by Sara Ney
I never get tired of seeing his bottom teeth drag along his lower lips, and it arouses me more seeing them now. White, gleaming, perfect.
He pushes deeper. Rotates his pelvis.
“Yeah, like that…”
“Mmm…” My head turns to the side, cheek against the pillow.
“Scarlett, look at me,” he rasps, emotional.
I look at him.
I see him.
I love him.
TENTH FRIDAY
“The One Where I Stick it in Some Other Guy’s Ass (Metaphorically Speaking).”
Rowdy
Me: I miss your face so fucking hard.
Scarlett: I know, I miss you, too. So much.
Me: One more week is going to drive me nuts—how many days is it exactly?
Scarlett: I don’t do math, remember?
Me: Shit, that’s right. I’m going to have to carry this team when it comes to numbers.
Scarlett: Very funny, wise guy.
Me: But also, true.
Me: You know, there’s a party at the house tonight.
Scarlett: The baseball house? But I thought you weren’t supposed to have parties once the season started.
Me: I know, but a few of them have their heads up their ass—they want to have a welcome home party.
I adjust myself on the couch and shift the limp dick in my jeans. It misses Scarlett as much as I do, if not more. Making love to her is my new favorite sport.
Me: Will you come back? I want to see you.
Scarlett: When?
Me: Is NOW too soon? Please.
Scarlett: No, now isn’t too soon…but then I’m at school for a week with nothing to do before classes start. And I’d miss a week of work.
Me: You can do ME for a week before classes start. I’ll come stay at your place.
Scarlett: Really? You’d stay at my place?
Is she serious? I would kill to stay at her place. We can play house and practice making babies every night.
Me: Yeah, really. Pack your shit and come home.
Scarlett: Let me think about it.
Dammit, why is she so sensible sometimes?
I run a hand through my hair, staring hard at my phone, at the screen, waiting for those three little dots to disappear and a new message to pop up.
“What the hell are you smiling at?” Blake Sheffield, one of our outfielders, grabs a controller for the gaming system in the entertainment center and points it at the television. “You look like such an idiot.”
Shit. I forgot I’m not alone.
I popped into the baseball house this afternoon to meet with the other captain of the team and a few of the older players. Then I sat my ass down on the couch and have been on it since, top popped on a bottle of Gatorade.
I wipe my mouth. “You know Scarlett?”
“Uh, no.”
“Scarlett.” I sigh, taking another chug of the ice blue liquid, opening my throat so it slides down easy. “You heard the guys calling that girl Cock Blocker a few weekends ago?”
“Yeah—what about her?”
“That’s Scarlett. She’s my girlfriend.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—hold up, bro. You have a girlfriend? Since when? When the hell did you start seeing someone?” He rattles off questions rapid-fire.
“We started seeing each other the night I kicked her out of the house.” That is technically true. “Apparently, she liked it,” I joke, taking another swig, downing the bottle and throwing it onto the coffee table. It bounces off the wood and lands on the carpet.
Sheffield watches me, expectantly. “And?” He’s so goddamn nosey, prodding for more information.
“And…that’s it. I’m telling you this because if I can convince her to come back to school, I’ll bringing her by tonight. I don’t want to be fucking embarrassed, and I don’t expect her to be hassled.”
“No man, of course not.”
“Not by Ben, not by Derek—not by anybody.”
Eager to please, he nods emphatically. “Got it.”
I give him a sidelong glance. “You know you guys aren’t supposed to be having any more parties, right?”
“Yeah—this one was Tag’s fucking idea.”
“Well if you get us in trouble, I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”
“I know, Rowdy, we’ve already had this conversation.”
“Just so we’re clear.”
“We’re clear. And they got clearance from Coach.”
Well shit, if Coach knows about the party…
I relax my shoulders, sinking farther into the couch.
The front door opens and the team’s catcher, Dante Amado, walks through with a girl on his arm. Dark hair and even darker eyes, she trails behind him, holding his hand.
