Fastball (Wilde Players Dirty Romance)

by Hargrove,A. M.

  He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, and I know he’s leaving. I almost ask him to take off his shirt, which he never did, just so I can see his fantastic abs one last time.

  “You’re right. It’s not my thing. It’s obvious that you don’t want to be treated right. I sent you gifts, and you couldn’t bother to thank me. Yet, I bet you would thank me now for choking you.”

  He shakes his head. And without another word, he gets his pants from my floor and leaves my bedroom. I can hear the fabric as he pulls it up. Then it’s his feet stepping across the floor. I know he’s about to open the door.

  “Ryder.” He doesn’t answer, and that kills me inside. Still, I say what I should have said. “Thank you for the thoughtful gifts.”

  No you’re welcome comes, just the sound of the door closing as he exits my life. Tears spill from my eyes, and I can’t recall the last time I cried like this. Why did him leaving hurt so much? I barely know the man. Then again, some people make an impression in your life. When Cassie came up to me in grade school and declared we were going to be friends, there was never any doubt.

  The only thing I doubt now is that I might have let the best man who ever entered my life, even over my old man who gave me life and nothing more, walk out my door.

  RYDER

  Disorientation smacks me in the face when I wake up the next morning. It takes me a few minutes to figure out I’m on Fletcher and Cassie’s sofa. Good thing it’s a huge sectional or I’d have the worst stiff neck known to man. My head clangs with the aftereffects of tequila, and I have a major freak out about the fact that I drove out here in my inebriated state. Rolling off the sofa, I stumble into the kitchen for some badly needed hydration, and that’s when I see it.

  Here are your keys. Car is parked outside. Didn’t want you taking any chances in your condition. Sam

  Thank God. Sam drove me home. I need to send him some tickets or something. What the hell was I thinking getting so hammered last night? Then the memories nail me. Gina.

  Jesus fuck me. What the hell is up with that woman? Is she really as messed up as that? The idea of someone hurting her makes me want to jam my fist through a wall. I can do wild and rough, but choking? So not my thing. That is totally out of my league. It freaked the hell out of me. Spanking, hell yeah. Sexy as fuck. Toys—I am one hundred percent on board for those. That sex swing—totally hot as shit. I’m game on for all that, but choking is a hard limit—isn’t that what they call it—for me. And it’s a goddamn pisser because I can’t get her out of my mind. Fucking Gina.

  No use rubbing this shit in. I take a quick shower and make sure the place is as spotless as it was when I got here. Then I hit the road. I need to have my ass in gear for practice in the morning. We have a few days until our next game, but we’re winding the regular season down, and it’s time to be on point here. Focus is never more important than it is now.

  Riley is serving up a pile of scrambled eggs when I walk in the door. God, I’m starving. All that alcohol from the night before just reminded me how hungry I am.

  “Any left?” I ask.

  “Mmm, sorry, no.”

  Dropping my keys onto the counter, I head straight for the fridge and pull out the eggs, milk, sausage, and everything else I need for a monster omelet. Riley eyes me the entire time.

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Waynesville.”

  “Did you see Gina?” Her eyes gleam with interest.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well? Did she love all her presents?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” I don’t look at my sister as I continue to make my breakfast. She doesn’t say a word in response, and when my food is ready, I plate it and take a seat at the counter.

  “Spill it all, Ryder.”

  Here’s the thing. I love my sister and share a lot with her. But no way to the fucking hell am I giving her any of these sordid details.

  “Nothing to share.” I keep eating.

  “Liar. You’re hiding something. You really like her, and for you to act like this after everything you did for her, something’s up.”

  “Hmm mmm.”

  “Come on, Ryder. I can help you. I’m your sister.”

  I swallow the last bite of food and put my plate into the dishwasher. “Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you said it yourself. You don’t want to get stuck in the middle. Leave it alone, Riley.”

  “But I don’t get it. She didn’t like the spa thing?” My sister wears confusion well. And I’ll admit, it baffled the shit out of me, too. Who wouldn’t like a spa gift certificate, especially the one I loaded up for Gina?

