Pitching for Amalie

by Hayley Faiman

  He grunts his response.

  Men.

  I could get all crazy and aggressive and start a fight with him about the subject, but there is no reason to fight over hypothetical likes or dislikes of the outfits since I myself might or might not like them. If they are too sexy for my taste, I simply will not do it. I haven’t signed any paperwork, and though I made a verbal agreement, I did voice my concern over the type of lingerie, so I have some kind of leg to stand on if they get legal on me. It is all so up in the air. It is silly to get all upset about it.

  I place a tentative soft kiss on his lips, and he reacts by assaulting my mouth. Grabbing the back of my hair and pulling my face up, he manipulates me the way he wants me. His tongue dives in while his other hand splays across my ass, pulling my body closer to his. Then, all contact is broken when the front desk buzzes.

  “You’re mine, my woman,” he growls like a fucking caveman.

  I smile inside because his caveman talk is freaking hot. It should scare the shit out of me, but for some reason, I trust him. I trust him not to hurt me. It’s probably idiotic.

  When the elevator doors opens, a beautiful petite Hispanic woman walks through and immediately throws her arms around Jarrod’s middle. Her hair is the color of caramel, and her face is soft as she looks up at him. Her body is completely petite from head to toe—slim hips, short legs, minuscule waist all wrapped up in a gorgeous package. She reminds me of Jo, the polar opposite of me.

  “You must be Amalie. I’m Victoria.”

  I hold out my hand to shake hers, but she just pulls me into her arms for a hug, her head reaching my stomach. I’m half-tempted to pat her on the head because she is so small.

  “What the fuck, bro?” a loud voice booms as he enters the room.

  The Hispanic man is short with short dark black hair and a muscular frame. He is dressed to perfection. He has on a white button-down shirt and black slacks with what looks like Gucci leather loafers on his feet.

  “Carlos, be nice!” Victoria yells back to him, pinching her nose up. “Meet Amalie, Jarrod’s girl,” Victoria says.

  Jarrod tightly wraps his hand around my waist.

  “Holy mother of fucking shit, Amalie Aagaard.”

  I look at him with confusion. It is extremely rare that I am recognized for my modeling unless I’m at the Viva Las Vegas convention.

  “How do you know Amalie?” Jarrod asks.

  Carlos hauls me into a huge bear hug. “I’m one of your biggest fans. I have every single pinup mag you’ve been featured in. Holy shit,” he exclaims.

  I look up at Jarrod. His eyes are narrowed, and if I’m not mistaken, a look of jealousy has marred his beautiful calm features.

  “Wow, thanks. Have you ever been to Viva?” I ask trying to engage Carlos into a conversation so he’ll let me go and Jarrod will stop looking so pissed off.

  Carlos finally lets me out of his grasp. He is extremely handsome, and standing next to his wife, I see that the couple is beyond beautiful together. Separately, they are equally beautiful people, but somehow, standing together makes them glow even more.

  “No, it’s our busy season, and I can’t take off during that week. Fuckin’ sucks, too. Fuck, I can’t believe I’m standing here, talking to Amalie Aagaard,” he says with pure disbelief.

  It makes me laugh.

  “Stop embarrassing her and stop making Jarrod jealous,” Victoria scolds.

  Jarrod’s hand wraps even tighter around me.

  A buzz from the front desk interrupts our chatter. Then, a few moments later, in walks a beautiful tall, waif woman with black hair that reaches her trim waist. She is dressed to perfection with a loose shift dress and killer high heels. Her makeup is beautiful and perfect. On her side is a man with golden skin and light-brown hair styled in a fauxhawk. He has a few piercings and tattoos that crawl up his neck and down his arms. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and dark denim jeans with black boots. They are gorgeous. I scan the room filled with two beautiful couples, Jarrod who is beyond gorgeous, and me.

  Do beautiful people just flock together naturally?

  I feel completely out of my element here.

  “Fuck, Pete. You gotta meet Jarrod’s new girl. It’s fuckin’ Amalie Aagaard,” Carlos clips his toes bouncing with excitement like a child.

