I knew she still breastfed Micah before bed. I also knew that she had milk in those luscious breasts.
I gave Micah a kiss and stood up, walking him over to my Grams.
“All right, kiddo,” I said to him, ruffling his hair. “Be good for Grams. I don’t want to hear that you were bad for her.”
“Yes, sir,” Micah agreed almost immediately.
I grinned and winked. “Love you, baby boy.”
“Love you, too, number seben.”
I just shook my head instead of replying.
That kid of mine was hilarious.
When he’d started calling me ‘number seben’ I couldn’t tell you. But it’d been his thing for a while now.
“Ready?” I turned to Wrigley.
She nodded, then walked to the kitchen table and picked up her purse. A tiny ‘grape red’ that matched her dress.
My eyes trailed down her body, taking in everything.
She’d curled her hair and it flowed in soft waves down around her shoulders. She’d gotten it colored recently, adding lighter blonde highlights to her hair.
Her eyes were shaded in a deep, smoky gray. And she had sparkles on her eyelids from her eyeshadow. Her lashes were long, and her lips were glossy.
She was wearing a necklace that plunged down into her cleavage—one I’d bought her.
I felt almost proud that she was wearing it.
Then there was the dress itself. It was floor length, long and flowy.
And her fucking feet were encased in those shoes.
The ones that drove me absolutely crazy.
I closed my eyes and breathed in through my nose, then blew it out of my mouth.
“Let’s go,” I croaked.
Wrigley and I left to the sounds of my son’s protests.
“He really breaks my heart when we leave like that,” Wrigley sighed as she closed the door.
I didn’t have anything to say to that.
At least she got to go back to him every night.
Me, I didn’t get to see him sometimes for days at a time. And if I was traveling for a game, it could be almost as much as a week.
Goddamn, it broke my heart to hear him asking me over the phone where I was.
It was torture, that was what it was.
Everything about being separated from the life I was supposed to have was torture.
Being in the car with her, smelling her hair and body lotion, was the absolute worst.
Luckily it was dark, meaning she couldn’t see my straining cock.
Conversation was held at a minimum as we drove downtown, and when we arrived and I handed the keys to my truck over, she still hadn’t said much.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Lights flashed, and I winced.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “This isn’t my favorite thing in the world.”
It had never been mine, either. But my love for the game had helped me get over the bad parts of what came with the game. I.e., reporters, and stupid banquets that I was forced to go to whether I wanted to or not.
“Me, neither,” I agreed.
She looked up at me and we shared a look of commiseration.
“If you had to choose one thing to give up in this world, what would it be?”
“Like, I’m being forced to give it up?” I clarified.
“Yes,” she nodded as I opened the door for her. “You’re being forced to give something up that you love…or you die.”
“Love as in a person, or love as in an inanimate object, or food?”
She sighed in exasperation. “Must you always think things to death?”
I shrugged. “Well, if I’m being forced to give something up that’s a person, I would say who I was thinking of. If I’m being forced to only give up say, a food item, I wouldn’t choose a person…do you know what I mean?”
She groaned. “Yes. It’s a person that you have to give up, or someone of death’s choosing will be chosen for you…better?”
I nodded. “Does this person have to be in my life at present time, or someone that I love, but still don’t have all that much to do with?”
She started to laugh, and I couldn’t help but laugh with her.
We’d always done this.
She’d ask a question, and I’d overthink it. Then we would break out laughing at the way I had to have everything so specific before I answered.
I was not a ride or die kind of man. I had questions. Where were we going? How long would it take to get there? Who was I allowed to bring along with me? Was I allowed to have snacks? What kind of car was I driving? Who was going to be on there when we arrived? Things of that nature.
I’d always been like that.
“One more question.”
She sighed. “It’s to save your grandmother.”
I kept my smile in check as I offered her my arm and we pushed our way through the crowd that hadn’t seemed to figure out that they were actually supposed to go into the freakin’ venue. Not stand outside, milling about, right in front of the doors.
“If I had to choose someone to die—which might I add I think I also need to know how they are killed before I really choose who—then I would choose my brother,” I said, sounding almost as apologetic as I felt. “I’d choose my sister, but it seems unfair to kill a woman.”
That was a hard decision. But there was no one else that I loved—besides my sister since she was tied with my brother—that I would be willing to give up. Not Grams herself. Not Micah, and not Wrigley.
It was a rock and a hard place, that was for sure.
“You love your sister?” she questioned.
I nodded. “Despite her being a raving bitch half the time, I do. She doesn’t realize that she’s acting like that to me. She was raised to be the type of person she is. She had to be selfish. If you weren’t, then you were burned—something I learned the hard way.”
She grunted. “I hate your sister. I also hate your brother.”
I knew that. “Yeah. That’s not something I’m just now hearing about.”
Wrigley never missed a chance to inform me that I was delusional for supporting them.
