by Shey Stahl
“Okay, Cason Jarrett Reins.” I raise the tequila shot from the bar and tap it against his beer glass that’s almost empty. “Cheers, bitch.”
Laughter works through him. “Did you just call me a bitch?”
“You bet your ass I did.” I take the shot, feel the burn in my throat, and squint before laying it back on the lip of the bar. “Now drink with me. My sister dragged me here to get laid.”
Please take away my ability to speak.
He laughs. “Well, do you want to get laid?”
“No.” Yes!
An emotion surfaces in his eyes, but he blinks it away and then moves closer. “Stick with me then. I’ll make sure nobody gets to home plate, unless it’s me.”
“Nice of you.”
“I’m a really nice guy. Probably the nicest on the team.”
“Strangely, I kind of believe that.”
Before I know it, he’s leading me away from the bar. My shoulder is tucked perfectly between his armpit crook. By the way, I fit perfectly in that spot. As if I was meant to snuggle in there. Collin and I were the same height. Maybe that’s where we went wrong. I should have known from the beginning. If you don’t fit inside the guy’s crook—not to be confused with crack—you’re not meant to be. Now don’t go putting any weight on this theory or think just because you don’t fit inside that spot with your significant other you’re destined for break up. I’m drunk, high, and speedballing, remember? Don’t listen to anything I say.
Taking in a breath, I smell his armpit and then pat his chest again. “I think I might like you, Cason Jarrett Reins.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “And I think you’re going to change your mind about getting laid tonight.”
Play ball, I guess.
A nickname for Major League Baseball.
SYDNEY
“We call him The Show,” another baseball player tells me. I recognize him as the one at the coffee stand with him last week.
“You’ve literally never called me that before.” Cason pushes his friend on the shoulder. “You can leave now.”
The bass of the music vibrates the stool I’m sitting on. Look at me. I’m seated right there next to Cason at the table, Nahla, Sadie with us, and a handful of baseball players trying their luck too. “Why do you call him that?” I ask, curious as to why they call Cason The Show.
The one with dark hair and even darker eyes presses his chest to my side and leans in to tell me, “Because he threw 105 mph fastball tonight.”
“Holy shit, that was you?” I stare at him and fight the urge to take another whiff of his delicious scent. I wonder what kind of deodorant he uses. Maybe they make it in an air freshener.
His facial expression falters, as if he doesn’t want to give himself away. He nods though.
“I think I need proof this actually happened and that it’s not a college rumor.”
Cason shakes his head, smiling as if he’s not surprised by my hesitation to believe him. “Uh-huh.”
His teammates show me a video. I still don’t believe them. I have trust issues.
Nahla downs the remainder of her martini and stares at the player who’s wearing his baseball hat backward and trying to get her to dance with him. “Son, I’m old enough to be your mom.”
“Not likely. I’m twenty-one. What are you, like thirty-five?”
This backward-hat-wearing kid might die a painful death tonight. “I’m thirty.”
“Unless you had me at fourteen, you ain’t my mom.” He holds his hand out to her. “And my name is Forest.”
Nahla’s not impressed and shows him her perfected resting bitch face. “I could be your aunt, Forest.”
“But we’re not related, so I’ve got no problems if you want to teach me a thing or two, I’m game.” Reaching out, he touches her shoulder. “I’m digging the pants suit.”
“It’s not a pants suit.” Nahla yanks her white shirt from her pants. “It’s a shirt, and pants. I’m a lawyer and married.” She holds up her left hand. “Go away.”
Forest rolls his eyes but doesn’t give up. “I don’t have any problems with you being married. I won’t tell anyone.”
Nahla laughs. “They’re witnesses everywhere.”
“Fine.” He tries again, sitting next to her. “What does your husband do?”
Cason leans into me, shaking his head. “Forest can debate better than anyone I know. If there’s ever a play in question, he’s the first to add his two cents.”