  “Don’t mind them. They’re crazy,” Jarrod whispers in my ear.

  I look up at him, and his face goes warm. His blue eyes are soft when I smile.

  “No shit?” Pete says, stopping right in front of me.

  He is taller than Carlos, around six feet two, his body long and lean but layered muscles clearly apparent through his tight shirt.

  “I’m Amalie,” I utter mesmerized by his rough good looks, holding out my hand.

  He shakes it and introduces himself and his beautiful wife, Libby.

  The men retreat to the living room, grabbing beers on the way, and the women and I go into the kitchen where I look for wine and wine glasses. I ask them questions about how long they have been married and if they have any children. Neither of the women work, and Victoria and Carlos have a little one-year-old girl named Myra. Libby tells me that she and Pete have been married for a few years but they haven’t decided when to start a family, something passes over her beautiful features but I don’t know what it all means and then I find the wine glasses and pour us each a glass. Suddenly, we are three glasses of wine in, and with the food on order but not delivered yet, I am feeling a bit buzzed.

  “Amalie, I don’t know if you’ll think this is rude or not, but are your breasts real?” Libby asks me, staring at my chest.

  “Yes.” I giggle.

  “No shit. Can I touch them?” Victoria asks, her hand already making its way toward my breast.

  It isn’t the first time I have been asked if they are real, and it isn’t the first time I have been asked if somebody can touch them. It makes me giggle really. I think that women are sometimes more obsessed, curious, and envious of other women’s bodies. Men love to look at women all shapes and sizes, but women like to compare and one-up each other. I supposed it’s much like what men do with sports competitions.

  “Sure. Why not?” I say.

  Victoria and Libby grab a breast with each of their hands, kneading and rubbing them.

  I should be embarrassed by their groping, but I’m not. I can tell by first glance that neither Libby’s nor Victoria’s breasts are real, and I know it is a foreign concept these days to naturally have a large chest. Plus, we have all been drinking, and I highly doubt they would be this brazen if they were completely sober. It’s fun to let inhibitions go and just enjoy the moment. I haven’t ever really had girlfriends. I’ve had Jo and my brother but no one else really.

  “Fuck, I’ve never felt a real tit this big before. It’s so fucking soft, I swear,” Libby slurs.

  “I know. Me neither. It is so fucking soft. No wonder Jarrod is in love.”

  We all giggle and freeze when we hear the sound of three male throats clearing, but for some reason, we ignore it.

  “I haven’t ever felt a fake one,” I say softly.

  Libby sticks her breast out for me to grab, and I do. I wrap my fingers around hers, and I slowly and gently knead the breast. It is much softer than I anticipated.

  “I thought it would be super hard,” I slightly slur, feeling the weight of the breast in my hand.

  “Mine are like six years old. They were hard as fucking rocks when I first got them done. I almost took them out because it scared the shit out of me.” She explains how they start to feel like real breasts over time.

  “What the hell is going on in here?” Pete asks.

  I look up to see his eyes glinting with laughter.

  “Amalie’s tits are real, and fuck me, if they aren’t fantastic,” Libby pipes up.

  My face goes pale when I hear Jarrod growl.

  “That’s enough, girls,” Carlos says. He reaches for his wife’s waist and pulls her free of my boob.

&n
bsp; “Libby,” Pete growls.

  She releases my other boob as I release hers. We are all three giggling like schoolgirls, and I honestly can’t remember when I’ve had this much fun before.

  “Jarrod, you are one lucky asshole. That girl’s tits are fan-fuckin’-tastic. I would turn carpet muncher just to play with them all day,” Libby garbles.

  I wonder how she can be so drunk. We’ve had the same amount of wine.

  “I know they are,” he says with a smile as he strolls over to me. Wrapping his arms around me from behind, his forearm resting just under the breasts that everybody is so enthralled with at the moment.

  Our laughter is interrupted by the food’s arrival. The girls and I get busy plating everyone’s meal and setting Jarrod’s black table with silver placemats, rich deep burgundy napkins, water, wine, beer, and silverware.

