He looks down at me, completely shocked.
“Please.”
“You get this once, you understand.”
I grab the bag from his hand and walk past him. “Thankfully, I’m old enough to go to the store and get my own next time.” I opt to take the stairs over the elevator, for obvious reasons, and not so obvious ones, as well.
Amias Steel pissed … insanely hot.
Walking out of the stairwell and into our hall, I look back. “You’re pissed.”
“I’m dealing,” he answers shortly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What it means is this is new territory for me, Ellis. It means I don’t get jealous of a girl texting someone or pissed when she sticks up for herself because I straight-up feel like it’s my responsibility, my right, and my privilege to do so if she’s with me. I don’t do those things because I never cared about someone like this. So, Ellis, I’m dealing.”
I grab my keycard and slide it over the card reader then open the door. I look back when I hear his door open. “So, no ice cream?”
“Gonna go take a shower and jerk off, because if I go in there, I’m gonna wanna fuck you so hard, so good, so for long that it may seem like punishment until I finally let you come.”
My jaw drops.
“I’m dealing, Ellis. So enjoy your ice cream, yeah?”
He doesn’t
wait for me to respond; he walks in and the door slams shut behind him.
Bella called and asked if Georgie could sit with them at tomorrow morning’s exhibition game, and I finally said yes, and that I appreciated it. Then, after pacing the floor, I decide he’s not the only one who gets to say his piece. I hit his contact information and something … happens.
“Doc, you need something?”
Oh shoot, FaceTime.
“Sorry, I meant to send a text message and …” I look closer at the screen and see that he has his phone sitting on the vanity as he leans over to shave. The view, if I’m not mistaken from the bottom of the screen, is the very thick root of his … manhood, up to that V, all the way up his crazy sexy abs, to his pecs, those shoulders—Lord, he has great shoulders—and to his chin with a sexy cleft.
“Doc? You still there? I’d look, but I’d rather not cut myself.”
“You were going to eat ice cream with me.”
“I was, and then I decided it wasn’t a good idea.”
“Understood. Goodnight.” I hit end call, toss the phone on the couch, and then head to the bathroom to get showered and ready for bed.
I jump when I hear pounding on the bathroom door. “Ellis, you have two seconds before I bust this door down and come in to make sure you’re okay.”
I quickly turn the lever that shuts off the water, throw the detachable shower-head, grab a towel, and yell, “I’m fine!”
I’m not fine. I was legit just getting myself off.
“Seriously, open the damn door so these fools don’t think I’m some nut job.”
I grab the robe and throw it on, open the door a crack, and see hotel security standing behind him, looking less than happy with him.
I gasp. “What is going on?”
“You didn’t answer your phone. I knew you were alone and—”
“Okay, see? I’m fine now. Thank you. I’m going to shut the door now.”
I wait a few minutes before walking out of the bathroom to get my clothes and make sure they are gone.
They are; he’s not.
He’s sitting on my bed, wet hair, shirtless, in gray jogging shorts, his arms crossed over his chest, looking a bit crazy, but in a wigged-out kind of way, not a you-have-to-get-a-fucking-abortion-or-you’re-going-to-ruin-my-fucking-life while driving ninety miles an hour on a curvy road at night kind of crazy.
He pulls his finger away from his mouth. “Before you say anything—”
“You shouldn’t chew your nails.”
“And you shouldn’t hang up on me and not answer your phone and then your door after me overhearing your conversation with those two fuckers, fuckers who I should have been dealing with. Who, by the way, know more about you than I do now, and—”
“Slow down.”
“Slow down?”
“Slow. Down.”
“You fucked up my head a bit and come walking out looking like you’ve been crying and—”
“I have not been crying.”
“Then why’s your face all flushed like you’ve been—”
“Okay, stop and listen. I haven’t been crying.”
“Ellis, I have two sisters and a mother. I know—”
“Please stop. Just stop and maybe think I, too, was just dealing with stuff.”
He cocks his head and a brow, and then his lush lips curve up as realization hits. Oddly, I’m not embarrassed at all. In fact, the way he’s looking at me makes me feel kind of … sexy and intriguing, and not like a head-trip who has literally pushed through her entire life, trying to make sense of it all.
“Okay. So, we’re good?”
“I’m real good with you doing you. Will be better when it’s me doing you. But I’m not good with our sweet as fuck little date being wrecked by idiots.”
I sigh. “I don’t think it was wrecked. I still think it was fun.”
He pouts out his bottom lip. “But we didn’t eat ice cream.”
To that, I laugh. “Well, go, so I can get some clothes on, and we can eat ice cream.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
When I walk out, he’s sitting on the couch, his back against the corner, one leg stretched across the back, one foot resting on the floor, two open containers of ice cream on the coffee table in front of him.
He pats the spot between his legs. “Right here.”
“Do I get a choice?”
