Benching Brady (The Perfect Game Series)

by Samantha Christy

  Rylee’s chair scrapes on the floor as she backs it away from the table. “Excuse me,” she says. “I need to hit the bathroom before dinner comes.”

  Murphy and I watch her as she rushes through the restaurant.

  I turn back to Murphy. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “What?” She tries to look all innocent.

  I shake my head and laugh. “If you’ll excuse me as well, I’m going to see if she’s okay.”

  “Yeah – you better. It looked like she was about to blow.”

  I walk to the back hallway and see a woman exiting the bathroom. “Ma’am, can you tell me how many other people are in there? My sister was upset and I need to go in and talk to her.”

  “You mean the girl splashing water on her face? I think she’s the only one in there now.”

  “Thank you.”

  I go through the bathroom door and lock it behind me.

  When Rylee sees me behind her in the mirror, she looks around the bathroom quickly. “What are you doing in here?” She looks under the two stalls. “And … did you really just lock the door?”

  “Rylee,” I say, standing right in front of her. “I want you.”

  “I, uh …”

  “If you can stand here and tell me you don’t want me, I’ll leave right now. If you can tell me that, even though I know it’s a lie, I’ll leave you alone.” I put a hand around her and caress her neck. Her eyes close briefly and she takes a shaky breath. “But look at how your body reacts to me. I’m the same way. Just thinking about being with you makes me hard.”

  She opens her eyes and looks down at the bulge in my pants. And when her eyes meet mine again, I know what her answer is.

  My lips crash down on hers and in an instant, we’re tearing at each other’s clothing. My hands go up her shirt and cup her breasts as she heaves them into me. Her fingers waste no time undoing my pants and I moan when she takes me into her hands.

  My hand travels beneath her skirt to find her panties soaking wet. “Jesus, Ry.” I lift her up onto the edge of the counter and I move the drenched cotton aside and slip in a finger. Then two.

  She throws her head back. “Yes!”

  She pushes my jeans down just enough to expose me completely. Then she pulls me to her. Just as my cock touches her entrance, I pull back. “Shit. Condom.” I fish one out of my wallet. I put it on in record time and in seconds, I’m buried deep inside her.

  Her legs spread wide giving me full access to her clit and I take no prisoners as I rub and circle and pinch it, sending her into a quick orgasm. She starts to scream and I cover her mouth with my hand. Then I lean forward and bite my hand so I don’t yell out with my own release.

  I rest my forehead on hers. Then her body shakes as she giggles. “You can move your hand now,” her muffled words tell me.

  I remove my hand from her mouth. “Shit, Ry. That was—”

  “Fast?” She laughs, making me join in.

  I step back and remove the condom, tossing it into the trashcan. I help her down and then hold her eyes in the mirror as I wash my hands.

  She starts to look upset with herself. “I give myself an F,” she says, pulling her skirt back down.

  “What? No way, that was great.”

  “Maybe. But now I’m one of your stupid chicks.” She shakes her head.

  I nod to the counter. “Nothing about that was stupid, Rylee.”

  “It was irresponsible though.”

  I grab a paper towel and dry my hands. “You know, you keep saying things like responsible and professional and career. But it’s bullshit, Ry. You can be those things. You can have those things and have this, too. There is nothing wrong with what we’re doing. We’re both adults here and we both need to let off steam once in a while. That’s why you just did what you did, right?”

  She nods. “Yeah. It’s been a tough week I guess.”

  “We can do this if you want. You and me – four more weeks.”

  “You mean you want me to be your Tampa girl?”

  I sigh and lean against the wall. “Yes. No. To be honest, I hadn’t even thought about you like that. You’re not like the others, but that doesn’t mean I … I mean I can’t …”

  She puts a hand on me. “It’s okay, Brady. I can’t either.”

  “So, you see, it’s perfect then. You’re all about your career and getting back to New York. I’m all about getting back in the game. Neither of us is looking for anything more than good fun sex. We’re a match made in heaven.”

  “Or maybe hell,” she adds with a giggle.

  “Come on, you have to admit we have a lot of fun together, don’t we?”

  She nods. “We do.”

  “So, what do you say, Kennedy? Four weeks, loads of fun, no strings and all the public bathroom sex you can handle.”

  She laughs out loud. “Well when you put it that way.”

  I pick her up and twirl her around. “Yes!”

  Then I look at the time. “Murphy is probably wondering if we fell in. We’ve been gone for almost ten minutes.”

  “Wow – we brought new meaning to the word quickie,” she says. “You go. I’ll come out in a minute.”

  “Yeah, because that will make it seem like this didn’t just happen,” I tease.

  She covers her face with her hands. “Oh my God, I’m going to be mortified.”

  I laugh as I unlock the door. “Don’t be. Murphy orchestrated this whole encounter. You can bet on it.”

  Murphy appraises me as I walk back into the room and take a seat across from her.

  “I was going to ask if everything was okay,” she says. “But based on the look on your face, I don’t believe I need to.”

  I can feel myself smile from ear to ear. “No, you definitely don’t need to.”

  “I like her,” she says.