“They treat you like shit,” she said, starting off the same old argument we always had.
“They do,” I paused. “But they’re family. Family is family. You don’t get to choose when you like them.”
She snorted.
“No, I guess you don’t,” she agreed. “Let’s go grab a drink before we sit. God, what’s with all the photographers inside?”
“We’re in the playoffs. Normally this would be just us, but since we’re one of the contenders for this year, the photographers want to be where we are,” I explained.
I led her to the open bar, and she ordered a screwdriver while I ordered a Baileys Irish Cream Coffee.
“Coffee?” she asked. “Did you not sleep well last night?”
No.
I shook my head.
“Why not?” She frowned, looking all of a sudden concerned.
Because I was going to get to see you today, and my heart wouldn’t settle the fuck down.
I replied with, “Because of a neighbor’s dog.”
That wasn’t altogether a lie.
The neighbor’s dog had kept me up. But only because my dog kept barking at him.
Each time their dog would bark, mine would follow.
It was a vicious cycle, and I’d had a really bad night’s sleep. Though, I hadn’t really been to sleep in the first place.
The bartender set our drinks down on the bar in front of us, and we each reached for our glasses.
I took the first sip of mine and moaned.
It was good.
I didn’t have coffee or alcohol very often. When I did, I usually found that it kept me awake a little longer than I would’ve originally desired.
However, tonight was going to be a long night.
We had a
t least four hours here, if not a little more.
Going to sleep wasn’t going to be a problem for me seeing as it’d be a while before I got to do that.
Placing my hand on Wrigley’s back—and her bare skin—I guided her to our table and tried not to think about how soft her skin was under the palm of my hand. Or how freakin’ hot she was—literally and figuratively.
We found our seats moments later, and I pulled out the seat that was next to mine, offering it to Wrigley.
She sat, tucking her dress in gracefully under her, and I followed suit moments later, sitting sideways in my chair so that my knees were on either side of her.
“If you had to choose one thing to get back in this world, what would it be?” I countered.
She didn’t even hesitate. Not one single second. She didn’t overthink it. She didn’t purse her lips and try to find the best possible answer.
She already knew what she would ask for.
As did I.
She opened her mouth and started to say, “Yo—” but someone interrupted her word by shouting my name.
Then I felt a hand slam down on my shoulder, and I looked up to find Rhys, the third baseman, glaring at me.
“How’s it going, big guy?” he rumbled.
I tried not to yell at him for interrupting her answer.
I grimaced. “It’s been good. How are you?”
“Good.” Rhys took my hand and shook it once before he offered it to Wrigley moments later. “Wrigley, how are you?”
“I’m well,” Wrigley smiled. “Who’s your date?”
Rhys cursed. “This is my friend, Melanie. Melanie, this is Wrigley and George.”
Melanie waved, looking relieved that she was brought into the conversation.
I tended to agree with her discomfort. Nothing was worse than standing off to the side of a conversation, wondering whether you should introduce yourself or not.
“Hi,” Melanie smiled timidly. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m a big fan.”
Melanie kept bouncing her eyes around the room, taking everything in, while also staying close to Rhys’ side.
“Big baseball fan, or big Furious George fan?” Wrigley questioned curiously.
“Big baseball fan. I’m pretty sure this is everything I ever dreamed of, being in a room full of Lumberjacks,” she answered honestly, making us all laugh.
“I think my sister about had a heart attack when she came to this our first year. She looked like a kid standing outside of a pet store,” Wrigley explained.
Diamond had.
She’d been quite adorable, really.
It’d also been the last she’d done anything with the team. Which was weird since she’d been to every single home, away, and team event since I’d married her sister.
Though, that was partially due to her accident.
She hadn’t been well enough to come, and then she’d changed. She hadn’t been interested in baseball…still wasn’t if my sources—i.e., my grandmother—could be believed.
“I’ll have to meet this sister of yours, then,” Melanie replied with her semi-harmless response.
All of us around the table went quiet, though.
Melanie, at least, was oblivious to the new tension hanging in the air around us.
“Melanie, you’re right here,” Rhys called, pulling out her chair. “I’m going to go get us a few drinks. What would you like?”
“Club soda would be super,” she replied. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to drink alcohol. I might very well embarrass myself.”
Rhys snorted. “I highly doubt it.”
Then he walked away, leaving us to stare at each other.
“How did you meet Rhys?” Wrigley tried to engage her in conversation.
Melanie twisted her fingers in her lap as she answered.
“Rhys and I met at the convention his sister hosted for the hearing impaired.”
“The hearing impaired?” Wrigley asked. “Are you a worker there?”
Melanie started to giggle. “No. I’m deaf.”
“But how are you…” Wrigley sounded about as confused as I was.
Melanie didn’t look offended, though.
She only lifted up her hair and showed us what had to be her hearing aids.
“Wow,” Wrigley said. “I never would’ve known.”