“And Nahla is feisty.” I close the distance between us, our ears practically touching, heads tipped together. I can feel his warmth radiating through him and into me. “She’ll put him in his place.”
“I don’t doubt that.” His terrified eyes find mine. “She scares me.”
I search the depth of his stare. And he’s drunk. That much is clear, but you know what I do see? Unguarded. Honesty. Truth. You get my point. I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed around a man. “Do I scare you?”
There’s a slow shake of his head and the softest of smiles. “No, you intrigue me.”
Intrigue. Huh. That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I don’t break eye contact, and he smiles crookedly. Don’t be fooled by his adorableness. He’s trying to steal first base.
The clinking of glasses draws my attention to the table. I look down at Cason’s hand casually wrapped around his third beer. “I want to see you throw that fast. Or I don’t believe it. The world record is 105 in a game. You’ll have to excuse me if I have my doubts.”
Cason shakes his head. “I’m not surprised you have doubts.”
Ez, the one trying to convince me, pulls up the news from the college. It’s true. He did. In a game. Hell, it’s all over ESPN right now, and Cason’s phone has been ringing so much he turned it off.
“Come to a game,” he suggests, watching me with rapt attention. His eyes dart to the side, a girl calling his name. She’s been trying to get his attention for the last hour. She’s a cute little brunette with a crop top, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why he’s sitting next to me and my overly tight mom jeans when he could be having a good time with her.
“She’s really trying to get your attention,” I point out, motioning with a head nod to the girl.
He doesn’t even look up. “I’m more interested in why you don’t believe I can throw a fastball that hard.”
“I need proof.”
He tilts his head. “What’s with you and proof? Someone fuck you over?”
“Yeah. My dead husband. He was a lying sack of shit.”
At first, I don’t think he knows what to say in return, until he shrugs. “At least he’s out of the picture now.”
“He’s definitely out of the question because you see that hot little blonde wearing the yoga pants over there?”
He glances at the girl and then quickly away. “Yeah?”
“He was fucking her.”
A legitimate look of surprise crosses his face. His voice is firmer now, a direct competition to the music still blaring through the small pub. “When he had you at home waiting for him?”
I gaze at the band and then sigh. “Cute. But yes.”
“His loss.” In the glow of the neon above his head, his eyes are glittering.
“You have all the right moves, don’t you?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs easily. “You tell me. Is it working?”
I roll my eyes, trying to be evasive. “Sorta.”
He turns me on the stool so that my thighs are pressed together and between his. I grin and say exactly what’s on my mind. “You know, usually men are trying to open a lady’s legs, not close them.”
Licking his lips slowly, he blinks, and then he winks. Do you see what he’s doing there? He has moves, and he’s about to show me a few.
“Yes, but this way, I can do this.” I hold my breath when he touches me for the first time. He starts at my legs, his large hands splayed open on the outside of my thighs.
I glance at his fingers, how strong his hands are, and the gentle grip he has on me. “Now.” He pauses, his chest closing the distance between us. I feel precious and protected this close to him and can’t think of why that is. His eyes drag over me, pausing briefly on my boobs. He breathes out, and suddenly I feel his lips touch my neck. “Even with your legs closed, I can feel the heat of your pussy. You want me whether you want to admit it or not.”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ. I always frown when people say, “Oh, he made my panties wet.” Well, girls, it’s the fucking truth here. I wish these damn jeans weren’t so tight because I’d probably take them off right here and now. And that’s probably a good reason they’re suctioned on.
When he pulls back, I bite my lip and breathe heavily. I might take this kid home. I just might.
He senses my weakness easily. “You’re having a hard time saying no, aren’t you?”
I don’t answer him because Sadie wraps her arms around my shoulder and smashes herself into us. “Hey, Reins, we want to see that fastball.”
His eyes move to Sadie. “Do I know you?”
“No.” She works her hand into his and forces him to shake it. “But I’m this chick’s sister. You better not have a girlfriend or a criminal record.”
