by Demi Donovan
Guess I won’t get to relax during the game after all, because the seat in front of me is about to be filled with a man who I can only roughly refer to as a mountain. A really hot mountain, which sort of throws the imagery out of the window, but whatever.
The players had already run on the field and they’d been going through the pre-game motions. Just as the two men walked into the VIP box, the first pitch is called. Distracted by the pitch, the guy about to sit down whips around quickly, spraying his beer in a wide arc… directly on me.
I gasp, sputtering as I sit up straight, staring with mortification at my jersey. It’s more like a wet t-shirt contest at this point, the fabric doing nothing to hide me. The outline of my breasts and the white bra I’m wearing underneath is glaringly obvious and when I look up, shock painted on my face, I see the guy with the mostly empty beer, and another man who looks eerily similar to him, staring at me transfixed.
For a moment, I feel entirely stuck, like time decided to loop for a moment and present me with the same damn moment once more. It takes me a good few seconds to realize that their attention has shifted from my general being, to my now-exposed tits.
“Shit,” I mutter, clamping my arms across my chest.
“Shit,” the guy with the beer echoes, giving his cup a glare as if it was its fault that he’s a clumsy jackass. “I’m so sorry, Miss,” he says, producing a cloth handkerchief – who has one anymore!? – and tries to dab at the carnage.
I’m beet red at this point and the silence around me sort of tells me that everyone’s attention in the near vicinity is squarely on me and the two incredibly hot men, who are very busy making asses out of the three of us.
“Jesus Christ, Troy, could you watch what you’re doing,” the other man says, though I don’t miss the slight smile he wears as he pulls his - friend? brother? – back by the arm before he can press his big palm against my breasts one more time.
To Troy’s credit, he looks about as mortified as I am, so that makes two of us not seeing the humor of the moment. It’s a small, but not insignificant relief.
I’m sitting up now, the popcorn still scrunched in my hand, while my arms are crossed over my chest. Christine’s looking at me wordlessly, still leaning into her new friend, who’s wearing a slight frown of confusion on his face. I scramble to get up, absolutely horrified by the situation, and jostle past Christine. As soon as I get to the aisle, I sprint up, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.
“God dammit, you see what you did now?” the familiar voice echoes behind me.
I don’t look back.
By the time I make it up to the commons area and am looking for a bathroom where I could hopefully use a hand dryer to dry off my shirt, I suddenly feel surrounded. Turning around, I come face to face with the two men from before, or make it face to chest.
They’re really big.
I look up and I have to push back my cap a little to see them both. Their similarity is even more striking now, both with brilliant green eyes, blond hair and I’d go so far as to say your good old-fashioned boy next door looks… if the boy next door got really hot as he grew up and started hitting the gym like nobody’s business.
My mouth’s immediately dry, my stomach in knots, and all my usual eloquence is thrown out the window.
“I’m real sorry about that,” Troy says, flipping the cup of beer into the closest trash can.
“You have to excuse him, my brother’s easily distracted by the Mets fucking up their first pitch,” the other man says, wearing an easy, amused smile.
I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or if they’re really both looking at me the way I think they are – like they’re undressing me where I stand, even if dozens of people push past us constantly. I think I see a couple of them notice the guys and whisper amongst themselves, pointing – men and women alike.
I get why women would look at them – I mean, I would, given a chance where I thought they wouldn’t notice me staring. But the guys? Whatever, New York City’s a liberal kind of place and I absolutely won’t deny anyone their preferred man-candy.
Except maybe myself.
“It’s fine, really, I’ll just go get cleaned up,” I mutter, turning my back to them and starting my search for a bathroom again that doesn’t have a half an hour waiting line.
“You’ll never find an open bathroom here,” the one with the maddening smile says as they both fall into step with me.
Before I can protest, he’s looped his arm around my shoulders and guides me off the beaten path, to an area that has arrows pointing towards VIP lounges.
“Hey, w-“
“It’s the least we can do,” Troy adds, flashing a badge at a security guard, who nods blankly and lets us through.
They cart me towards a bathroom and when Troy’s brother takes his arm from around my shoulders, I sort of miss the warmth of it. Hell, I might have been leaning against him a little, which honestly is just adding insult to injury. Apparently I can’t even trust my body to be on my side, because every time I look at these guys, my pussy throbs a little.
“You can clean up in there,” Troy says, with his brother lurking deeper into the VIP lounge for a moment, before returning with a Mets white wife-beater and handing it to me.
“Thanks,” I manage to muster.
“Don’t tell anyone, but we’re actually Padres fans,” he says in a conspiratory way, giving me a wink for good measure.
I nod, looking at the shirt in my hand, before giving them one more look. They’re… well, I can’t really describe what they are. Tall? Yes. Incredibly hot? Yes. Dripping with masculinity and testosterone? Hell yes.
I swallow dryly and push through the bathroom door, being greeted by polished granite basins, mood lighting, a hint of perfume and perfect cleanliness. This is definitely not one of your average baseball stadium bathrooms.
