by Jillian Dodd
"Uh, okay. See you then, I guess. Is everything okay, Palmer?"
"Everything is perfect, Cade."
A few hours later, she shows up looking like a total smoke show, even though she's wearing a very demure shirtwaist dress with high heels like a sixties housewife.
She shuts the door behind my assistant, leans against it, and not-so discreetly locks it, giving me a tempestuous smile as she approaches my desk.
"What are you up to, Miss Montlake?"
"What makes you think I'm up to something, Mr. Crawford?" she purrs.
"Because you walked in here looking like a sex kitten, locked the door, and you don't seem to have brought any lunch."
She takes out the clip holding up her hair, shaking it as it falls over her shoulders.
I start to rise, in more ways than one.
"Don't get up. It's not time for lunch yet." She unbuttons her dress, slowly revealing slivers of skin and red lace.
When she lets the dress slide down to the floor and steps toward me, I stand and hold my hand out toward her.
Her long legs are encased in nude colored stockings held in place by a red garter with a matching thong. Her slim waist is highlighted by a red lace bustier, the cups see-through, allowing me a peek of her sensational breasts.
I feel myself harden as she leans across the desk. I mimic her move and am rewarded with a steamy kiss.
I push against the edge of the desk, willing it to disappear.
Palmer turns away from me, plops her fine ass on my desk, then spins around toward me, so that her legs are now spread eagle in front of me.
Eager with anticipation, I undo my belt and grasp my zipper. She stands, her high heels bringing us almost face to face, while she unzips my pants for me.
When they hit the floor, she drops to her knees in front of me, pushes off my boxer briefs, and wraps her hand around the base of my cock while tracing the tip with her tongue. My dick grows harder when she takes it fully into her mouth. She guides me in and out, pleasuring me until I'm ready to burst.
I pull back, causing her to look up at me through her long eyelashes.
"I want you to fuck me on your desk today, because it's something we've never done before. But just now I realized that we never even kissed in your office once, let alone sucked and fucked."
"If you keep doing that, I'm going to--"
"I know exactly what you'll do, Cade," she replies, getting up off her knees, slipping out of her panties and tossing them aside.
Then she hops her naked ass back onto my desk and spreads her legs, allowing me entry.
I don't need an engraved invitation.
I grab her thighs, pushing them further apart and drop to my knees, pulling her wetness to my lips. I circle her clit with my tongue then bury it inside of her. After giving her a good tongue fucking, I slide two fingers inside her while I suck her clit, quickly sending her over the edge.
She leans back and lets out a throaty moan.
I can't take it any longer. I'm going to blow my load just watching her orgasm. Her back is arched, her head tipped back, her mouth open and crying out my name. It's sexy as fuck.
I remove my fingers from her and replace them with my dick, slamming into her glistening wetness with ease. She tightens, giving my dick a gentle squeeze that nearly undoes me.
"Oh fuck, Cade. That feels so good. Your fingers are incredible, but nothing can top having your hard dick inside of me." She grabs the back of my neck and pulls me toward her, forcing me to stay motionless inside her. She kisses me, our tongues playing an exquisite game of tug-of-war. I move my lips to her neck, knowing she loves the way it tickles. She lets out a sweet giggle then wraps her long legs around me, allowing me deeper access into her warmth.
"You have a dirty mouth," I say, tugging at her lip.
"And you love it."
God, do I. This woman turns me on.
Usually I'd start slowly and pick up the pace, but I'm beyond that point. I grab her ass, plunging in and out of her until we're both gasping for air and begging each other for release.
My breath speeds up then I groan deeply, a guttural sound I can't control as I climax, falling limply on top of her.
She catches her breath then trails her lips slowly across my neck.
"That was the best lunch I've ever had," she whispers in my ear. "You know all those times we met in your office, this is all I could think about."
I pull her up to a sitting position and glide my knuckles across her bustier. "This lacy stuff is really pretty."
"Pretty or hot?"
"Fucking hot, Palmer. And so you know, just because I wouldn't do anything with you in my office, doesn't mean I haven't thought about it. In fact, doing you on my desk has always been my biggest fantasy."
I pull out of her and dispose of the condom.
"I didn't even know you slid that on. Thank goodness someone was thinking clearly," she says, picking up her dress.
I swipe it out of her hands and help put it on, buttoning each one of the tiny buttons. Then I pick her thong up off the floor.
"I'm keeping this here," I say, dropping it into my desk drawer.
"Like a trophy?"
"Exactly like a trophy. Just because--"
"Tell me about it. Your fantasy," she says, her eyes bright and wide.
I pick her up, carry her to my couch, and sit down with her in my lap.
"Do you remember when you stopped by my office late one night on the way to a party?"
"I do. It was my first celebrity party as an actress. I had just started filming my first movie."
"You looked like you'd been out in the sun that day, because the freckles sprinkled across your nose were darker. Your hair was in a messy side braid. You had that fresh-faced innocent look people fell in love with. I fell in love with."
"Do you remember what I was wearing?"