Melanie looked quite pleased with that. “That’s honestly my goal. I’ve spent years trying to be just like anybody else.”
“You are, girl,” Rhys spoke to Melanie as he walked up, handing her, her drink. “And don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”
Rhys’ eyes met mine, and then Wrigley’s. His laid-back, good ol’ boy act was gone. In its place was the hunter I sometimes saw there when he thought no one was looking. The one that literally would slash your throat if he saw you do something to someone he loved.
I nodded once.
“Stop, Rhys,” Melanie laughed. “You’re sometimes too protective for your own good.”
He snorted. “I didn’t think too protective was a bad thing until you told me that eight hundred times tonight.”
“Whatever.”
Hancock and Sway, Hancock’s new wife, walked up moments later. Sway was in a floor-length gown like the rest of the ladies, but her dress was a deep scarlet. Paired with her milky white complexion, it was a startling contrast.
A beautiful one, but still startling nonetheless.
“Hancock.” I nodded my head. “Sway.”
Sway waved, her clutch in her hand nearly blinding me as it caught the lights from above. “Hi, George!”
Wrigley leaned a little away from me, and I turned to her with a frown.
“What?”
She shrugged.
And, since I was so focused on her, I was able to hear the words being said at the table behind us, instead of the conversation going on in front of us.
“Who’s the fat bitch with George Hoffman?” someone whispered behind us. “Is that the fat bitch table or something? How funny that whoever wrote the seating chart put them all there. I wonder if they’ll have any food left when they get to us.”
I went solid and turned to find two women sitting at the table directly behind us, and both of their eyes were on us.
I really shouldn’t say anything. Shouldn’t. Nope. Not a good idea.
I turned back around to see Wrigley’s face flaming.
“I need to use the restroom,” she replied, then stood up.
She was gone moments later, and I couldn’t help what happened next.
I turned back around and glared at the two ladies. If you could call them that after what they’d said.
“She’s not fat,” I said to them. “She’s beautiful and curvy. Two things that you’ll never have because you think men like the way you look. Let me tell you something, ladies. Men don’t find bones attractive. They prefer to have something to hold onto when they fuck. Tits, ass, and thighs.”
Hancock and Rhys grunted something behind me, but all of my attention was focused solely on the two ladies.
The two ladies that didn’t even look like they’d eat the meal if it was served to them anyway.
Two mouths dropped open in affront.
I turned my back on them and returned my gaze to the table.
Sway started to laugh.
Hancock’s grin was one of agreement.
“I’ll be back,” I muttered, buttoning my suit coat as I prowled out of the banquet hall.
The team had rented The Scales, an uptown, stuffy hall that only the richest in Longview used for their important events.
Personally, I’d have rather had this at IHOP. But whatever. Nobody asked me.
My dress shoe-clad feet slapped against the stained concrete floor as I walked toward the bathrooms with determination.
But, after ten minutes of waiting outside for her to come out, I realized that maybe she wasn’t going to com
e out.
So I decided to go on in.
Pushing the door open, I looked around and found her standing at the sinks.
She had both hands braced beside the bowl of the sink, and her eyes were on herself.
My eyes were on her, too.
And I wasn’t sure she was seeing what I saw.
“The first time I saw you, you were wearing a pair of white jean shorts, a black tank top stretched across your ample breasts, and a pair of flip-flops,” I shared.
Wrigley’s head whipped toward me.
“That day I thought you were so beautiful.”
She grimaced.
“I’ve gained weight,” she admitted.
I nodded. “You have, yes,” I agreed. “But you look no less beautiful now than you did back then. In fact, I would go out on a limb and say that you are even more beautiful.”
Wrigley laughed harshly.
“You can say that all you want…but I don’t believe you.”
I frowned. “You don’t think I know what I’m talking about?”
“I think that you’re trying to make me feel better,” she admitted.
I walked up until my body brushed her side, then gently took her hand and wrapped mine around hers.
Then, while watching her face in the mirror, I brought her hand down to rest against my erection. “Does that feel like I don’t find you beautiful?”
Her mouth opened, and tears filled her eyes. “George…”
“Don’t say that I don’t find you attractive. If there is one thing that’s not fucked up about us, it’s that. You’re beautiful, and not a day will go by that I don’t find every single inch of you captivating.”
Chapter 13
I don’t give a sip.
-Coffee Cup
George
“This isn’t a good idea.” I shook my head. “In fact, this is so far from a good idea, it’s going to backfire. And when it does, I hope you all know that I’m going to cry like a little baby in the middle of the goddamn stadium. Everyone is going to blast that on every single article and magazine in the country, and I’m never going to live it down.”
“Come on,” Sway grinned. “I promise, it’ll work.”
I turned my eyes to the woman.
“How do you know this?” I questioned. “What makes you so sure?”
“George,” Sway paused, stepping forward.
Quit Your Pitchin' Page 10