  “Can’t say. Let me tell you this much, and then we drop the Gina subject. She wouldn’t answer my calls, so I don’t know if she loved or hated it.”

  “Now that’s fucking rude as hell. How much did you spend on it?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “No, but I’m curious.”

  “Five hundred.”

  “I don’t get it. She doesn’t seem the type to be so ungracious.”

  “Think again, sis. She is.”

  “I’m sorry. No wonder she never returned my calls when I wanted to ask her to one of your games. Guess I was wrong about her.”

  “So was I,” I say, heading to my room.

  A few hours later, I drive to the practice field. We have a team meeting first, and then we hit it. Since the season is winding down, I need to give it my all. I should have never poured all that liquor into me last night. My game is going to be off, and if I have any ideas of becoming the starting pitcher, or ace as it’s called, I need to pull my ass together and forget Gina. She’s only fucking up my livelihood now, and that’s not good.

  When I enter the team room, I’m one of the last to arrive, which sucks. The manager gives me one of his head-to-toe scans, and I’m not sure I like his assessment. He sees what I don’t want him to—a poorly disguised hungover pitcher.

  “Okay, ladies, we have a few items to cover, and then Ms. Whitestone will be joining us. First, we only have a handful of home games left and the same for aways. We’re this close,” he pinches his thumb and forefinger together, “to the playoffs. I believe right here,” he pounds his chest so hard you can hear the thump, “we have as good a chance as any team out there of making it. Who’s with me on this?” The room breaks out into a riotous cheer. One thing about our manager is he can sure get the team riled up in a good way. He lets us go on until we’re hollered out. “Remember, this is not a singular effort. We all need each other in order to make this happen.” His gray eyes land on me, and guilt instantly floods me. He has this way of making you want to do your absolute best in every possible situation. And there I went and pulled a damn drunk last night. He knows it, too. I nod gravely, and now we’re on the same page.

  He gives us a rundown of what’s going to occur for the next few days and how our scheduling is going to run as far as practices go.

  “Do I have everyone’s firm commitment to stay straight here, to be level-headed, and to give it your goddamned all?”

  Another ear-splitting cheer fills the room as the guys pound whatever they can get their feet and legs on. When he finishes, Ms. Whitestone steps into the room to a round of applause.

  “Gentlemen, thank you. And thank you for a monumental season so far. But let’s take it a step further. Let’s bring home the Commissioner’s Trophy this year by winning the World Series.” A round of applause breaks out that rivals the cheers our manager received. “To win it our first year would be amazing, and you know what that would mean not only for us, but for the city of Charlotte and the Carolinas as well. Let’s make them proud to be a Cougars fan.”

  The cheers go on and on, and I’m caught up in the moment of excitement. This is a banner year for us, and my exhilaration grows.

  When the noise settles down, she yells out, “Let’s go practice ball, gentlemen.”

  The men filter out of the room, and as
I walk past her, she says, “Ryder, may I have a word, please?”

  “Sure, Ms. Whitestone.” I stop in front of her, and she smiles.

  “Let’s go to my office where we can talk in private.”

  What the fuck? Am I getting fired? I wasn’t that drunk last night and didn’t get arrested or anything.

  “Sure thing.” I tag along behind her like a dutiful pup.

  When we get to one of the private offices, which isn’t her bona fide fancy office that’s located in the executive building for the team, she tells me to take a seat. I’m sweating bullets, which smells mildly—okay, heavily of whiskey laced with tequila—and she begins to yammer on about how great my season has been. And I wait for the big but.

  “But, Ryder, you could be in a better place by now.” When I don’t respond, she adds, “If you know what I mean.”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t quite follow you.”

  “I believe there is a long future here for you and this franchise.” She licks her lips. “We could make a hell of a team.”

  Oh, my fucking balls. And I’m not talking baseballs. Is the Queen of the Cougars flirting with me? No, I take that back. Is my boss hitting on me? My nuts climb up my ass because the last thing I could possibly do is her. I think my tequila wants out. As in barf.

  “Oh?” Yeah, like that’s a good response. Right? I’ll play the dumb athlete.