"Oh, yeah. Talk about a walking contradiction. You had on a pale pink dress. Even the color screamed sweetness. Except that it looked liked bandages were wrapped tightly around your body, and it was cut so low. And you had on silver stilettos. Freaking took my breath away."
"You asked me to stop by to sign a contract."
"And when you asked me for a pen, you looked straight at my crotch."
She giggles and runs her hand through my hair. "Silly, that's because you were standing, and the pen was on your desk--at crotch level."
"Yeah, bullshit. You were trying again to seduce me."
"Next time I come for lunch, I'm braiding my hair and wearing that dress."
"The next time you come at lunch, is going to be in a few minutes," I tease, sliding my hand back under her dress.
Pike
I'm in the clubhouse with the team. I've been thinking all day about what I could say that would motivate them. About what motivates me. The series is tied three to three, and tonight's game decides which team will win.
I wheel myself into the center of the room. I had a speech planned, but as I look down at my leg, I change my mind.
"I was asked to say something that would motivate you all. A rah-rah speech. But I ain't no fucking cheerleader. I've played on a whole lot of teams in my career, but this team has something special that our opponent doesn't have. We're a team. What that means is we're not about a few hotshots like they are. Every single guy on our team is a standout. Every single guy here is good at his job." I motion to the first baseman. "Will you help me unwrap the bandage from around my leg?"
"Uh, sure, Pike," he says, carefully unwinding it and exposing the cast-like splints on each side.
"I'd like each of you to sign this splint," I say, pointing to one of them.
The guys look confused, wondering what the heck is going on, but do as I ask and sign it.
"You're probably wondering why I had you do that. This is why. When we come back to this clubhouse after the game, I'm going to take these splints off and I'm going to hang them on the wall for L.A. to see. I want them to know that it didn't
matter that they took one of us out. It didn't matter, because every single player on this team is a standout. And guess what we're going to write on the other splint."
"World Series Champions!" the team yells in unison.
"You fucking got that right. Because when we come back here, to this very spot, that's exactly what we're going to be! Now get out there and kick some ass!"
Cade
It's the bottom of the ninth inning, bases loaded, one out. Tampa is leading the game four runs to two.
Los Angeles' batter takes a few practice swings then steps inside the box. The pitcher winds up and throws a fastball straight down the middle.
Strike one.
The catcher throws the ball back and flashes the signal. The pitcher throws, and the batter swings and connects--a grounder to the shortstop.
The shortstop throws it to the second baseman for the out. The second baseman then turns and quickly throws out the runner at first.
"Double play!" the announcer yells. "Tampa has won! Tampa has won! Tampa has won the World Series!"
Carter and I cheer like crazy. We watched the majority of the game from a sky box, but in anticipation of the end of the game, we moved closer to the field.
As we make our way onto it, the winning team gang tackles the men who made the double play. The players and coaches rush out to join them in celebration.
All except for Pike, who is sitting in the dugout, his head down.
"Aw, fuck," I say, knowing exactly how he feels.
The team rushes the mound, jumping on Pike and ending up in a pile on the dirt.
I can't run out with the team, so I just stand on one foot, clapping and cheering.
As I watch them celebrate, I'm overcome with emotion. We've all worked so hard for this. I can't believe we actually won and are College World Series Champions.
I put my head down for a moment and say a grateful prayer.
When I look up, a dusty-uniformed Pike is standing in front of me.
"Come on, bud. You gotta be part of the celebration. We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you." He and a teammate lift me onto their shoulders and carry me out onto the field.
"What do you say, Carter?" I ask, pointing at Pike. "Will you help me?"
Carter fist bumps me, remembering. "I'd say you owe him."
We rush over to the dugout.
"Come on, bud," I say to Pike. "You gotta be part of the celebration. They wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."
We don't really wait for an answer. We lift him onto our shoulders and carry him out to the field.
Pike
Confetti rains down on me. Players congratulate each other.
I'm overcome with emotion.
And it's more than the thrill of victory. As I sit atop Cade and Carter's shoulders celebrating with my team, I realize that for the first time in years, my life feels right.
Palmer
I'm running with the players' families onto the field, looking for my brother, as the confetti rains down.
When I finally spot him, I stop dead in my tracks.
Carter and Cade have lifted him up on their shoulders and are carrying him out on the field--just like my brother did for Cade so many years ago.
I put my head down, mourning the loss of their friendship.
And knowing I caused it.
But as I continue to watch them, noticing the grins on their faces, I realize that maybe, just maybe, there is hope that they might overcome it.
Pike
After the trophy is given to us, the interviews are finished, the fans are applauded, and the confetti settles down, the team makes its way to the clubhouse.
Goggles are handed to us as we go inside. The lockers are covered in plastic in preparation for this.
Magnums of champagne are being guzzled and sprayed. Teammates are cheering, hugging, and pouring full bottles of champagne on each other's heads.
Everyone is soaked.
The music is turned up.
Coach holds up the trophy and more champagne flies. Players take turn holding the trophy and getting doused with champagne.
This goes on for at least an hour. Finally, everyone settles down, the win actually sinking in.
