Make Me Yours (Top Shelf Romance Book 4)

by Devney Perry

  “Maybe we can do it again sometime soon. Get together. Once the series is over, and you’re both around more.”

  “I’d love that,” I say, my heart hoping I get to have a lot more of these moments with them now that everything is out in the open.

  “Can you guys give me a minute with Scout?” my dad asks.

  “Let me walk you to the car, Easton. You may have lost your way, considering it’s right in front of you,” Sally jokes as I turn to my dad.

  “I just wanted to remind you that you can take or leave the contract. That contract was my dream and my goal, and I want you to have your own.” He squeezes my hand.

  “What if mine are the same as yours? What if I want to carry on your legacy?”

  “I’d like that,” he says with a soft smile as his eyes close momentarily. When he opens them up, there’s a clarity there I don’t expect. “Thank you for my gifts.”

  “Gifts? I only had one.”

  “Nah, you gave me two of the greatest gifts I could have ever asked for: knowing you’ll be okay . . . and seeing you in love.”

  I hug him as tight as I can to let him know those words were the greatest gift he could have ever given me in return. Knowing that he knows I’ll be all right.

  “I love you, Daddy.”

  “Clear mind. Full heart, Scouty-girl. Never forget that.”

  “Never.”

  Scout

  When I walk in the press box of the stadium, Easton sits with his head down studying the papers spread all over the counter in front of him. Not wanting to disturb him and ruin his concentration, I lean against the doorjamb and wait for him to notice me.

  “You done with work?” he asks without looking my way.

  “Yeah. Adler’s coming along and I completed my reports for Griswold,” I say referring to the interim general manager until Boseman finds a new one.

  “You heading home? You’ve been here all day, you must be exhausted.”

  “I am, but I figured I’d sit here with you awhile if you don’t mind.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know,” I say as I close the door and approach him. He remains focused on what he’s working on so I take in the view of the field from our position at the club level. The grass is in pristine shape, the World Series logos have been painted on the infield, and strings of plastic flags have been hung along the left and right field lines. There are a few guys on the field—it looks like JP, Guzman, and Santiago, taking a few extra cuts at the ball. Getting some additional batting practice in before the next game tomorrow.

  The Aces are tied with the Anaheim Angels, one game all, so the city is abuzz with the knowledge that they’ll be in front of the hometown crowd for the next three games.

  “You couldn’t have asked for a better location to have your broadcast, huh?” I put a hand on his back and scratch it softly.

  “The second best thing to playing in the series is broadcasting it.” I hear the bitterness and sarcasm in his voice and let it go without commenting. I’d feel the same way if I were in his shoes. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I get it. All I meant was at least you’re familiar with this booth and its layout since you’ve broadcast here before. Besides, this stadium is your second home of sorts so that might help combat the nerves some.”

  There’s a crack of the bat below. Some whooping as the ball hits the upper deck beyond the right field wall.

  But it’s Easton who demands my attention when he reaches out to pull me to him. When I step between his parted knees, he wraps his arms around my hips, pulls me into him, and rests his head on my abdomen. My hands automatically thread through his hair to reassure him that I’m here, still rooting for him, still the one who wants the best for him.

  “I’m nervous,” he admits after a few silent minutes, the heat of his breath seeping through the fabric of my shirt and warming my skin.

  “I know you are,” I tell him, trying to imagine what he’s going through—the pressure he’s put on himself and the fear of public scrutiny if he messes up. As soon as he was announced as part of the broadcasting lineup for tomorrow’s game, the assholes behind their keyboards started their bullshit.

  He holds on for a few minutes as the sounds of baseball below filter up to us when I get an idea. Something to make him a little more at ease. Something for him to remember when he’s feeling nervous during the commentating.

  “Hey, you know what they say to do when you get nervous, don’t you?” I ask, pulling away from him and walking toward the door. The stadium is far from vacant with the game tomorrow and the postseason preparation, but I’ll take the risk that no one is going to come knocking on the press booth door.

  “Picture everyone naked,” he says.

  I flip the lock on the door and turn around to face him, a more than coy smile on my lips. “You can do that.” I take a step toward him and lift one of my eyebrows. “Or you can imagine me standing here naked.”

  One corner of his mouth turns up in disbelief as his eyes narrow, curiosity owning his expression. And so I make good on my comment. I pull my tank top and sports bra over my head, the weight of my breasts falling when they’re free of the restrictive fabric.

  His eyes widen. “Oh, fuck.”

  “Exactly. Oh, fuck.”

  I toe my shoes off and shimmy off my exercise pants so I’m standing in the broadcast booth of the Austin Aces, completely naked, with an audience of one.

  He wets his lips and shifts in his chair.

  “You know what’s even better than imagining me naked?”

  “What’s that?” I love that he can’t keep his eyes from roaming all over my body as if it’s a treasure map he can’t wait to explore.

  “Imagining me sucking you off in the exact same chair you’ll be broadcasting from.”

  “Imagining you doing it or remembering you doing it from firsthand knowledge?” he asks as he shifts again in his seat, his erection tenting his shorts.

