Igniting the Wild Sparks

by Alexander, Ren

Quite possibly.

  Shit. How is this happening?

  She looks unsure as she nods and kisses me.

  Trust me. I’m confused as fuck, too.

  We eat lunch and get to the ball field. I had to borrow some of Becks’ makeup to cover my love bite, but it’s not the good stuff I have, so I’m expecting some jokes.

  Becks told me about Morgan’s wedding moving up two weeks. That cuts it close to the vacation I have planned with her. Weddings are a drag, but I’m especially not looking forward to that wedding. I don’t want to see Becks dancing with other men. She more than likely will also be dancing with Rodwell at some point during the night. The only thing besides alcohol that will get me through it would be seeing Becks in that mystery dress and knowing we’ll have a hotel room. If I’m even able to go to the wedding.

  With one arm hung over Becks’ shoulder, while carrying the bag of balls slung over mine, I make sure we walk slowly from the lot to the field. I’ll have to make another trip for the bats since Ricky will be out today again. He’s been working extra shifts, naturally when I need him the most. We haven’t even talked much this week, only texts here and there.

  Reaching the field, I toss the bag down in front of the bench Morgan is sitting on. I’m still pissed at her for attacking me at dinner; however, she’s not the reason I wanted to propose to Becks that night. I want Becks to know that I’m eternally hers, but how can I prove that when I’m such a pussy and won’t actually marry her?

  With my arm around her, I pull Becks to me and kiss her cheek. Nodding to the bench, I say, “Okay, Becks. Sit.” Off to the side, I notice Betsy and Shasta whispering. I narrow my eyes at them, causing them to instantly stop talking. Those bitches had better not give Becks a hard time or I will enjoy taking turns benching them for most of the games.

  Looking to Becks, her beautiful face scrunches into a frown. “I’m not a golden retriever, Finn.”

  “You promised you would sit if I brought you.” She’s not going to argue with me and get hurt, particularly when she now, very possibly, is carrying our child. I’ll take her home and watch her, if I have to. Though, I’m not a very good bodyguard since I can’t seem to control myself with her.

  I pat her back as she pouts. “So bossy,” she grumbles on the way to the bench while fixing her ponytail. I wish she’d leave her hair down more.

  I put my hands on my hips. “Yep, I am. Cocky, too, and don’t you forget it, dearest.” She pivots and her eyes grow large as her lips part, like she’s going to say something, but I beat her to it. “Morgan, make sure she’s camped out here with you. The doctor said for her to take it easy.” I’ve already done a literal fuck job of that one.

  “I’ll watch her, coach.” Morgan smiles and hooks her arm with Becks’. Shooting another warning glance to Shasta and Betsy, I pull down my sunglasses and stride away from the field to go get the bats.

  I only make it a short distance when Becks shouts, “I’m watching softball practice, not mining coal, coach!” I then hear giggling. She thinks I’m joking?

  Sighing, I stop and turn around, loudly saying, “Your mouth is going to get you into trouble.” I know of other ways she can put that mouth of hers to good use.

  She stands and walks up to me, crossing her arms, striving to test me yet again, I know it. No doubt rubbing it in that I failed her last dare. Her green eyes spiritedly glitter. “Yep, but you love me mouthy, sweetie.”

  From behind my sunglasses, I impatiently roll my eyes, not in the mood to play around and she not listen to me. I guide her back to the bench and gently coerce her to take a seat once more. Stooping, nose to nose, I tell her, “Sit. Stay.”

  When I stand, she asks, “Will you give me a doggie bone?” She puts her hands as if she’s begging like a dog, and pants. I inhale and restlessly lick my bottom lip. This was a bad idea to bring her. I’m not going to be able to focus on the team.

  “No, but I bet he’ll give you his bone,” Rod says, walking in front of me and sitting down next to her. Already did that, dipshit. I can’t even keep my dick in my pants around her.

  Exasperated from this conversation, I shake my head and walk back to my car.

  As I open my trunk to grab the bats, a voice behind me says, “Hey there, Finn. How’s Hadley?”

