As I watch her walk away from the car, I realize she’s the only woman I’ve ever given a key card to.
Convenience, I tell myself. It’s nothing more than that.
After she’s inside, I look around to find the t-shirt, but I can’t see it in the darkness. I’ll find it later.
When I enter the lobby, I breathe a sigh of relief that Rylee entered first. A group of fans rushes over to me before the front door has a chance to swing shut.
“Brady!” one squeals. “Can I get a picture with you?”
“An autograph?” another asks, holding out a pen.
I oblige them all, taking a few minutes to heed their requests.
When I finally make it up to my suite, I walk in with a smile on my face. Rylee appears in the doorway to my bedroom wearing nothing but the concert t-shirt she just bought me.
“Why do you look so happy?” she asks.
“You mean other than the fact that a beautiful half-naked woman is standing in my bedroom?”
She laughs. “Yeah, other than that.”
I stride over to her and pick her up, swinging her around. “I signed an autograph downstairs.”
“Okaaaaaay,” she says, looking confused.
“Ry, I signed it with my left hand. And I didn’t drop the pen.”
“That’s great! See, I told you it would happen. I’m so happy for you.”
I put her down. “Well, it’s not a jar of pickles.”
“Baby steps,” she says. “This is a very good thing, Brady. And you have every right to be happy. Progress is progress, no matter how you look at it. You are going to make a full recovery. I know it.”
Rylee has always been my biggest cheerleader when it comes to my recovery. I still have such a long way to go. What will I do when I’m back in New York? Will my physical therapist there push me as hard as Rylee has? Will he believe in me the way she does?
She grabs my hand and pulls me over to the bed. She leaves me standing at the end of it while she crawls seductively onto the middle of the bed, letting the shirt ride up just enough so I can see what’s not underneath.
Damn. I realize just how much I like her wearing my shirt. I think back to earlier when she said she’d just borrow it once in a while. I don’t tell her that I want nothing more than for her to borrow my shirt. Or anything else she wants to borrow. And more than once in a while. I want her to borrow it and return it. And borrow it again.
Suddenly it hits me like a ton of fucking bricks falling off the Empire State Building.
I want this woman lying on the bed wearing my shirt. I want her for more than tonight. For more than these few months. I don’t want her to be my Tampa girl. I want her to be my only girl.
But I push the thought aside. Because no matter how much I want her. I know better. I can never have her. I can never have anyone.
Not anymore.
“Are you just going to stare at me, or are you going to join me?” she asks, teasing me by pulling the shirt up even higher.
I can see her soft tuft of curls. Her flat belly. The undercurve of one of her breasts. Hell, I can smell how much she wants me.
I kick off my shoes and crawl onto the bed, working my way up her body starting at her bare feet. I kiss her ankles. I lick the inside of her knees. I knead her thighs. By the time I reach her sex, she’s already writhing beneath me.
I push a finger inside her. “Ry, you are so wet.”
“Well, what do you expect? This whole night has been one big production of foreplay.”
I push a second finger in and press my thumb on her clit. She whimpers in pleasure. “Oh, God.”
“You’ll be shouting out my name in two minutes,” I tell her.
“Two? You’re awfully confident, aren’t you?”
I pull out my phone and set the stopwatch.
She looks at what I’m doing. “You’re kidding, right?”
I put down the phone next to me and press my mouth to her opening. I work my tongue inside her, fucking her with it as I give her a taste of what’s to follow. I replace my tongue with my fingers when I move it to her clit, sucking on it as I feel the little nub grow harder. Her moans become louder and I smile knowing she’s close. I double my efforts and work my pinky finger back to the pucker of her ass. I slip the tip of it in, pushing her over the edge as she pulsates around each finger I have inside her.
As she recovers from her orgasm, I pick up my phone and turn it around, showing it to her. “Ninety-four seconds,” I say, smugly.
“Give me that thing.” She takes it from me. “Now take off your clothes.”
I laugh. “You think you can beat my time?”
She watches my every move as I strip, my erection springing proudly from my boxer briefs as I lower them to the floor. When I’m completely naked, she peels off the t-shirt she’s wearing, revealing her gorgeous body. Her breasts are perfectly proportioned to her petite, trim figure. Her nipples are stiff and puckered. Her face is flushed and her hair is messy from her orgasm. I’ve never seen such an incredible sight. My dick throbs almost painfully.
“Oh, I know I can,” she says arrogantly.
I dive onto the bed and turn around, my head on the pillow and my hands laced behind my neck. “Give it your best shot.”
She hits the start button on my phone’s stopwatch and smiles deviously. She gets on all fours next to me, her bottom inches from my face. She takes my dick into her hands and strokes me steadily. Then when she leans over to take me into her mouth, I get an all-access view of her wet pussy.
Holy shit. I can’t help it when my hand travels up and my fingers find their way inside her again. She moans around my cock, probably still sensitive from her orgasm. The vibrations from her noises drive me insane. Her hand works beneath me to massage my balls and I feel them tighten with my impending release.