  “So, tell me, Amalie. Where are you from? I can tell you have some kind of accent, but I can’t place it,” Victoria says.

  I take a bite of the delicious grilled salmon on my plate. “I was born in Denmark, and my family and I moved to Florida when I was seven. Then, I moved to Boston for college, and that’s where I currently reside.” That’s my life in a nutshell. It was a sad, pathetic lonely life until I met Jarrod. It seems like things have just begun to get exciting, and I am reeling with anticipation of what is to come.

  “I knew you weren’t American. You are too freaking tall to be,” Pete says, his voice booming and gruff.

  Normally, I would be embarrassed by someone, especially a man, commenting on my height. My height has been the center of many conversations and not always in a nice way. However, from Pete, I feel this is just merely an observation, and it’s not meant to be rude or condescending.

  “I am an American citizen, but no, I wasn’t born here,” I say with a smile.

  “So, how did you two meet?” Victoria asks.

  Jarrod immediately interrupts me and begins to tell our story—meeting at the club, him stalking me for our first dinner after my photo shoot, and then our date at the baseball game. It all sounds very romantic, and I can’t help but feel like I am living in some sort of dream state. I am at a dinner table with Jarrod and his beautiful friends. They are all so sweet and nice to me.

  The rest of the evening, we chat about nothing in particular. The guys separate from the girls a bit later to watch a sports show on television, and the girls and I talk about anything and everything from clothes to shoes to celeb gossip. I don’t know when I have had so much fun. Jo and I have fun together, but lately, our friendship seems to be strained, and we haven’t seen much of each other. These girls are welcoming and friendly. I love them instantly. I can understand why Jarrod would surround himself with people like this. They are like a family more than colleagues.

  Later that night, Jarrod and I are getting ready for bed, and I have just slipped off my extremely tight dress. I’m standing in nothing but my black lace bra and black satin panties when he suddenly pulls me onto the bed astride him.

  “They loved you,” he states, his hands sliding down the small of my back to cup the satin encasing my ass.

  “I loved all of them. You are so lucky to have friends like that,” I admit freely because he is lucky.

  “You looked beautiful tonight, Amalie. I must say, I was extremely jealous when I walked into the kitchen with Libby’s and Victoria’s hands on your perfect tits.” He kisses my neck, his hands gliding up my waist to my rib cage and finally laying purchase on my breasts.

  I shrug. What can I say to that really?

  “I also almost punched Carlos in the face when he kept going on and on about how fucking smokin’ hot you are, how he has every single one of your pinup mags, and that you’re his favorite model. I almost completely lost it when he informed me that you were his kitchen pass.”

  Jarrod’s hands are sliding up and down my body, making my skin hum with anticipation and making it extremely difficult to concentrate on the conversation.

  “Kitchen pass?” I ask.

  “Yeah, you’re the one woman he’s allowed to cheat on Victoria with.”

  My eyes bug out, and I let out a strangled sound.

  “Don’t worry, baby. Now that he knows you, it’s off the fucking table,” he says, roughly grabbing my breasts and squeezing them.

  I moan and arch into his hands.

  “Why would he want me?” I can’t fathom why this man chose me to be the one person he would be allowed to cheat on his wife with.

  “Because you are fucking beautiful, baby, so beautiful,” he whispers. He pulls me down to give me a searing kiss.

  It’s rough and desperate at first, and I just melt into his strong, hard body.

  Jarrod roughly pulls down the cups of my bra and pinches my nipples, pulling, twisting, and making me scream with pleasure. I can feel the wetness from my panties seeping through the lace material onto his stomach. I can’t help it. The man surely knows how to make me need him. When Jarrod shifts my panties to the side, he roughly pulls me down on top of his cock, filling me so full that I gasp with shock at the sudden invasion. Then, he takes me again, making me scream out his name with pleasure one last time, before I eventually pass out, facedown, in the pillow with exhaustion, completely nude.

  “You’re mine,” I hear in the distance.

  I feel his lips kiss a trail up my spine.