  Shutting the lid, I turn to Cara. “She’s okay. She’s benched for a week, maybe longer. She won’t be playing shortstop anymore.”

  She squints her blue eyes in the sun. “Why? I thought she was doing a good job.”

  I set the bag down, lean against the back of my car and cross my arms. “I don’t want her in the infield.”

  Cara puts her hands in her back pockets, and it pushes her tits outward more in her white T-shirt. They’re nice, but nothing like my Becks’. “Really? I think it’d be a waste for her to be in the outfield.” She grins. Her lipstick is too much. I love how Becks keeps it low-key if she wears any at all, which I prefer her without.

  “Why do you care? You didn’t seem to before.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t see her play yesterday. She was good.”

  “Well, I’d rather her not get hit again.”

  “You can’t give her preferential treatment, Finn. Anyone can get hit.”

  “I’m not as concerned with anyone else. Hadley is my priority.” She’s everything to me.

  She perceptively shakes her head. “You seem a little overprotective of her more than usual. Is there something going on?”

  I scratch my jaw and thrust my other hand into my jeans pocket. “No.” I’m not telling her anything else. I’ve told her too much already.

  “She’s not pregnant, is she?” She might be after our most recent sexcapades.

  Crossing my arms, I frown and look past her to the field, even though she can’t see my eyes too well behind my glasses. “What makes you ask that?” I have no time for this bullshit. I need to get back so I can keep an eye on Becks.

  “She got hit in the stomach. Did she find out at the hospital or something?”

  “No. Where do you draw these conclusions? I just don’t want her getting hit again in the same spot. With bruising already there, it could kill her.” And that would kill me.

  Still sounding somewhat doubtful, she replies, “Okay. Rod feels so bad about hitting her.”

  I look back to Cara. “I’m sure he does. It’s not like he would intentionally hurt her. They’re coworkers and friends.”

  “He seemed really upset.”

  “Yeah. Not a surprise. I think he’d be upset if he had hit anyone.”

  “No. Hadley’s different.” I know she is.

  “Like I said, they’re friends.”

  “They definitely look close.” She nods her head to the side and I look over. Rod has his arm around her and his head close to hers. My body tenses and I grit my teeth. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “No,” I lie.

  “Before you got here yesterday, he was basically pawing all over her. She didn’t seem to mind. And then last Saturday when you were at the speedway, he was picking her up and touching her a lot. Do you think they’re…?”

  I snap my head back to her. “Do I think they’re what? Fucking?” I didn’t give it much thought until Cara started pointing out the signs recently. Am I that blind? Becks said they’re just friends and he’s like a brother. I believe her. I seriously want to.

  Cara flinches at my sharp tone, but then shrugs. “I made a joke about him being her other boyfriend. She laughed, but didn’t deny it too much.”

  “Huh?” I bow my head as I digest that, looking at the ground for answers. I put a hand on a hip and agitatedly burrow into my hair with the other.

  “She said they’re only friends, but the look on her face hinted otherwise.”

  I glance up and drop my hand from my hair. Cara smiles and observes the mess I left my hair, I imagine. I ask, “How would you know? They’re friends. I trust her. She loves me, not him.” Doesn’t she?

  “Okay. I hope you can trust
her. They seem to boost their affection for each other when you’re not around.”

  I vigorously shake my head and glare at her. “She doesn’t want him.” Or so I thought. She told me I’m the only one she wants.

  “She sure could’ve fooled me.”

  I watch Becks and Rod laugh. She smacks his leg and he moves to rub the back of her shoulder. Could they be sleeping together? Does she let him see her stunning, naked body? Could she be telling him the same things she whispers to me while we make love? Touching him the same way she touches me? Tells that jackass she loves him and wants to get married? Am I an idiot to think that those very sentiments were special and only meant for me? Does he promise her that he will marry her and give her the children she wants since I won’t?

  No. I want to be the one to put a ring on her finger. I want to be the one to father her children.

  So why don’t I?

  Because I’m a world-class dick.

  If Becks leaves me for Greg Rodwell, my fucking life is over. One of my dares was from my best friend to take shooting lessons at a gun range. Ricky also has a nice collection and I have easy access.