  “That depends,” I murmur as I step between his thighs again, lean down, and press my lips to his. I make the kiss soft and slow, so that when I break from it, he sits forward to try and take more.

  “Depends on what?” He chuckles.

  “Why your shorts are still on.”

  In a flurry of movement, he has his gym shorts shoved down to his ankles and has one foot out of their leg.

  With my eyes on his, I drop to my knees, lower my head, and ever so slowly slide his cock into my mouth. I press my tongue to its underside as my lips suction around him and am rewarded with a guttural groan when he hits the back of my throat. His eyes break from mine as they close and his head falls back.

  I take my time, letting the warmth of my mouth, the suction of my lips, and the pressure of my tongue work him up the ladder of ecstasy.

  “Goddamn,” he groans.

  Music to my ears.

  Holding him as deep as I can take him, I bring my hands into the mix. First with fingernails scraping gently over his balls. His thighs tighten. His feet flex. And then as I slide him out of my mouth, the release of the suction making a popping sound that fills the booth. I grab his shaft with my other hand and twist it gently as I begin to work it up and over his length while my mouth pleasures its tip.

  Easton’s hands are everywhere. First on the armrests. Then on his thighs. Then one fists in the back of my hair and holds my head as he lifts his hips and fucks my mouth.

  It’s erotic as hell.

  The sound of his groan. The pop of the suction when he breaks from my lips. The crack of the bat down below. Knowing people are right there while we’re doing this in here.

  Intoxicating.

  The groan he emits. The possession in his grip. His stilted praise between pants of breath.

  Empowering.

  Knowing I can give this to him. Not just the climax, but something to recall and put him at ease when he’s here tomorrow night. A little private moment to make him smile right before the nerves kick in when t
he teleprompter starts rolling.

  “Scout.” It’s a dirty moan as he bucks his hips up, and I suck harder. “Scout.” His dick swells and his muscles tense. “Scout.” And then he’s lost as I suck and swallow everything he has to give me. “Oh. God. Scout.”

  His grip loosens from my hair but he pulls back on it so I’m forced to look up to him. I bring a hand up to wipe my lips when he slips from my mouth.

  His disbelieving grin reaffirms the risk was definitely worth it.

  “You’re bad.”

  “Would you rather I be good?”

  “Hell, fucking, no.” His laugh fills the booth as he helps me rise from my knees. “Look at you. I didn’t even get to take advantage of all of this.” He runs his hands up and down the sides of my torso and murmurs in appreciation.

  I bat his hands away. “You can take advantage of it later. I’ve got to get dressed before we get caught.”

  I love the sound of his laugh. “Not so brave now, are you?”

  “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?” I ask as we begin to put our clothes back on.

  “Damn straight I did.” He looks like the cat that ate the canary right now. Smug as hell.

  “Don’t ever say I’m not a team player,” I tease.

  “You sure as hell just took one for the team.” He shakes his head and looks at the many papers in front of him before looking back to me. “And I’m more than certain that your generosity for the team will help ease my nerves tomorrow night.”

  “Good to know.”

  The love in his eyes is overwhelming and makes me unexpectedly uncomfortable. I avert my eyes and focus on tying my shoes, but when I look back up, he’s still there, still looking at me.

  “Are you done?” I ask.

  “Nah. I want to run through this a few more times. You going to head home?”

  “Do you mind if I stay here with you instead? I have my book to read so I promise I won’t bug you.”

  His smile is soft. “I’d like that.”

  Easton

  “Is Helen coming back tonight?” Scout asks as she dries her hair with a towel.

  “Nah,” I glance over to the kitchen clock and then back to the papers I’m shuffling through. “We’re done for the day.”

  Crap. Where are my notes?

  “You have to be exhausted. You’ve been practicing in the booth all day.”

  “Not all day.” God. Damn. Her sucking me off earlier was unexpected but fucking perfection.

  “Let’s not talk about that.” When I glance her way again, her cheeks are flush with embarrassment.

  “Don’t even . . .” I roll my eyes. “I know you, Scout Dalton. You don’t get to act all shy when I know the sexy vixen you are in private.”

  She laughs and that visual of the top of her head, the heat of her mouth, the suction of her lips . . . I’m one helluva lucky guy.

  “What are you looking for?” she asks, purposely changing the topic and drawing me back to the matter at hand—finding my cheat sheets for the broadcast tomorrow.

  “I think I left them at the stadium.”

  “Left what?”

  “My notes. I’ve got to run back and get them.”

  “Ah . . . just when I was going to let you take advantage of the rest of me.”

  “You were?” Music to my ears.

  “I’ll be in bed.” Her smile tells me she’s damn serious. “Naked. And waiting.”

  “I’ll hurry.”

  Yep. I’m one lucky son of a bitch.

  With my notes in my hand and thoughts of exactly what I want to do to Scout when I get home on my mind, I jog down the halls of the club level feeling damn good about life in general.

  Things with Scout are incredible.

  I’m more than prepared for tomorrow.

  My shoulder is coming along.

  The Aces are in the series. And fuck, I technically may be a Wrangler, but my heart will always be with the Aces. At least I get to call the game. It’s not playing but it’s better than nothing.

  I round the corner.

  And stare.

  What the hell?