“Holler if you need some help, honey,” one of them calls, and I bristle just a little.
I keep my tongue behind my teeth, though. It’s not like I could deal with this situation getting any more awkward than it already is.
The urge to drop my back against the wall and take a few breaths occurs to me, but I fight it off, instead focusing on changing and cleaning up. I feel lightheaded and like I’ve lost my capacity of thought, but the longer I’m removed from my two hunky nuisances, the less I feel the effects.
By the time I’m wearing the clean shirt and have my cap back on, I almost feel human.
When I step outside, expecting the brothers – twins, I presume – to be gone, I’m greeted by two grinning faces, and a big hand pushing a cup of frothy beer in my hands. At the same time, Troy snatches the damp jersey away from me and throws it across his shoulder, immediately putting a hand on my lower back to start guiding me back towards the stands.
“Come on, we’re missing the game. I’ll get that thing dry cleaned for you so you won’t have to worry about it.”
“Least we can do,” the other brother adds.
“Hey, what the hell?” I finally protest.
I step forward and turn to face them, clutching the beer awkwardly with two hands. The twins share a look between them and for the life of me, I can’t decipher it. When they look back at me though, I feel that same familiar discomfort of feeling like I’m unraveling at the seams under the intensity of their gazes.
These guys should come with a warning label. And an impact radius marker.
“What’s wrong?” Troy asks, quirking a brow.
Yeah, what is wrong?
Am I uncomfortable because they’re assuming that they can boss me around? Or is it because whenever one of them touches me, I feel like my skin’s on fire, and I haven’t felt like that in… well, maybe ever?
Or maybe it’s just that they’ve managed to trample on my pride a little and I’m very protective of it these days. There’s only so many times a woman can give her fate in someone’s hands, only to have it stepped on, before she becomes paranoid.
I open my mouth and close it again like a fish out of water. The twins look entirely nonplussed, if mildly amused by it and their smugness makes my nostrils flare.
Okay. I’m done being the nice girl.
Four
Callum
Lord almighty, she’s a hot little thing. Underneath that cover of good manners and shyness, I can see how her hazel eyes light up when she feels she’s being backed into a corner.
Which is exactly what I’d like to do right now. Back her against a wall and see if she kisses as well as I think she would with those pouty, plump lips of hers. My cock stirs in my jeans at the mere thought of it.
“First of all, you,” she starts, pointing a quivering finger at Troy. “You have all the spatial awareness of a meteor hurdling through space and I don’t appreciate being doused in beer, okay?”
“Noted,” Troy says with a grin, licking over his lips.
I guess he likes the sight of her angry as much as I do. Hell, I don’t even know her name yet and I already know she’s something special. The way her cheeks light up slightly as she rambles on and the way I see her body tense up tells me that what she needs is a moment alone with me and Troy, though she might not even know it yet.
“And you,” she continues, thrusting that finger at me and almost poking me in the chest.
I take a step forward so her finger would be stabbing right into my pectoral. I love the way her mouth makes a sweet little o-shape and her pupils dilate as I do so. It’s a surprise that she’s still managing to hold onto the beer Troy so helpfully gave her, though considering the way her hand is shaking, I wouldn’t be surprised if it ended up in my face soon.
I don’t think I’d mind all that much.
“Yes, honey?” I ask, dropping my voice lower and keeping my eyes squarely on hers.
She pulls her hand back and clutches the cup with two palms again, willing them to stop shaking.
They don’t.
“You should ask before you assume… assume intimacy with someone,” she says, frowning slightly.
We share a look with Troy. ‘Assume intimacy?’ Oh boy.
“Honey, if you think I’m ‘assuming intimacy’ by putting an arm around you, you haven’t seen nothing yet.”
“I don’t remember myself asking to see anything,” she says defiantly, thrusting her chin forward.
Her cheeks are mottled pink now. She’s tiny compared to us, but so deliciously curved that I can’t stop imagining what it would feel like to touch her all over, to kiss that inviting, sexy body of hers and to let her loosen up a little. She seems wound so tight that she’s about to pop and I wouldn’t mind being the one doing the uncorking for her.
“Yeah, well, you’re getting some for free. Consider it an early Christmas present,” I tell her, nodding for her to turn around and head back towards the stands.
“It’s July,” she all but spits.
“We’re kind like that,” Troy quips. “Or maybe it could be a birthday present. What’s your name, sugar?”
“Not honey, and not sugar,” she says, stuck between me and Troy and we walk at a casual pace.
“I’m Callum,” I say, trying to coax her to relax around us a little. “And this big oaf is Troy. And we’re both really sorry.”
She’s fascinating. Most other women would have thrown themselves at us by this point, or ran away because their nerves got the best of them. She’s still with us, defiant and stubborn as ever. I like that.
“My mother taught me not to give personal details out to strangers,” she tells me, and I grin as we pace down the steps towards our seats.
“Lily!” her friend calls out, a perky little brunette who might have caught my eye if Lily hadn’t.
Now, I really don’t have much attention for anyone but her, which would possibly strike me as worrisome at any other time. Right now, I’m far too busy focusing on her, though.
