by Laney Smith
“Um,” Scottie hummed, swallowing down the lump in her throat. “Are we talking about houses, still?”
A dimply grin spread across Ryan’s face. “Of course, we are.”
“Wrong answer,” she nervously flirted.
“You flirt with me so I’ll buy a house. I’ve got your number,” he challenged.
“Does it make you want to buy a house?”
Ryan pursed his lips and shook his head. “Not at all.”
“Then, maybe I’m not doing it to make you buy a house. I don’t miss too many sales. So, if you’re not wanting to buy a house, maybe I’m not flirting with you to get you to buy one. I’m very good at what I do.”
“Are we still talking about houses?”
She smiled, folding her lower lip inward, pinning it between her teeth. “Of course, we are.”
Ryan returned her smile. “Liar! So, you’re not trying to sell me this house. I’m not trying to buy this house. Why are we standing in this house?”
“Because you’re not doing anything other than standing in this house, I guess.”
Ryan tilted his head. “I see. I’m not that easy. You have to let me ask you to dinner before I invite you to play with me.”
“What makes you think I want to play with you?” she teased.
Ryan stepped closer, their bodies practically touching. His voice was warm and barely more than a whisper. “Playing is what I do. Like you, I’m also very good at what I do. Plus, I might have picked up on a hint or two.”
“So, you’re really a baseball player, huh?”
Ryan shook his head. “Not anymore. Is that a problem?”
“I’m not a baseball player, either. Is that a problem?”
Ryan’s eyes shifted around the room as though he were pondering her question. “I wasn’t real fuzzy on that. I think I kind of figured that out.”
“So, are we going to dinner?”
Ryan looked at his watch as he turned his baseball cap around backwards on his head. “It’s kind of early for dinner, isn’t it?”
“Well, we’ve got time to kill, then. Whatever shall we do?” she softly challenged as her eyes stared up at him.
Ryan lowered his head, staring into her eyes. “You talk too much.”
He boldly kissed her. Scottie’s chest rose and fell as his smiling lips lingered by hers. The thrill of having sex with a good-looking stranger had always been one of her wildest fantasies. She had hoped for a moment like this with several of her clients, and Ryan was the latest on her radar. Now that the opportunity presented itself, she was even more turned on than she ever imagined she would be. Her heart raced and her breath hitched. She wanted to play his game.
“I’ve never had sex with a baseball player,” she breathed.
“It’s just like having sex with any other player,” he smiled.
His mouth covered hers, gently sucking on her lips before his tongue swept through her mouth. Scottie wrapped her arms around his neck. In less than a heartbeat, in the middle of this vacant house, they were engulfed in a hot, racy foreplay session.
Scottie reached between the two, tugging at the closure on Ryan’s jeans. She slid her hand between his boxers and his skin, massaging his manhood as their kiss became more passionate. Ryan gripped her butt, pulling her body closer to his. He broke their kiss, both trying to catch their breath as their eyes met.
“We’re about to get really close to home base,” he softly said through his panting. “If you want to stop . . .”
Scottie stretched up on her tiptoes, biting at his lower lip. “You talk too much,” she whispered.
Ryan pushed her against the wall, claiming her mouth, flicking his tongue as he put his hand up her skirt. They each teased the other until Ryan pulled away to put a condom on. As he tore the package open, Scottie removed her panties.
“Are you having fun?” he asked.
“I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t do me any good to lie. I would think you’re able to tell.”
Ryan chuckled. He gripped the hem of her skirt, tugging it up as he wedged his body between her thighs.
“Yeah. Don’t try to tell me you’re not having fun.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, again. His firm hands reached down, gripping her thighs and pulling her legs up to his hips, wrapping them around his waist. He guided his erection, teasing her before guiding it inside her. His hands settled on her hips, pushing down as he bumped his hips up, driving himself inside of her. She gently closed her eyes and drew a deep breath as he pushed in deeper. As he rocked his hips back and forth, Scottie’s fingertips dug into his shoulders. She noticed the scar on his right shoulder, her fingers brushing over it, lightly, as she looked at him with a questioning expression. He clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes, shaking his head as if to silently convey he had no intention of discussing the wound. To distract her, he focused on his primal needs. The more he gave her, the more she responded to him. The more she responded to him, the more he gave her to respond to.