  “Finn? What’s wrong?”

  “What?” I look around and impatiently inhale. “Nothing. I have to start practice.” I grab the bag of bats and make my way over with Cara trailing behind. Val is passing out bright red hats with Legal Eagles written across the front in white. I need to talk to her about Becks taking vacation time next week. I’ve been busy or people have been around.

  “Here, coach!” She hands me one and I put it on, adjusting the plastic strap in the back. I glance over at Becks and she gives me her pretty smile. I can’t help but smile back. “Okay, here are our shirts! I have the sizes written down next to the names, so bear with me. Coach, here is your shirt. Cara, this one is yours. I have Ricky’s. Rod, sweet pea, here’s yours.”

  I lean against the chain link behind home plate and Cara stands near me, weirdly surveying the group. What’s she doing? Looking for more telltale signs of an affair between Becks and Rod?

  Should I be?

  Morgan laughs. “How much you want to bet Sweet Pea’s number is negative 9 and has Dick Rod on the back?”

  “I’m Rodwell and number 3, hag.”

  “Sylvie. Betsy. Brandon. Morgan, here are yours.”

  “Let’s check out yours, Morticia, 666.”

  “Hilarious, Ass Rod. I’m Yates, 4. How gross that I’m so close to yours.”

  “And I guess Val doesn’t think your marriage is going to work since she opted for your spinster name.”

  Val says, “It’s bad luck before the wedding, Rod.”

  Rod sneers, “Ivan said bye-bye to luck the day he proposed.” Morgan flips him the bird and I laugh. I glance at Becks and see her blankly staring at her hat. Is she thinking about my non-proposal now?

  “Betsy, here’s yours. Shasta, hon. Crick.”

  “What number did you get, Crock?”

  Becks frowns up at Rod. “Be nice and stop changing his name.”

  “I could call him something way worse that rhymes with Crick.”

  “Knock it off, you ass hat. That’s my assistant,” Morgan gripes.

  “My condolences to you, Crack.”

  “Children…” Val warbles as she reads the packing slip.

  Becks scolds, “You changed his name twice in the last five seconds.”

  “Three if you count the one I was thinking of.” Rod looks up from Becks and yells, “Crunk, what’s your number, bro?” Make that four times.

  “Six.”

  “Aw, yeah. I’m a higher rank.”

  “No ranking, Rod. They were mostly random,” Val informs him.

  “Mostly?”

  “Babe, here’s yours.” Aware of that’s what Val calls Becks from other times at practice, I jog over and take it from her before Becks can get up.

  Delivering it to her, I say, “Here, babe.” I smirk and hand Becks the red shirt.

  Rod practically hops over. “Hadders, is your name spelled right? What number did you get?”

  She unfolds the shirt and her beaming face rivals the sun. “Becks, 11.” Only she gets the meaning.

  “You’re way down the rankings. You’re in Suckville. I guess they charge by the letter and you got fucked.”

  “Gregory!” Val admonishes.

  Peering up at me, Becks happily says, “It’s perfect.”

  I grin and bite my lip to curb my amusement somewhat.

  It’s good to be coach.

  CHAPTER 12

  After we made love Saturday night and he told me he won’t marry me, even though he wants to, I was heartbroken. Again. Still reeling from last week’s false proposal, I went to the bathroom and threw up twice. I don’t know if it was from his admission, or because of the fact that I hadn’t eaten anything substantial the entire day, or because I’m even more uncertain now of proposing to him, being on edge about my boyfriend’s inexplicable feelings. Why am I setting myself up for that kind of rejection?

  The weird thing is, ever since he rescued me after Rod’s perfect aim, I’ve felt closer to Sparks. That’s mindboggling because that night, he had said he wants to marry me, yet in almost the same breath, he said he won’t. I’m so bewildered. I never had expected he was hiding that secret from me. I thought I knew for sure he didn’t want to marry me. I can’t get his words out of my head, “Hadley, I want to be your husband… I do want to marry you.” They have echoed in my thoughts every second since he uttered them to me in the dark. I should be more upset about it; however, strangely enough, I’m not as hurt as I probably should be. Maybe I puked all of my sadness out, or maybe it’s because he admitted he does want to marry me. I know he’s afraid, but for some reason, I hold onto this new hope that he’ll overcome it.