“So it’s Lily,” I whisper, leaning in behind her so my lips are right next to her ear. “Good to know.”
She shrugs up her shoulders a little, obviously uncomfortable. I wonder when the last time was that she had a little bit of fun, because looking at the way she deals with even perceived physical contact, I’m getting the feeling it’s been a while.
“Christine,” Lily grits through her teeth, staring at a guy who’s sitting in the seat that she was in before.
I think I saw him talking to Christine before.
“I’m sorry, I gave away your seat,” she says apologetically, batting her long lashes while throwing glances at us.
I grin. I know this kind of girl. She’s trouble, but currently the good kind. I’m pretty damn sure this guy didn’t need the seat, but I’m thankful for the opening.
“Don’t worry, Christine, we’ve got Lily covered,” Troy says with a wide, beaming smile. “She can sit with us.”
“I-” Lily starts, but Troy ushers her a few steps down and into the VIP box before she can get on that particular tangent.
“Thank you,” I mouth to Christine and we share a conspiratory smirk.
She gets on her tiptoes and leans in, covering her mouth with her hand so only I could hear.
“Be careful with her, she’s a little bit fragile,” she tells me, and I can’t help but hike up both brows.
I don’t usually get women who come with disclaimers.
“Don’t worry about it, we’ll play nice,” I promise, crossing my heart with a finger.
The row of guys behind Christine, and the jock next to her, are all staring at me like I’ve just descended from the heavens. I’m half-expecting them to whip out their caps and ask for autographs, which wouldn’t be the first time it has happened.
Before I turn to go join Troy and Lily, with Lily having finally been coerced into taking a seat by the complaints coming from the rows behind her because they couldn’t see through her while she was standing and arguing about Troy about whether she wanted to be there to begin with, another question strikes me.
“Christine, do you mind giving me her full name?” I ask.
I know Lily would never do it.
“Sure. It’s Lily Morris. Don’t abuse it, though,” she says, waggling a finger at me. “Or I’ll come get you.”
“I have no doubt that you would,” I say with a nod, tucking that piece of information away in the back of my mind.
Something’s telling me that I’m going to need it.
Five
Troy
“I told you, I don’t want to sit,” Lily says, beet red in the face, as she’s already sitting down on the seat next to me.
Callum’s there a moment later, sliding into the seat on the other side of her, effectively sandwiching her between the two of us. Which, coincidentally, is exactly what I’d like to do to her.
“Hey, how about this,” I say, graciously accepting the beer that she’s steadily been trying to pander off to me since she actually realized she was holding it. “You try to relax a little, and we’ll promise to be on our best behavior. How does that sound?”
She gives a tentative look to first me and then Callum, before sinking low into her seat and pulling her cap over her face. It’s like she’s trying to disappear completely. Callum and I share a worried look. For some reason, she’s completely enraptured both of us and by the looks of it, neither one of us likes that she’s feeling down, or vulnerable in any way.
“Okay,” she says with a sigh, and the three of us relax into our seats.
I’ve taken a sip of the beer when she speaks up again. Her voice is soothing, soft like honey. I can imagine myself listening to her for a lifetime, and then some.
“How long is this anyway?” she asks.
Her arms are pale, which I can now see because she’s not wearing the jersey anymore. Her auburn hair contrasts nicely with it, but her paleness in the middle of summer also tells me that she doesn’t get out much. I can only assume it’s on purpose. She looks like the type of woman who’d willingly impose solitude on herself in the form
of drowning herself in work.
“What do you mean ‘how long’?” Callum asks incredulously. “I thought you were a Mets fan!”
She peeks out from underneath the bill of her cap and sits up straighter, kicking a thumb in the general direction of the row behind us.
“I’m not,” she starts. “My overly helpful friend is. She dragged me along.”
“Did she think you needed to get out more?” Callum asks with a hint of amusement, receiving a look that I can’t quite pinpoint from Lily for it.
She looks a little bit taken aback.
“It’s that obvious?” she asks, her voice softer.
“What? The fact that you’re white as a sheet in the middle of one of the hottest summers we’ve had, and you’re trying to disappear from sight while half the stadium is staring at you, wishing they could take you out on a date? Hell, yes,” I tell her, taking another sip of my beer.
My phone buzzes in my pocket but I opt to ignore it. This is supposed to be my time away from work, away from the insanity of my family, and I damn well intend to take advantage of it.
“You don’t mean that,” she argues, the blush that was beginning to die down a little back in full force.
It looks good on her. I think I’d like to see what she’d look like when I really gave her something to blush about.
“He sure as fuck does,” Callum mutters, before a roar of cheering interrupts us.
We’re on our feet, Lily following tentatively, as the Padres hit a homerun. There’s about as much cheering, as there is jeering on the stadium. I don’t hesitate in joining in. When the crowd settles down again and we take our seats, Lily looks damn near mortified.
“What?” I ask, glancing at Callum with confusion written on my expression. “Did I say something wrong?”