She works her mouth faster, up and down, up and down, stopping momentarily to suck on the head before continuing on. I feel a finger traveling across my perineum and when she carefully plunges it into my ass, it sends me over the top. “Jesus, Rylee!” I shout, my powerful orgasm flooding her mouth as she works every last drop out of me.
She sits back on her haunches and picks up my phone with a brilliant smile on her face. She shows it to me. “Eighty-nine seconds,” she says. “I win.”
I laugh and pull her on top of me. “I’d say we both won at this game.”
She laughs with me as she runs a finger across my jawline.
Damn I love this.
I kiss her finger when it traces my lips. “Let me rest for a few minutes and then we’ll go for the record.”
“You should know I’m very competitive,” she says. “We may be at this for a while.”
“Challenge accepted, Rylee Kennedy.”
“Game on, BrayTay.”
“If you keep impersonating Lenny, I guarantee you’ll never beat the record.”
I watch her bounce up and down on my chest as we share another laugh, and for a moment, I feel something I haven’t felt in what seems like forever.
I feel happy.
Chapter Twenty
“Did you have a good weekend?” Matt asks, after we go over this week’s strength and conditioning plan.
I smile as I think back to Friday night. Never did I think after going to the funeral that I would come back to have one of the best nights I can remember.
Matt laughs and holds out a hand to stop me from saying anything. “Forget I asked. I can see by the look on your face it must have been epic.”
He breaks my balls this morning with all the squats and leg presses he has me do. But that’s one of the reasons I like working out here instead of the hotel gym. And I can say one thing for sure, after following his plan for the past six weeks, my legs and core have never been stronger.
He sends me over to the complex pool to do laps before my appointment with Rylee. Matt and Rylee both agree that swimming is very therapeutic for my shoulder. Not pitching day in and day out makes m
y shoulder tighten up. Swimming helps keep it strong and loose. It’s something I’ve come to enjoy and plan to continue doing at the gym back home.
My arms and legs guide me through the water and the laps tick away as my mind wanders. I can’t help but think of Friday and the shirt Rylee wore in my bedroom. When she left, the shirt lay in a crumpled heap by the bed. When I picked it up to add it to my laundry, I realized how much it smelled like her. I remember sitting on my bed, looking at the shirt. I remember putting it to my nose and burying my face in it. Then I held it up, studied it, and looked over at my closet, where another such shirt lay on the shelf.
I couldn’t bring myself to put Rylee’s shirt in the closet. Not when another one was in there that meant so much to me.
But I also couldn’t bring myself to throw it in the laundry.
That night was beyond any expectation I ever had of being with a woman. We broke all kinds of records. We laughed so hard that we cried. I’d never felt so much like myself and not like the celebrity ball player I’d become.
And when it was over, and she got up to leave, I almost asked her to stay the night. It was on the tip of my tongue. Like it was only natural for me to ask it. But I didn’t. Staying the night is not what we do. Staying the night leads to feelings and expectations that I’m not allowed to have.
Still, I wonder if she’d have stayed.
She’s never asked to stay. She’s never hung around long enough for it to be a possibility. She’s the only one who hasn’t. All the girls ask to stay eventually. But not Rylee. And it makes me wonder if it’s because she has someone to go home to. And the thought of it has me seeing red.
I finish my swim and head over to the PT building when I hear Ry’s voice. I walk to the side of the building where the employees park their cars and I see Rylee talking to Alex. Well, talking is not exactly what I’d call it. It’s more like she’s yelling at him.
“Alex, stop it!”
She has to pull her arm out of his grip and I go ballistic. I run over to him and push him against Rylee’s car. “What the fuck is going on here?”
Alex looks at my hands that are holding him captive. “You mind getting your hands off me, Taylor?”
“Only if you don’t mind telling me why your hands were on Rylee.”
He shrugs my hands off him and I take a step back.
“I was only helping her out of her car,” he says smugly.
“That’s not what it looked like from where I was standing.”
“Are you stalking her now?” he asks. “It’s not enough that you see her every day and go to the fair with her? I’d say you’re the one breaking the rules, not me.”
“You need to back off, Alex. Rylee isn’t one of your interns. She’s not interested in you. So if I were you, I wouldn’t try to help her out of her car again if you get my meaning.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Taylor? As in New York? Or, maybe you don’t. It’s not like you’ll ever play for the Hawks again. Maybe you will end up here. Maybe being a single-A player is all you’ll amount to anymore. But hey, I hear Little League needs coaches – there’s always that.”
I lunge forward, fire running through my veins, but Rylee steps between Alex and me. “Brady, don’t. Please. You don’t want to risk re-injuring your arm.”
No matter how mad I am, I realize she’s right, and I reluctantly let her drag me away to the front of the building. I also realize that Alex has just voiced every fear I’ve thought but have been unable to say.
“Don’t listen to him,” Rylee says. “He isn’t your PT.”
I stop walking. “How many times has he touched you, Ry?”
“He hasn’t ever. He doesn’t do that. This was just a fluke.”
“Rylee.” I pin her to the wall with my stare.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” she says. “I can handle myself. I can handle him.”
“He’s your boss. You shouldn’t have to handle him. That’s sexual harassment.”
“Well, the hope is I won’t have to deal with him forever. I’m trying to get a transfer, remember?”