Cason’s eyes slowly drift to mine, and he laughs, straightening his posture. He takes a drink of his beer first, sets it down, and then regards Sadie intently. “I don’t have a girlfriend, but a criminal record… that depends. I stole a car once.”
“Were you arrested?”
“No. I was twelve.”
Sadie’s hand jets to her hip. “Why’d you steal the car?”
“Because he parked in the wrong spot. So I moved his car for him.”
She frowns. “Where’d you park it?”
Though I can tell he’s annoyed with her constant questions, he plays along. “In the middle of an intersection.”
Sadie places both his shoulders. “That’s a dick move.”
“Or I’m a nice guy.” Casually, he leans to the side again, away from Sadie. I have a feeling he doesn’t like people touching him. “He was parked in a handicap spot, and he wasn’t handicapped,” Cason adds, only to have Ez wrap his arms around his shoulders.
“You better take this boy home tonight,” Ez tells me, smiling at Cason and then me. “He’s the only trustworthy one out of all of us.”
“I can see that,” Nahla adds, still trying to get Forest to leave her alone. Sadie, she’s busy with who they tell me is Noah now. He looks in love, and I hate to break it to the kid, but my sister is so in love with that drummer that he’ll never make it past first base with her.
“Go away.” Cason pushes him off and shakes his head, annoyance in his tone when he leans into me. “Anytime you want to find a more private place, let me know.”
“How about outside?” I suggest. “I could use some fresh air, and I want you to show me this fastball. I need to see it in person. Tonight. Right now.”
He stands, his breathing slow and easy, but his eyes are lazy-lidded, and I find that damn near irresistible. “I don’t have a ball.”
I grab him by the hand, completely aware that we’re holding hands. “I have one in my van.”
He laughs, following along. “Sure you do.”
I stop walking and turn around. He runs into me, chest to chest. For a second, I’m caught up in the moment that I could lay my head on his chest and ask him to whisper like I wanted him to earlier. But I quickly realize that might sound weird, and I do want to see this guy in action. “I do. Seriously. I have a minivan. I have everything in there. Even a mini-fridge.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “No shit?”
“Yep. It’s amazing. Need a cold drink? I got ya covered.”
“Damn.” We start walking toward the doors, Nahla, Sadie, Ez, and of course, Forest, following us. “Maybe I should get a van.”
“No, no. Only pervy men drive vans.”
“I wasn’t going to get a white one.” He stops at the door and opens it for me. “I’m thinking a black one with blacked-out windows.”
“Even worse.” In the dark parking lot, I shake my head and click the button to my van to find that baseball of my dad’s I have floating around with the half-eaten chicken nuggets and applesauce squeezables. It takes me a moment to find the ball, but when I do, I hold it out to him. “Stop stalling.” This time, I lick my lips suggestively, and he watches with rapt attention. “Show me your fastball.”
“Damn.” Ez rests his head on Cason’s shoulder. “Is that metaphorical for his dick?”
Taking the ball in his hand, Cason shoves Ez. “Shut up.”
“Who’s gonna catch it?”
“Not me!” Forest notes. “Last time I caught for him, I couldn’t feel my hand.”
“I like it.” Ez grins. “Numb hands can be beneficial.” And then he makes a jacking-off motion, only to have Cason look at him like he’s grown a head out of his ear.
I start laughing so hard I nearly pee my pants.
Somehow, a glove is provided, and we’re all standing around next to the parked cars, Ez kneels on the ground, and Cason’s some sixty feet back. His eyes find mine in the darkness.
I smile. He does too and shakes his head. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this to prove a point.”
“I like my proof.”
His hand hangs at his side, the ball loosely gripped. His smirk finds me, and I’m not disappointed to be on the receiving end of it again. “You just wanna see me throw.”
I lean against the side of my van and give him my best flirty face. “That too.”