  I turn and watch Rylee make her way to the table, her face still flushed from our bathroom encounter. “What’s not to like?”

  I can see Murphy’s triumphant smile out of the corner of my eye, making me realize I just said that out loud. “Don’t read too much into that, Murphy.”

  She holds her hands up in surrender. “I wouldn’t dare.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Physical therapy with Rylee has a whole new meaning now. We share secret glances, heated gazes and private jokes. If it wasn’t already the highlight of my days, it sure as hell is now.

  We’ve succeeded in pissing off Alex more than once with our laughter. He shoots me a dirty look every time our eyes meet. There is something about him that just rubs me the wrong way. What kind of boss asks his subordinate out in front of a patient? What kind of boss asks his subordinate out at all?

  Then again, he could say the same thing about me.

  Maybe we’re both assholes.

  “Stand up,” Rylee says before she hooks me up to the TENS. “I want to measure your progress.”

  She has me flex and extend my elbow as she takes measurements and records the numbers in her laptop. “Squeeze,” she says, holding her hands out to me. “Don’t be a wimp about it.”

  I squeeze her hands as hard as I can. Well, maybe not with my right hand, because I don’t want to crush her delicate fingers. But I try my hardest with my left.

  “Good,” she says, making some notes. “Despite what you think you are making progress.” She picks up the stress ball on the table and hands it to me. Then she walks ten feet away. “Throw it to me.”

  I roll my eyes at her. “You’re kidding, right? I’m used to throwing hundred-mile-an-hour fastballs to a guy who is sixty feet away from me.”

  “You have to start somewhere,” she says. “Come on, just an easy overhand toss. We don’t want to stress the elbow too badly, or the shoulder.”

  I toss her the ball.

  She catches it and smiles.

  “Did I pass the test?” I ask.

  “It didn’t fall out of your hand, so, yes.”

  “It’s a stress ball, Ry, not a baseball.
Big difference. I need to throw a baseball. I need to throw it at something. At someone. I’m dying here.”

  It’s been five weeks since I’ve pitched. That’s four weeks longer than I’ve ever gone in my life. I strained my arm badly a few years ago and had to lay off for eight days, but other than that, it’s only a day or two of rest between games I start in. Even in the offseason you can find me at the pitching facility every day.

  If I’m not throwing a damn baseball, who the hell am I?

  I need to pitch. I need it like I need food. Like I need water. Like I need air.

  I need it or I’ll die – just like I told her.

  Rylee is looking at my arm, lost in contemplative thought.

  “What is it?” I ask her.

  “Just a thought,” she says. “A way to give you what you want and have a little fun, too.”

  I raise my eyebrows suggestively. “Give me what I want?”

  She looks around to make sure nobody is listening. “Not that, you animal.”

  “I thought you liked my animal, Ry.”

  She shakes her head at my witty banter, but she’s smiling, so I know she likes it.

  She pulls out her phone and it looks like she’s sending a text. A minute later, it seems she gets a reply. Then she looks up at me. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

  “A Tuesday? Wow, Rylee, you want me so badly you can’t even wait until Friday.”

  “Are you free or not?” she asks, pretending to be annoyed.

  I stare at her and wonder why she had to send the text. Was she moving around plans again? Making excuses not to see the boyfriend perhaps?

  “I suppose I could be. What do you have in mind?”

  “I’ll pick you up at six.”

  I give her a cheeky grin. “You aren’t going to tell me?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I like surprises,” I say with a wink.

  Wait. No I don’t. I hate surprises. I always like to be in control and know what, where, and when. Surprises suck.

  Unless, apparently, they come from Rylee Kennedy.

  ~ ~ ~

  “What happened to letting me drive sometimes?” I ask when she picks me up on Tuesday.

  “You can drive home,” she says. “This way I don’t have to tell you where we’re going. You’ll see it when you see it.”

  “Are you taking me to see more animals, Ry?”

  “Hmmm. There might be some animals there, but that’s not what we’re going for.”

  “Are we going to the circus?”

  She laughs. “Not exactly.”

  I watch her as we drive out of the city. She loves playing games with me. And damn it if her games don’t turn me on. Her face is lit with youth and exuberance. She’s excited to be going wherever we’re going. Or maybe she’s just excited that she’s going with me.

  She turns to see me staring. “What is it?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that you’re always taking us on these adventures. I really think you’re just a big kid.”

  She laughs. “I guess I am.”

  “I like big kids.”

  Her smile falls and she stares straight ahead. “Just don’t like me too much, Brady.”

  Never in all my years as a player have I had a woman say those words to me. I suspect there is more to Rylee Kennedy than I know. More than the mother in the memory care facility. More than the boyfriend or fuck-buddy named Stryker. More than her desire to get back to New York.

  Something is preventing her from wanting me too much. From needing me for more than just sex. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why I want to know what it is.

  “You’re preaching to the choir, Rylee,” I gaze out my window. “You’re preaching to the choir.”

  Ten minutes later, something comes into view and I laugh. “Are you taking me to the fair?”