“I understand that,” I say. “But even if you leave, what about the next person? What if there is ever an intern who doesn’t consent but he takes what he wants anyway?”
She looks at the ground. “I know. I’ve thought of that. It makes me a horrible person to put my career above doing what’s right.”
I lift her chin so she has to look at me. “You are anything but a horrible person, Ry. Just promise me if he ever does anything like that again, you’ll do something about it.”
She nods unconvincingly. “Okay.”
We walk into the back room and get started. I can’t help staring at Alex when he comes out of the office. I can’t stop seeing his hands on Rylee like that and her trying to rip herself out of his grip. I can’t stop feeling like I want to protect her from him and anyone else who might touch her. I can feel my jaw tightening and my temples throbbing.
Rylee must notice it, too.
“So, what have you decided about the modeling job?” she asks.
I shrug. “I guess I’ll do it. But it’s really just a favor for Murphy. That woman could sell ice to an Eskimo. She’s very hard to turn down. Kind of like some other girl I know.”
Rylee smiles. “I’m glad you decided to do it. It helps to keep busy. Even though I’m confident you’ll make a full recovery, these things can be slow.”
I look down at my left hand that still tingles and burns. “Don’t I know it.”
“Do you know who your PT will be back home? I’ll send him or her your progress notes so they can pick up where we leave off. Your elbow is almost fully healed. Maybe by next week when you leave it will be.”
“I’ll find out who it is and let you know.”
We look at each other and I know we’re both thinking the same thing. It’s the first time we’ve ever talked about me leaving and going back to New York.
It’s the first time I’ve ever not wanted to leave.
Chapter Twenty-one
I roll to Rylee’s side, both of us drenched in sweat and laughing. I’ve never known sex to be so funny, but somehow it always turns out that way with us.
I’m glad she’s laughing because earlier, I wasn’t sure she was even having fun. At dinner, she seemed disconnected. Or maybe distracted. There are so many reasons why she could have been, not the least of which is that this is our last Friday night together.
She cuddles up next to me and puts her head on my chest. “I’m going to miss this,” she says, her finger curling in my chest hair. “I mean, I know you’re leaving and I’m not a fool. It’s just … well, I’m going to miss this.”
Part of me wants to pull her on top of me and hold onto her for dear life. To tell her that I’ll miss this too, and maybe we don’t need it to end. Maybe there’s spring training. Maybe there could be even more.
I don’t tell her any of that, however, because I’m not capable of more. More died along with Natalie and Keeton. But if there ever were to be more, I know for a fact it would be with Rylee.
I give her a kiss on the top of her head. “We’ve had fun, haven’t we?”
“I suppose I should thank you,” she says. “These past few months have been great. And I’m not just talking about the sex. I’ve actually been more productive at work. More focused. I think having this outlet has been good for me.”
“You’ve been good for me, too, Ry. I’m not sure I could have had such a good outlook on things if it weren’t for you.” I stare down at her and our eyes lock together. “We’re good for each other.”
“I guess we are,” she says with a sad smile.
Then she gets off the bed and walks towards the bathroom. I want to pull her back. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to go. The words are begging to come out of me. “Ry …”
She turns around and I try to gauge if I see hope in her eyes. “Yeah?”
“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” I remov
e the sheet and flash her with my nakedness.
She looks at my body and then at the clock on my nightstand that reads 9:00PM. “I don’t turn into a pumpkin until ten o’clock,” she says. “I just have to pee.”
While she’s in the bathroom, I dispose of the condom and make sure there is another handy. Then I go out to the mini-bar and grab a few bottles of water. When I return to the room, I stop dead in my tracks when I see Rylee. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed looking all mussed up and sexy.
And she’s wearing my goddamned Bumbershoot t-shirt.
I walk to my closet and find a plain white t-shirt. I hand it to her, hoping she doesn’t see how my heart is practically beating out of my chest. “Would you mind putting this one on instead?”
She looks up at me and guilt washes over her face. “I’m so sorry,” she says, removing the t-shirt and taking the one I offered her. “I should have asked.”
She walks over and places it back in the closet. Then I go over and re-fold it and put it in its proper spot.
“Is that …?” She nods to the t-shirt on the shelf.
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
She was going to ask if it’s my lucky shirt. Then she was going to ask why. That right there is why I don’t do personal questions.
She scoots back on the bed. “I’m sorry. I just killed the mood, didn’t I? I just … sometimes I don’t know how to act around you. Like I swear just a few minutes ago you were going to ask me to stay.”
“And if I did, what would you have said?”
She shrugs. “I would have said I want to, but I can’t.”
I nod. “We’re two peas in a pod then, aren’t we?”
She laughs, but it’s not a fun laugh. It’s a pained one. “Only I get the feeling my reason for not staying and your reason for not wanting me to stay are quite different ones.”
I look over to the closet where the Bumbershoot t-shirt sits on a shelf. Then I look back at Rylee. We stare at each other. This is the closest we’ve come to crossing the line into personal conversation. This is the closest we’ve come to admitting whatever feelings there might be between us.
Benching Brady (The Perfect Game Series) Page 15