  “Yes, in fact, escorting me to a fundraiser can help you as much as the team. Get your name out there, so reporters aren’t surprised when in the near future it’s announced you’ve become the Cougars’ ace. How does that sound?”

  Escort? Fundraiser? That doesn’t sound too bad as long as it doesn’t come down to any removal of clothing. I can handle that.

  “Fundraiser?”

  “Yes, I like to donate to the Kids Without Homes charity, and every year they have a gala. One of the things I want to do is bring one of the players because it will show their involvement. You, of course, would be required to give a donation.”

  “Oh, of course.” Relief washes through me. “How much? Ten thousand enough?”

  She laughs, and it reminds me of Tinkerbell. “Why, Ryder, that’s terribly generous of you.”

  Here I thought she wanted me to fuck her. Hell, I’d give twenty grand to avoid having to do that chore.

  “I’m happy to give to a great cause such as that. When is it?”

  She smiles, and her Chiclet teeth nearly blind me. “This Saturday.”

  “I’ll put it on my calendar. Is it black tie?”

  “Actually, it’s not because some of the kids go. But you will need to wear something nice, though not a suit.”

  “Got it covered. Shall I pick you up?”

  That Tinkerbell laugh fills the room again. “Gracious no. I’ll send the limo around to pick you up. Say six-ish. And thank you.” She pats my hand, and her long lacquered nails look a bit creepy to me. They remind me of talons. I’m so glad Gina doesn’t wear all that shit on her nails. Not that it matters because I’m done with her anyway.

  “Oh, and, Ryder, if you didn’t take my hint, you can expect to start coming up in the next game or two.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but I would’ve done this anyway.” And I would have. I’m all about helping the kids.

  Keeping true to Ms. Whitestone’s word, my pitching coach has hinted if we make it to the playoffs I will be the ace. I start the following game, and pitch well. I’m relieved in the sixth inning, and my arm is iced and rested, even though it feels great. A pitcher is usually only allowed between ninety to a hundred twenty pitches per game, so the manager thought it best to pull me after ninety-five. He didn’t want to stress my arm, and I’m good with that. We go on to win, which is all I can ask for.

  On Saturday, Ms. Whitestone picks me up, and when I get in the limo, she asks me to call her Regina. “It’s better for the event if we’re on a first-name basis. It seems less formal that way.”

  “I can do that, but when we’re in front of the team, I prefer to stick to Ms. Whitestone if that’s okay.”

  “Yes, that’s fine.”

  We enter the gala, and the room is decorated with all kinds of kid stuff from toys and games, to athletic jerseys, to colorful pictures on the walls. Our team is well represented, which makes me proud to be a Cougar.

  As soon as we enter, camera flashes go off everywhere, and reporters approach us as the local news channels interview us. Ms. Whitestone handles most of the questions, as she’s the experienced one here, but then the focus turns to me and the win from the last games I pitched. I’m in the spotlight now. It’s a paparazzi-fest, and when we’re able to shake free of them, my phone blows up.

  Riley texts me telling me to check Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. When I open my accounts, there’s my face next to Regina’s looking like we’re on the happiest of dates. Her arm is around my waist, and mine is around hers. She’s quite the snappy cougar, and I don’t mean the baseball team. Her smile is megawatt, and she gazes at me as I stare at the camera. Surely this was taken as I was being interviewed, but she looks like a lovesick goon. Christ.

  My phone goes off again. It’s Riley telling me that if Gina see this, she’s going to think I have a new girlfriend. Fuck my life. Then Fletcher texts, along with Cassidy. What the hell is going on?

  Fletcher: Dude. Tired of women your own age?

  Cassidy: What the hell, R?

  The next one comes from Gina. I’m surprised to hear from her. She couldn’t take time out of her busy life to thank me for all the goddamn gifts I sent her, yet as soon as I go to a fundraiser, which is clearly seen everywhere, she’s happy to get in touch then.