I recognize that look; it’s the same one I’ve seen on Scarlett a dozen times: uncertainty, hesitation, dread.
I don’t blame her—she’s walking into a den of wolves, but if she’s with Amado, she’s probably not a groupie, and he’ll look out for her.
As they pause in the entry to the living room, Sheffield gives them both a short wave.
“Hi.”
Dante jerks his head to the side. “Guys, you remember Amelia.”
We’re both openly staring—it’s hard not to. Dante has never brought a girl around, not while I was living here, and I would have heard about it if he had recently—our goddamn friends are nosey as hell. Curious as a group of unruly toddlers.
Sheffield sprawls in the center of the couch, remote control in his hands, pausing the game. Looks the girl over from head to toe then back up again, wrinkling his forehead.
“I thought you said her name was Lucy.”
The girl finds a smile, and then her voice. Brushes back a long strand of dark hair. “Nope. It’s Amelia. You must be confusing me with someone else.”
They make a really good-looking couple.
“Shit, sorry.”
Dante’s arms slides around his date’s waist. “Anyway, we’ll be in my room. Don’t bother us.”
We watch the pair walk out of the room, and I unlock my phone.
Scarlett: What will I tell my boss?
Me: I forgot you have to work; I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m just being selfish.
Scarlett: There you go again, using semicolons in your text messages. You know I can’t resist good grammer. Gramar? Grammar? CRAP, HOW IS IT SPELLED?
Me: No one knows!!!!
Scarlett: lol. So—a party tonight, huh? And you want me there?
Me: It’s not a big deal, babe—not if you need to work.
Scarlett: You’re okay going alone?
Me: Me? Yeah. I mean, I miss you, but what’s a few more nights of jerking off in my cold, dark bedroom? It has a lock and all the porn I need.
Scarlett: Same.
Me: I hope you’re thinking of me when you diddle yourself.
Scarlett: Please don’t ever says diddle again. It just made me die inside.
Me: lol, sorry.
Scarlett: You really want to come stay with me this week? I have tampons in my bathroom, and I’d have to empty all the psycho meds out of my medicine cabinet.
Me: Trust me, I looked in your medicine cabinet the first time I came over. I had to see what level of crazy I was dealing with.
Scarlett: I don’t even want to know…
Me: You really don’t.
Scarlett: I’m thinking…if I leave here by 3:00, I can be back by 6:30, depending on how many times I stop
Me: Does this mean you’re coming back?
Scarlett: On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad do you miss me?
Me: Elevnty.
Scarlett: Well then, what other choice do I have?
***
“You know what? Instead of this party, how about we go on an actual date? Like to dinner, or…I don’t know, to the movies.” She’s trying to change the subject, trying to change my mind about the party.
I take a left at the stop sign, turning on
to Jock Row.
“I want my friends to get to know you—once you’re in, Scar, you’re in. They’ll look out for you the way they look out for me. Don’t be scared, babe—they’re going to love you.”
She scoffs, staring out the window. “Stop, they will not.”
“You’re right—I’m probably going to spend the entire night pissed off, because chances are, they’re going to try to bang you.”
I pull up to the baseball house, park my truck in the driveway. It’s cold—frigidly so—but Scarlett wore a black, off-the-shoulder top, so different from any outfit I’ve ever seen her in, I’m wondering if anyone will even recognize her tonight.
“Are you sure they’re not going to be…you know…” She waves a dainty hand in the air, unable to finish her sentence. Not wanting to be rude.
“Dicks?” I pull her in close. “I’m the fucking captain of this baseball team,” I remind her. “I say whether or not they get to act like pricks.”
A few of them will probably act like pricks, guaranteed.
They’re jocks—it’s in their friggin’ DNA.
We’re walking toward the house, hands clasped together, and I have to slow my pace so Scarlett can walk in her heels. They’re tall wedges, so she’s a good four inches taller now—easier to kiss on the mouth—and her eyes are rimmed in dark liner. Lashes a million miles long, covered in black mascara.