  I see a tall, lighted Ferris wheel in the distance along the country road we’re driving on. I think about what she said yesterday about giving me what I want and then I realize what they have at county fairs.

  “Oh, hell yeah! They have baseball target games here, don’t they?”

  “Calm down. We may not work up to those.” She pulls into the parking lot and we’re directed down a dirt lane to another guy with an orange vest on who shows us where to park. She turns off her car and looks me in the eye. “I’m your physical therapist, Brady. You have to listen to me and trust me with your rehabilitation. They have lots of things here that we can use. Ring toss, dart games, and yes, ball throws. These things will not only help your elbow, but the dexterity in your fingers. But you have to only go as far as I say. I can’t have you hurting yourself and impeding your progress. Agreed?”

  I smile at her. I smile big. I feel like a kid on Christmas. I’m practically bouncing with excitement as we approach the ticket booth. I buy the book with the most game tickets and Rylee laughs at me.

  She leans close and says, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” I follow her eyes to the Ferris wheel.

  “And two tickets for the Ferris wheel,” I tell the guy behind the glass.

  Rylee nudges me with her elbow.

  “Better make it four,” I say to him.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Rylee says as we enter the fair. “You can pretty much buy any food you can think of and they will put it on a stick and fry it.”

  “Salad?” I say, poking her in the ribs.

  “Smartass.”

  I laugh. “Games first. Food later.”

  “How about one or two games first, then food, then if your arm can take it, more games?”

  “Are you always this demanding?”

  She starts to protest, but I cut her off and lean in close. “I like it, Ry. I like you bossing me around. Maybe when we’re done here, you can boss me around back at the hotel.”

  The Cheshire-cat smile that takes over her face makes me want to scrap this whole plan and get right back in her car. I love how she tries to be all professional with me at work, but here, she’s just herself. No boss in the other room. No appearances to uphold. And by the look in her eyes, I can see I’m in for one hell of a ride – and I don’t mean on the Ferris wheel.

  We take our time walking around and assessing all the booths. She finally settles on the ring toss. I hand the guy some tickets and Rylee picks up the rings. “These are lightweight, but they’re small and you might have a hard time gripping them.”

  “Hand them over,” I say, motioning for them. I toss one and my wrist goes limp and the damn ring barely makes it over the first bottle. “Fuck.” I look around hoping no kids heard me.

  Rylee takes a ring from me. “Try using your whole arm instead of your wrist. You still don’t have great flexion and extension in your wrist, but if you make this an elbow exercise …”

  I watch her demonstrate how she wants me to do it, still pissed that I can’t even flick a four-ounce ring over the top of a bunch of soda bottles. She lands a ring on a bottle and wins a small stuffed prize.

  “Is that beginner’s luck, or do you bring all your patients here?” I tease.

  The guy tries to give her a yellow duck, but she points to something else instead. “You want the hawk?” the guy asks, plucking another stuffed toy off the wall. “This ugly thing?”

  “Yes, please,” she says. She holds it up. “How apropos is this? And to answer your question, you are the only patient I’ve ever brought here. You’re the only patient I’ve ever brought anywhere.”

  Why that makes me feel like pounding my chest, I don’t know. I shouldn’t care what she does when she’s not with me.

  “Now you try it,” she says.

  I toss the ring just like she said and, just like she said, it goes much farther when I use my elbow instead of my wrist. But I still don’t ring the neck of a bottle. Not even after a dozen tries.

  “Okay?” she asks, nodding at my arm.

  “Bring it on,” I tell her. “What’s next?”

  The booth next
to this one has milk bottle pyramids that people are trying to knock down with softballs. I look at Rylee. “Not a chance,” she says. “You know they weight down the bottom row with lead, don’t you? You’d probably have to throw your fastball to get them down.”

  “I could probably do it with my right arm,” I tell her.

  “I don’t doubt it. But you’re not here to show off, are you?”

  I look at the game. “I guess not.”

  “Good. Because the only two people here that matter are the two people who know how good you are.”

  “Were,” I correct her.

  “And will be again,” she says. She pulls on my good arm. “Come on, let’s do this one over here.”

  I hand over more tickets and the woman gives us each three bean bags. You have to throw them through the clown’s mouth to win a prize.

  “Ever played Cornhole?” Rylee asks.

  “Not even when I was drunk,” I say laughing.

  “Well, you’re missing out. This is kind of like it. I’ll show you.”

  She proceeds to make all three. “Underhand?” I say. “You throw like a girl.”

  “Do you want to try for a larger prize?” the woman asks her, holding out a small plastic whistle.

  Rylee appraises it. “No thanks.” Then she whispers to me, “This is what you get for spending three dollars on the game?”

  I crank my arm back to throw, but Rylee stops my motion. “No, Brady. Underhand.”

  “You have to be kidding.”

  She scolds me with the raise of her brow and I feel my pants getting tighter.

  “Damn, woman, you really are bossy. Maybe we should make a stop on the way home and get you a whip and some leather.”

  “Throw the stupid bean bag, Taylor. And use your shoulder and your elbow. Not your wrist.”

  I make two out of three. “Better luck next time,” the woman behind the booth says.