“Come on, baby, bring the heat!” Ez yells from his place in the gravel behind a row of cars. “Give it to me. Feed me, baby!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Cason groans, breathing heavily. With his stare intent on Ez, he lifts his face, his eyes penetrating mine in the shadows. He looks… nervous. Unsure. His eyes drop to the ball, and in that second, when our stare breaks and finds the white ball with red seams, I want inside his head. I want to dig deep and find the connection he has with baseball. Like I’ve said, I’ve known a lot of baseball players over the years, and they all pick up a ball or a bat for the first time for a reason. And this guy, he has a damn good reason.
He stands sideways. Headlights light up his lower half, and he looks almost legendary standing there with clouds of exhaust hovering near the pavement and the shine of the cars against the streetlights.
It’s then, during the windup, that I realize what a horrible idea this is. Or, Nahla reminds me. “Don’t let him throw that ball. If he hits someone’s car, he could get in trouble and lose his scholarship.”
“Well, shit.” I straighten my posture and stare at her. “Why’d you let me convince him to try it?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I came out here because I thought we were leaving, not potentially committing vandalism.”
Just as I turn my head to tell Cason not to throw the ball, he winds up and throws the ball at the same time someone’s car alarm goes off. The ball hisses through the air with wicked speed and right into the back window of a Tesla.
“Shit.” Ez jumps up and rushes toward Cason. “We should go.”
“Ya think?” he growls at Ez, shaking his head with disappointment, and then smiles at me. “How fast does that minivan go?”
I snort, eyes wide. “Not a hundred and five.”
“Cute.” He smacks me on the ass. Laughter dances in his expression, the corners of his lips lifting. “Let’s drink. I need redemption.”
You know what I love the most about what just occurred? Other than the fact that there’s one less Tesla looking sleek and perfect? The fact that Cason didn’t blame me. If Collin had done that, you better believe it would have been my fault for convincing him to do it.
Nahla blows out a nervous breath. “What is my life becoming these last couple hours?”
“You know—” Forest begins, only to have Nahla slap his shoulder.
“Stop it. Go find someone else to bother.”
Inside the pub, we move through the building to the back-patio seating. I’m at a table with Cason again, trying to ignore the fact that Ez and Remi are making out. Yep. She’s still here but thankfully hasn’t bothered me much.
“You have a Cheerio in your hair,” Cason tells me when I sit on his lap. He holds me closer, invading my personal space, and sadly, my heart. I freaking like this guy, and I’ve only spent a few hours around him. I could see myself spending every day with him, and though that terrifies the fuck out of me, I can’t make myself walk away from him or get off his lap.
The spring night air hits my cheeks, a welcome coolness from the heat of being drunk. I don’t know about you, but once alcohol hits me, and I’ve had a lot tonight, my face feels like fire. Which is also why we’re outside.
Pulling my hair over my shoulder, I gather it in my hands to see that I do, in fact, have a cheerio in my hair. “Oh, that’s a teet.” And then, like the awkward fucking weirdo I am, I eat it.
Laughter shakes through Cason and, in turn, jiggles my boobs. His hand, that’s wrapped around me, sneaks under my shirt against the tiniest sliver of skin he finds. “Say what?”
“A teet.” I swallow and jump at the feeling of his hands on my bare skin. It was one thing when I held his hand, but another completely when he’s close to naughty parts and the small of my back. “It’s a Cheerio with cinnamon and sugar on it.”
His face scrunches and he lifts his chin so we’re eye level. “I hate cinnamon. And Cheerios.”
I balk at him, mouth open wide. “What kind of monster are you?”
His eyes focus on my lips. “I prefer jelly beans.” He draws in a quick breath and trails his fingers higher. A fiery whimper dances on my lips, my knees threatening to buckle. It’s a damn good thing I’m seated or I’d need to sit down. You see, this, between us, our words, it’s a playful conversation to anyone watching, but if you look closely at the lust-drunk eyes and the touches, this is anything but light and flirty. I want to fuck him, and I know he’s getting desperate. Two minutes ago, he asked if he could fuck me in the bathroom. I know exactly where this is heading now, and I have no intention of stopping it.