"We did it," a player says. "I can't believe we actually did it."
"I've been dreaming of this day since I was a kid," another says.
The team trainer helps me take off the splint everyone signed. I hold it up into the air to more cheers and then it's hung on the wall. The words World Series Champs are drawn graffiti-style on the other splint and added to the top.
I stand up on one leg and yell out, "Somebody get me a fucking boot!"
Cade
Palmer and I meet up after the team goes to the clubhouse.
"Need a lift?" I ask her. "I've got a limo."
"That sounds great," she says.
She's quiet in the car.
I put my hand on her knee. "What are you thinking about?"
"What you did for Pike," she says, tearing up, "was beautiful."
"I don't know about beautiful. He was hurt. I helped him. That's what teammates do."
"Except that you're not teammates anymore. You're not even friends. And it's all my fault. How can you not hate me for it?"
"Palmer, let's not get into this right now. It's been an amazing night. Your brother just won his first Series."
"See, you saying that tells me that you do!"
"I don't hate you."
"But you did."
"Sure, I did! I loved you, and your brother was my best friend. When you broke up with me, not only did I lose the love of my life, I lost my best friend, too. But I take equal blame. I should have told him how I felt about you years before that."
"How did you feel?" she whispers.
"Like we belonged together."
"I still feel that way, Cade."
"I do, too." I wrap my arm around her and enjoy that moment when she melts into my shoulder. She's worth fighting for. "And I don't care what anyone, including your brother, thinks. This is about our happiness, and we deserve to be happy. Starting now."
November 6th
Palmer
"Did you see this?" I ask Tory, turning on the TV in my office.
"I saw it live last night," she says, "I thought it was--"
"Folks," the announcer says, running a video clip. "This is the All-Star pitcher, Pike Montlake, whose fastball has inspired young pitchers around the world. As you all know, he suffered a horrific ankle and leg break in the first game of the Series. But he was back last night, cheering on his team. When that double play was made for the win, the team ran out onto the field. Everyone except for Pike, who is in a wheelchair. Now watch as two men come down from the stands, lift Pike onto their shoulders, and carry him out to celebrate.
"What you may not remember is that this same scene played out in similar fashion in another big game fifteen years earlier. It's the final game in the College World Series. Pike Montlake has pitched a nearly perfect game. A pop fly to centerfield means the runner on third tags up and takes off. And on this play, major league draft pick Cade Crawford is injured and carted off the field.
"With the winning run on second base and a back-up catcher, Pike throws three beautiful fastballs across home plate, for the strike out and the win. Pike is tackled on the mound, but watch what he does. He grabs a teammate, runs to the dugout, and puts a booted-up Crawford on their shoulders. The man last night who carried Pike onto the field to celebrate with his team was none other than Cade Crawford. This scene right here is why baseball is America's sport. A sport that goes beyond apple pie and hotdogs. It's the brotherhood and the friendships, that are formed on the Little League fields. It's the camaraderie. The love--felt in every city and country in our great land. Congratulations, Tampa, you are the World Series Champions!"
"You're crying," Tory says, wiping tears from her own eyes.
"I ruined that friendship," I tell her.
"From what I sa
w, it looks like it's still there."
"Maybe."
"Did Pike say anything about it?"
"He didn't come home last night. They moved the party from the clubhouse to the hotel. Then he went straight to interviews this morning."
"Oh, look!" Tory says, "He's on now!"
"Quick, turn it back up!" I say, as she fumbles with the remote.
"It's great to have you here, Pike," the sportscaster says. "You just watched those touching scenes. Can you tell me how it feels to have your lifelong friend return a fifteen-year-old favor?"
Pike scratches his forehead, then says, "It felt really great, Chad. Really great."
"Aww," Tory says, "he's all choked up. That's so sweet. I love baseball."
"You never watch baseball."
"I didn't realize it was so emotional," she says, fanning her face. "Plus, I met this guy at the bar last night who is in the minor leagues. Talk about a hottie."
The interviewer says to Pike, "And we heard a rumor about your future."
Pike says coyly, "Which one?"
"That you're in talks with L.A. to become their pitching coach. You going to take them up on it?"
"I'm under contract with Tampa, and we just won the World Series. That's what we should be talking about. Not to mention the fact that I'm not sure how my injury will affect my career."
"Okay, let's talk hypothetically. You decide to retire. Then what?"
Pike gives him a wide smile. "Well, I am a So Cal boy. I'd love to come back home, eventually."
"Wow," I say. "Just the other day he was telling me he wanted to buy a house on the Gulf."
"Maybe he thought that was his only option," Tory says. "Speaking of options." She flashes me her phone. "Which guy should I hang out with tonight? This one or this one?"
"What the hell, Tory?" I scream. "Those are dick pictures!"
"Nothing wrong with checking out the package before you buy the product," she giggles.
November 7th Pike
The days following the World Series win are a whirlwind of celebrations and interviews. The side-by-side shots of Cade and I are still playing on the news. We've become the poster children for what baseball is all about.