Long hair down, big silver hoops flirting with the skin on her neck.
How the fuck did I get so damn lucky?
Seriously.
And before I start spouting off about fate and all that other lovey-dovey bullshit, I reach for her hand, help her climb the stairs of the porch, steam from our collective breaths fogging up the night air.
My hand reaches for the doorknob, but before I tug it open, I turn to her. “Do you think once we step through those doors, we’re going to be miserable because we’re not alone?”
Her mouth twists as she looks around. “We had some really good times out here on this porch. It’s like our spot.”
“I’ll buy this house some day, rip the porch off, and bring it with us when we have our own place.” Our house. Our porch. Enough kids for a little league team.
Her eyes get wide at my mention of our future.
Shit. Too soon?
I want to eat her up, starting with her pretty petite fingers; she has her nails painted bright blue. Then I want to kiss the tip of her pert nose—it gets more pink the longer we stand out here, stalling.
I wiggle my fingers in her direction. “Stick your gloves in my pocket and take my hand.”
She hesitates, slowly sliding off her black mittens one at a time and handing them to me. I shove them in the back pocket of my jeans and reach down to take her hand, lacing our fingers.
We both shiver.
“I’ve got you—I won’t leave your side.”
Scarlett rolls her eyes. “What exactly do you think is going to happen?”
“I’m afraid you’re going to wander off and steal shit from the fridge.”
“I did not steal from the fridge!” She huffs. “It was unlocked.”
So damn gorgeous, even in a snit.
I twist my torso, leaning down, planting a firm kiss in the middle of her pursed mouth.
“Let’s go.”
Scarlett
From the moment we step into the house, Rowdy is greeted like a celebrity. People shout his name, and it’s loud and distracting and obnoxious, if I’m being honest. I know none of the people approaching him, smacking him on the back like the lost messiah that’s finally come home. Girls touching him even though he’s holding steady to my hand.
To be fair, guys are touching him too—but it’s not the same thing.
He squeezes my hand before letting go, slides it around the curve of my waist, wrapping his arm around me. Pulls me in close. Tucks his massive palm into the back pocket of my jeans like a bad advertisement for an eighties rom-com.
This is our first public appearance as a couple, and I’m both nervous and excited to be here. On his arm. By his side.
Still…
“What…is happening right now?” I laugh, oddly irritated at the spectacle. “Why is everyone…this is so weird.”
“I haven’t been here in weeks, that’s what’s happening right now.” He actually has to holler in my direction so I can hear him. “They’re glad to see me.”
My brows go up.
“I’m their leader, Scarlett,” he says, as if that statement explains everything.
“Their leader has been outside for the past eight weeks.” I roll my eyes. “It’s not like you went anywhere—you were literally thirty feet away this entire time.”
His skin is darker than it was before our vacation, tan skin setting off the green shade of his eyes and the pearly white of his teeth. He must have gotten his hair trimmed today, because it’s short, obviously styled by a professional.
I think about how I’m going to run my fingers through it later.
I ogle him some more, pressing my nose against his shirt to catch a whiff, lids fluttering closed. Mmm, mmm, good.
“Hey man,” Ben, the guy from the first house party—the one who had me kicked out—walks up with his fist raised for a bump.
I struggle not to narrow my eyes, but it’s difficult.
Rowdy accepts it, bumping it back. “What’s up Wilson?”
Ben’s blue eyes appraise me, trying to place me. He knows he’s seen me before, but he’s not sure where. “Are you going to introduce us?”
I step forward, presenting him with my hand like I’m a fine lady about to take tea in Britain, Sterling’s steadfast fingers pressed into the small of my back. “Oh, we’ve met.”
Ben grins, taking my hand, pumping it gently, acting the gentleman. Prick. “I always recognize a gorgeous face.”