  I see you’ve found a woman who is more up to your speed. Wishing you all the happiness in the world. Gina

  A red haze floats over my eyes, and I excuse myself from Regina’s presence. I have an urgent need to punch the shit out of something. Only I can’t because there is nothing around to destroy, and I won’t risk injuring myself. So I suck it up and try to gain control of my temper. Of all the shitty things to do. I’m at a fucking fundraiser for kids for fuck’s sake, and she can’t see past her little petty jealousies. I never pegged Gina as mean-spirited, but this takes it to an all-time low.

  There’s one way to retaliate. Using my phone, I snap several photos of what the charity is and some of the kids who are present. Then I send her the photos and a text back.

  Indeed I have. It’s someone who gives a damn about children without homes and who raises money for them. I offered to help, and this is who I’m spending my evening with. And btw, she thanked me for what I’ve done, unlike someone I know. Ryder

  I hit send before I change my mind. However, it does nothing to ease my anger. Regina recognizes something is wrong, but I brush it aside and get through the event. As soon as it’s over, we leave. She thanks me profusely and wants to know if she can count on me for another event for Kids Without Homes.

  “I’m all in. Whatever you need.”

  When we get to my place, I just about hop out of the car before it stops. There’s something I’m going to do, and I don’t give a damn how late it is. I don’t even bother going inside. My car is parked in the garage provided for condo owners, so that’s where I head. I hit the road. Destination: Gina’s apartment.

  The Dirty Hammer is still open when I pull into town. It makes me wonder if she’s working. If she is, I’ll have to wait. But I go around back and take the stairs up. After I pound on the door, I wait.

  “Sam, I told you I wanted the night off,” she says, opening the door.

  I push my way in, saying, “Sorry, it’s not Sam. And we need to set some things straight. One, you don’t have the right to jump to those kinds of conclusions about me. Two, why are you so mean-spirited? And three,” I pull her against me, “I’m here to accept your thanks for the gifts I sent that you so rudely never gave me.” And my mouth crashes onto hers as I grasp a handful of her disarrayed hair and twist it around my fingers. I back
her into the closest wall, hips holding her prisoner, and say, “Tell me to stop.”

  Her chest heaves as she locks gazes with mine. “No. Because I don’t want you to.”

  “I won’t leave, and there’ll be no choking ever again.”

  “O-okay.”

  “I’m game for all kinds of shit, Gina, but not that.”

  She nods.

  “On your knees. I want my dick in your mouth. Because it’s all I thought of the whole way here.”

  Gina falls to her knees and rips my pants open. I’m hard as stone, and my cock springs out as her mouth latches on. Her lips wrap around me, and she slides up and down while grasping the base of me as she squeezes. Fuck, she gives great head.

  “Suck. Hard.”

  She takes direction well, too. Her hand cups my balls, and her fingers tighten around them in a soft rhythm. Then her mouth takes them in and I want her to stop, but I don’t.

  “Enough. I want to see your pussy. On your dining room table. And take your clothes off.”

  She shimmies out of her cami and yoga pants, then walks backwards to her table and sits on it.

  “Legs up, feet flat on the table. Spread yourself wide for me so I can see you.”

  Without a word, she obeys. I like this Gina.

  “Rub yourself. All around. Are you wet?”

  “Yes.” Her voice is a husky whisper.

  “You aren’t even close to where I’m taking you. Make yourself come. Now. Fast.”

  Her hand works fast, moving over her clit in a rapid motion. I nearly make her stop because I’m about to bust a nut. She climaxes in a soft moan, her head thrown back, and I want so badly to kiss her mouth, only I don’t. I hold back.

  Rolling a condom on, I hold my cock and rub it up and down over her slit. I repeat this over and over. Placing her feet on my shoulders, I say, “Eyes over here,” and I point to where my cock is. I slap her clit with my dick. She moans. I keep that up until she’s writhing around, and then I plunge inside her.

  “I want your pussy stretched around me until you scream when you come.” With relentless strokes, I intend to keep that promise to her. Her pebbled nipples arch toward me, so I pinch and twist them as she grinds her hips into me. When I get close, my thumb presses on her clit, and reaching beneath her, I slide a finger into her ass. She screams my name as she comes, and I shoot off around the same time, pumping my orgasm into her. Or I should say into the condom.