“You’ll overthink it, so no.”
He’s not wrong, but he’s also—
“And let’s, you and I, pretend we just got off the elevator and the past fifteen minutes didn’t happen.”
“Which would totally erase your little bout with overthink—”
I squeal when he sits up, grabs my hand, and pulls me over to him. Somehow, he manages to turn me, and I end up right where he wanted me—between his legs, my back to his bare chest.
“Shush your pretty lips, Ellis, and eat ice cream.”
“And forget all about the time between getting on the elevator and now?” I ask as I allow myself to lean into him.
“Yeah, all except for the part where we got off picturing each other.”
I force myself to look up at him and am met with a confident, playful smirk. This time, I refuse to allow myself to get embarrassed or shocked. I like this version of him better. And I like the way he makes me feel when he’s like this, so I ask him, “How was I?”
I wake up when he picks me up and carries me to bed, and I don’t open my eyes because I enjoy it way too much. When he lays me down, covers me up, and kisses my head, he lingers, so I roll to my side and move over.
From behind me, he whispers, “Yeah?”
I yawn out, “Yeah.”
“Need your phone charged?”
“It’s over here.”
“What time is Georgie—”
“She’s going to stay with Luna and go to the game with them.”
“I’m getting up early to hit the gym.”
“No, you and I are getting up early to stretch and work on some optical exercises.” I yawn again.
I feel the bed dip when he slides in, right before I feel one of his arms push under my pillow and the other wrap around me.
Big hugs. I really like big hugs.
Batter Up
Standing next to Buck and Henry —who showed up today— just to the left of the dugout, I watch Amias sitting on the bench, hat pulled down low, head bopping to the beat of whatever playlist he’s listening to.
“How’s the kid?” Henry asks.
Part of me wants to tell him to shove it up his ass. The part of me does not wanting to get let go from my paid internship wins. “He’s good. He’s ready.”
“I sure as hell hope so. You’ve thrown a lot of money at this kid.” Henry laughs.
I wonder how much Henry makes for doing not a damn thing.
Buck looks at me and laughs, obviously reading my thoughts.
I look behind me and see Georgie, who is smiling from ear-to-ear, bouncing from Luna’s father’s, Tags, lap; to Amias’s father’s, Zandor; his mother’s, Bekah; his sister’s, Brisa; and the other cousin’s, Max … Maxie, the one who picked up Amias. The one who was driving when the accident happened.
My stomach, which hasn’t been off all day, turns, and I glance at Amias, who’s looking at me, his emotions unreadable. I certainly hope he’s not reading mine, so I do something totally out of character and wink at him.
His lips twitch up, and he shakes his head while pulling his ball cap down.
“Kid’s a loner, huh?” Henry, whose face is awfully red, quips.
“Look behind you. There are two rows of people who would beg to differ. He’s not a loner. He’s worked hard to become the best, then had to do it all over again.”
“This one’s feisty, huh, Buck?”
Under my breath, I mumble, “Learn to read, Henry. It’s all in his damn file.”
Buck nudges me, and I glance over at him.
“Hank’s my wife�
�s cousin.”
“Dear Lord, I am so sorry.”
He barks out a loud laugh. “Me, too, sweetheart, me, too.”
To that, I smile, and I also realize that I kind of love Buck Costello.
The Jags take the field for the first inning, and I hurry into the dugout to see how Amias, who is designated hitting this game and apparently for those in the foreseeable future, is doing.
“How are you feeling?”
He lifts his chin. “Good, and you?”
“It feels like I’m more anxious than you are about this.”
“You are, and that’s because you haven’t seen me play.”
“Pfft, I’ve watched every tape I could get my hands on.”
“But not live, Sweets. It’s an experience.” His confidence, magnetic, and if I could bottle it up and spritz myself with it every morning, I would.
“Is that so?”
He nods. “Gonna make your panties wet.”
Gasping, I glance around. “You did not just say that.”
“Yeah, I did.” He cups the rim of his hat and pulls it down further, hiding his eyes, a smirk on his full lips. “Straight truth, too.”
“Hmm.” I stand up off the bench, and he grips the back of my knee, stopping me from walking away.
“Not sure I wanna wait until we get back to Jersey to tell Georgie that you and I are a thing.”
We’re a thing. What felt like a lifetime sentence just two days ago no longer does. Not that I don’t have a million worries and the inability not to see the fiery crash this could end in, but the way he says it, like he truly believes it, makes me want to believe it, too.
“How about we focus on the game, Steel?”
“How about you tell me we’re good to go, so I can?”
“You’re the one who said we’ll take it back to Jersey. I think we should.”
“You’re the one who invited me into your bed last night and teased the hell out of me by backing that ass up on me all night.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the one who wrapped me up in those big, old arms and didn’t let go.”
“I held tight so I wouldn’t be tempted to cop a feel.”