  “You have to stop talking about this here. People will start noticing.”

  “Let them talk.” Santiago throws his hands up. “See if I care. It’s your image you’re trying to preserve by keeping this all secret. Not mine.”

  “Keep your voice down, will you?” my dad says with a resignation I’ve never heard from him before.

  I can’t move even though every part of me tells me I don’t want to know what they’re talking about.

  “Where do you want to discuss this then, Cal? You refuse to talk to me at your house. You won’t meet me anywhere else because God forbid someone sees us out in public together—the father and the villain—and starts asking questions. Here we’re expected to talk to each other. Here we’ll get overlooked. Here your precious fucking son might not question it.”

  My shoes squeak and both of them snap their attention my way. I shake my head as I look from Santiago then to my dad.

  Oh my fucking God.

  “Are you kidding me?” I think I say it. I’m not sure because my head is full of so much white noise right now I can’t even . . .

  How the hell have I never seen . . .

  Fuck.

  Santiago is my dad’s son?

  My half-brother?

  “I can explain.” My dad steps forward but I take one back, head still shaking and mind still wanting not to believe.

  “No. Just . . .” I blink my eyes several times trying to unsee what I’m seeing. The same shaped eyes, the same chin. It’s barely noticeable with the difference in their skin colors, but I can see it. And now I can’t not see it. “Is it true?” I ask, my voice a croaked whisper.

  My dad’s mouth pulls tight as he meets my eyes. And nods. “Easton, let me—”

  “Fuck this.” I turn on my heel to escape as he calls after me. Walking to jogging to full-on sprinting. Anything to get out of this concrete maze that feels like quicksand pulling me under.

  I need fresh air.

  I can’t breathe.

  I can’t think.

  I shove open the door to the parking lot. My hands are on my knees as I suck in air.

  Scout.

  I need Scout.

  I jog home. Fidget restlessly in the elevator pushing the P button several times as if it will make it ascend faster.

  The door opens.

  “Scout! Scout!”

  She runs out from the bedroom and stops in her tracks when she sees me.

  “Easton.” Her voice is calm, her eyes are cautious. “Your dad just called. What happened?”

  “What did he say?” She takes a step toward me and I take one back. I just . . . I need . . . what is happening here?

  “Oh shit,” she says, voice cracking. She takes a deep breath and looks back at me.

  “You knew?”

  “Not for sure. I still don’t,” she stutters in argument. My chest constricts from her words. “I ran into your dad and Santiago the other day—”

  “What? When? Where? Christ.” It dawns on me: Scout wide-eyed and out of breath when she slammed open the doors to the parking lot. “Was it when my dad followed you out of the stadium?”

  She nods.

  Fucking hell. Why would she keep it from me if she thought . . .

  Anger slowly creeps and seeps into every part of me. “You knew and didn’t tell me?”

  She holds her hands up. “I overheard them whispering a few words and drew my own conclusions, but I didn’t know for sure. And I sure as hell didn’t ask.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I want to shout at her, shake her, get some kind of reaction out of her because I have so much anger and confusion eating at me from the inside out that I don’t know what to do or say or how to feel.

  But I can’t. This isn’t her fault. Not a damn fucking thing. No, Santiago isn’t her fault. He’s my dad’s.

  “I was going to tell yo
u—”

  “But you didn’t. Were . . . were you going to?”

  “After tomorrow night.” Her voice is so soft compared to my shouting. Day to my night. Light to my dark. Fucked to my fucked up. “I didn’t want it to affect you and the broadcast. You’ve been studying so hard and I wanted you to have a clear head and—”

  “Yeah, well, that’s shot to hell now, isn’t it?”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  My dad has another kid. How long has he known about him? How long has he kept him a secret? Does my mom . . . Shit. My mom.

  “Santi-fucking-ago.” I bring both hands to the sides of my head and walk from one length of the room to the other. So many thoughts. So many questions.

  “Easton.” She reaches out to me and as much as I want to back away, to shrink into a hole and pretend this isn’t happening, I don’t. She’s the one person I trust right now when I feel like I can’t trust anyone.

  Even myself.

  “I feel like I’m drowning. Like I can’t breathe. I’ve got to go. To think. To . . . I don’t know what.”

  I grab my car keys from the basket and push the button for the elevator.

  “Stay. Talk to me. Please.” The break in her voice nearly kills me. Begs me to stay here when right now I know I can’t.

  I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and wish this all away. When I open them though, nothing has changed. She’s still here, and he’s still my half-brother.

  The two things I know for sure.

  “I won’t do anything stupid,” I say as a tear slides down her cheek. “I just need some time to think.”

  She nods. She gets me. She understands.

  And yet I understand nothing.

  “Open up.” The door rattles as I pound on it. “C’mon, Mom, open up.”

  Lies upon lies. So many lies.

  Anger. Confusion. Hurt. Betrayal. All four crash head-on inside me.

  “Mom. I need you to answer the door.” Bang. Bang. Bang.

  My dad’s the reason my mom is broken. His lies broke her.

  “Easton? Easton, are you okay?” her slurred yet muted voice comes through the door before the distinct sound of the locks opening can be heard.