“Is that so?” My nude, glossy lips smirk, and for the life of me, I cannot figure out where this badass inner me is coming from. I thought I’d be nervous, coming face to face with Ben.
But I’m not.
Not one little bit.
He can’t have sex with me because I’m taken, and he can’t place me because I’m unrecognizable from the girl he met eight weeks ago. My hair is down, I’m wearing more makeup than usual, and I’m four inches taller—not to mention, no beige sweater.
As a result, Ben does what I’d expect from a guy like him: he goes about ignoring me to speak Rowdy.
Ben shifts his gaze. “What’s up Wade—where the hell have you been? I feel like the only place I’ve seen you is the gym.”
“I’ve been around.” Rowdy laughs. “Mostly on the porch.”
Ben looks down, notices Rowdy’s arm firmly around my waist. Looks at me again, studying me closer.
“The porch? Why?”
“That’s where I met my little dumple puss.” He bends and kisses the top of my head. “That’s a hybrid word I made up,” Rowdy explains to his friend like he’s a relationship expert. “It’s a cross between dumpling and dimple. She loves it.”
He has zero shame.
“I don’t think we’ve met.” Ben reconsiders me with a more critical eye; he knows I’m the reason he hasn’t seen his captain in weeks. “I’m Ben.”
“Scarlett.”
He tilts his head like an animal listening for a sound in the distance, my name processing in his mind; I see the wheels turning like rusty spokes that need oil, chugging along through his brain.
He nods ever so slowly, up and down. “Scarlett.”
One word. Just my name.
He knows.
Then, “You’ve been MIA for fucking ever.” His arms cross and I note that his arms are thick, too—a trait shared by most of the players. “The guys aren’t going to like this.”
He nods in my direction. Ugh, what. An. Asshole.
Still holding my waist, Rowdy laughs. “You actually think I give a shit?”
“You should.” Ben gives me another glance. “No offen
se, Cock Blocker, but I didn’t expect to see you back here.”
Rowdy’s entire body stiffens. “How about you not fucking call her that?” Holy shit he sounds so pissed. “She wasn’t voted out of the house, Wilson. Stop being a petty little bitch.”
“Sorry, that’s not going to happen.”
“I suggest you figure out how to be cool with it, or it’s going to be a really long season. Scarlett is my girlfriend, not some party girl here to hook up.”
My breath catches at the sound of him sounding just a little bit protective.
Ben pales, then flushes. “Girlfriend?”
“Did I st-st-stutter?”
God, the bitchy tone of his voice is so damn hot. Sarcastic and fuming, daring Ben to challenge him a few more times. Daring Ben to defame me, wanting to get right up in his face.
Christ, it’s turning me on—what is my freaking problem? I want to shove my tongue down his throat.
I shift on my heels.
“I have an idea, Wilson, since you obviously have nothing better to do than stand here with your pants down around your ankles—run and fetch my girl a drink.”
He’s being a huge dick and I love it.
“I’m not a fucking rookie anymore,” Ben grits out tightly.
“No, but you might as well be. I don’t like your shitty attitude. And you know what else? You’ve pissed me the fuck off one too many times, and I’m your captain, so you’re going to march into the fucking kitchen and do it, yeah? Because my girlfriend wants a goddamn water.”
I want to rip his clothes off so bad right now.
With my teeth.
Seconds pass. Music thunders around us.
Then, Benjamin Wilson does the unthinkable: he stuffs his hands in his pockets and glances down at the ground. Backs up a step.
Pastes on a fake smile. “Can I get you anything to drink, Scarlett?”
I bite down on my bottom lip, feigning indecision. “Water would be so great. I’m not a big drinker, as you know.”
“Bottled water,” Rowdy’s deep voice instructs. “From the fridge.”
I lay a hand on his chest—he’s so thoughtful, getting in that tiny jab.
“Oh babe, that sounds so refreshing, thank you.” My palms give his pecs a few pats; they’re nice and firm.
Rowdy pats my ass with his large palm, two little taps.