  I attacked him Sunday morning. It’s plain and simple. I don’t know what came over me. When he walked out into the living room wearing his boxers and his glasses, that sudden urge to ride him hard struck me considerably more than Rod’s turn at bat did. I couldn’t keep my eyes off Sparks’ body as he talked, imagining how he would feel sliding into me, even though it hadn’t been long since he had done just that the night before with such passion, and confessions that whisked my universe through a blender. On the sofa, a small part of me wanted to tease him after his jerking me around for three years, and to drive him wild like he does to me daily. I didn’t know if I could pull it off, but I amazingly did. He was putty in my hands, as I soon found him to be. He usually seems to when he’s with me, but I still have doubts that I can affect him that way. However, I hadn’t thought it all the way through because I didn’t have a condom nearby. He didn’t care, which at first, didn’t surprise me because of his hatred for them, but to actually come inside me without any protection for him, astounds me after our fight about that very subject.

  When Val is finished passing out our shirts and hats, Finn gets with Cara to go over some changes he made with field positions since I won’t be playing for a week. Longer if my coach has his way.

  Standing with my coworkers, they all fire question after question:

  “What was going through your mind when you were hit?”

  “Is our coach taking good care of you?”

  “Were you shocked when Finn showed up?”

  “Are you going to sue Rod?”

  “Could you take your shirt off and be a walking PSA for softball safety?”

  Scowling at Rod for his ridiculous suggestion, I then switch gears and say, “You’d better watch, Brandon, I’m going to steal shortstop with my mad catching skills.” Brandon, Morgan, Val, Gloria, Sylvie, Rhonda, and Rod all laugh at my blatant joke, but a hand grabs my elbow and tugs from behind.

  Finn’s deep voice growls in my ear, “I need to talk to you. Now.”

  As he steers me away, I anxiously ask, “What?”

  He walks us to the bathrooms before dropping my arm and nodding to the field. “What’s that shit about? You’re not playing shortsto
p. I’ve told you that. Discussion over.”

  I petulantly glower up at him. “Well, damn, Finn, why don’t you tie me to the bench since the dog treats you toss me don’t seem to be sufficient.”

  Not in a humorous state of mind, he snaps, “Don’t start arguing with me here because I promise you, I will win.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He spools his bottom lip under his teeth and says, “If you want to keep pushing me about playing, or doing shit to get even more hurt, you’re done. I’ll take you home and you won’t come back here.”

  Feeling defiant from his snotty attitude, I cross my arms and roll my eyes. “You can’t ban me from a park, Finn. I’m here to support my team, and hopefully play again soon.”

  He seethes, “Enough about fucking shortstop. I don’t care how well you’re feeling. I said you’re not playing it, so get it out of your head because you’re driving me crazy.”

  I frown and retort, “How nice of you. I’m so glad I can drive you crazy outside of our bed. Oh, wait. There was the sofa. Twice.”

  Leaning close, he menacingly says, “Keep it up with the smart mouth and I’ll end your outfield position, too.”

  “You’d kick me off the team?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “And if I won’t go?”

  He complacently smiles. “Then I’ll go, but you’ll come with me.”

  “You think so, do you? Maybe I won’t.”

  His smug laugh is almost scary. “You want to bet?”

  I shake my head and doubtfully laugh at his insane order. “You can’t make me quit.”

  His smile immediately evaporates, along with any rational thought. “Fucking watch me.”

  “Finn, what is your problem? I’m fine!”

  “Until you’re not because you won’t listen to a damn thing I tell you.”

  “I do listen to you, but I think you’re taking your interest in my well-being a bit too far, don’t you?”

  The muscles in his arms strain as he clenches his fists. “Is that an actual question?”

  “Lighten up! I have a bruise. I’m not fighting for my life.”