  There is a heavy feeling weighing down my middle, and my legs feel paralyzed. I can’t help but feel like something has gone terribly wrong. As my eyes flutter open, I begin to panic, my heart rate increasing rapidly. I start to move my eyes as fast as I can to assess my surroundings. It takes me a good forty-five seconds before I remember I am in Jarrod’s home in the city, and I look down to see that the weight on my middle is a golden-tanned arm with light-blond hairs.

  Taking a few deep breaths to calm myself, I slightly turn my body. My legs are tangled in his, and I can’t believe how wonderful it all feels. My heart is bursting with excitement to begin the day, a day that I will spend with Jarrod. I chance a look at his gorgeous face. His normal hard jaw is slack with sleep. His lips are pursed together as he breathes deep and heavy. His hair is deliciously disheveled around his forehead, and his eyelashes are a dark blond color and longer than I realized. He is so handsome that I can’t believe I am actually lying in bed, naked, with him. He is too beautiful for the likes of me. He should be with a supermodel or something.

  I watch as his eyes dance under his lids. His breath begins to shallow, and slowly, his eyes flutter open and reveal the beautiful cobalt of his irises. Then, he rewards me with a small smile.

  “Hey, baby. Morning¸” he whispers huskily, his thumb running slowly on the underside of my breast.

  “Good morning,” I reply breathy.

  He is touching me, and my greedy body wants more.

  “We need to talk about a few things this morning.”

  Jarrod’s head dips toward my neck, and he places a few soft kisses there, making me writhe beneath him with anticipation. I now know what to expect from his kisses, touches, and his body, and I want it all.

  “Later,” I moan, pushing my body closer into his.

  “Nuh-uh. Sorry, baby.”

  I feel his weight leave my body. It’s like a whoosh of cold ice has been thrown in my veins. I make a strangled noise in the back of my throat in protest, and he just laughs at me.

  The bastard.

  “First, you look completely fuckable in the morning, and seriously, this is the hardest thing I have ever done, not taking you right here and right now. Second, I need to go ahead and tell you what I do for a living since you’ll be going with me today, and I don’t want you to be completely blindsided.”

  I nod in agreement. This whole evasive job thing has me completely unnerved.

  “I play baseball.” He lets out a sigh like this is relieving some huge weight on his shoulders.

  “Okay…” I have no clue why he looks so relieved. Seriously, so the man plays basebal
l. Who cares?

  “Professionally,” he states.

  This is supposed to elicit some kind of reaction from me, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why.

  Wait…did he say professionally?

  He must see the wheels turning in my head and then the moment when it sinks in.

  “I’m a New York Yankee, Amalie.”

  I let the words roll around in my head, and then all of a sudden, my eyes double in size, and I realize this is serious shit. He’s a freaking professional baseball player—like a celebrity.

  “Holy crap,” I whisper.

  “I wanted to tell you, but I just didn’t know how, and today, you’re going to be sitting with all the wives and girlfriends. I wanted to warn you—”

  “Are Libby’s and Victoria’s husbands baseball players, too?” I interrupt, replaying the evening before. Not once did any of them mention careers they or their husbands had.

  “Yeah.”

  I nod and bob my head around a bit. Then, my eyes meet his. This man is beyond sweet for words. He introduced me to these two women, so I would know somebody today. He wanted to make sure I wouldn’t be nervous or scared and that I was surrounded by good people. It’s the nicest thing that anyone has ever done for me before. How did this man fall into my lap like this?

  “That’s why I met them last night? So, I would know someone today?” I ask the questions that are flashing in my head.

  “Yeah,” Jarrod says softly, his eyes warm and concentrating on me.

  “That’s sweet.” I place a small kiss on his lips, catching him by surprise.

  “Third,” he continues, “is there anything I need to know about your brother before we meet with him tonight?”

  The words suck the oxygen out of my lungs.

  “I haven’t seen him or heard from him in years. I honestly don’t know what he wants.” But I think I do. I don’t say this to Jarrod.

  I’m pretty sure it has something to do with my mother or with him—Eric. Just thinking about him makes me feel sick to my stomach, but I can’t think about either of them while Jarrod is nuzzling my neck and blowing his warm breath on my ear.