“It feels like we’re about to knock a hole in this wall,” Scottie breathed.
“Hold on to me,” he coached.
He turned her away from the wall and lowered their bodies to the floor. He grinned at the woman beneath him, arching his eyebrows.
“Now, we can knock holes in the floor, instead.”
For the next hour, the two enjoyed the benefits of sharing their bodies. It was empty and shallow and going nowhere. Neither of them had a problem with that. Ryan fulfilled Scottie’s needs, and she fulfilled his. When they were satisfied, they each took a turn in the bathroom. After they had attended to what they needed to do to rejoin the outside world, the two stood in the empty house, embracing.
“Now, I need a nap,” Scottie sighed as she rested her head on Ryan’s chest.
“You have to eat, first. Remember? We had rules before this game started. I’m as hungry as a bear in spring. So, we have to go find food.”
“You lied to me,” Scottie whined.
“Lied to you? About what?”
“You said sex with a baseball player is just like any other player. That was hotter than hell. I’ve never had that much fun in my whole life.”
“Yeah. I know. But, I didn’t want to sound arrogant,” he teased.
“No! Seriously! That was so amazing! You just ripped me off the wall and threw me on the floor. It was so raw and wild. That was incredible. You’re really good in bed – or on the floor. Everywhere.”
“OK! Well, I’m glad you had fun. I don’t need a report card, or anything,” he chuckled.
“I’m trying to figure out how many other listings I can show you.”
“Oh! So, we’re just going to go all over town, having sex in random homes?” Ryan laughed before he shrugged. “OK! Sure.”
“My friends are going to think I’ve lost my mind. I’ve never had sex with a man as soon as I met him – like never before. I feel like such a bad girl. But, when they see you, trust me, they’ll completely understand.”
“What do you mean, when they see me?”
“They’re going to want to meet a baseball player, too. I want you to meet them. What’s the fun in sleeping with a hot, sexy, professional athlete if you can’t show him off?”
Ryan shook his head to the right and held it for a second before he did the same thing to the left, and back again, slowly shaking his head. “No, no, no. I’m not ready for the meet my friends stuff. You wanted to jump me. You waved it in my face. We were playing. We weren’t going for something real. At least I know I wasn’t.”
“So, you just run around, banging anyone you meet and then you’re done with them?” she asked.
“Yeah! Kind of. You kind of put it out there. You’re beautiful. I don’t think even a dead man would’ve turned this down,” he said, as he circled is finger above her head. “But, I’m not meeting your girlfriends and wearing matching sweaters or whatever.”
“So, if I called you and told you I wanted an instant replay, you’d
do it?”
Ryan scoffed as he smirked. “Within reason, yeah. I probably would.”
“Then, that’s all I care about.”
“Um . . . OK.”
~FIVE~
Scottie didn’t say anything about dinner and Ryan didn’t bother with reminding her. She had what she wanted from him and he wasn’t complaining about what he got from her, either. He was looking for something with “no strings.” Quick, easy, and over before it even got started. Scottie seemed willing to play that part. She just wanted bragging rights. She wasn’t the kind to care that his reputation had a few dings.
As Ryan opened the driver’s side door of his car, he noticed the clanking noise, again. It was familiar, somehow. He stopped just before he slid into his seat and looked around. Again, the noise rang out and sounded like a chain clanking against a flag pole. Ryan looked around, seeing no flag poles. As he listened, he heard the sound of an enthusiastic child, cheering. Curious, Ryan followed the sounds, searching for the source.
In a glen, just behind a house in the cul-de-sac, there was a young boy, tossing rocks into the air and hitting them with his metal baseball bat. Just as Ryan got to where he could clearly see the child, the kid hit a rock, sending it sailing right through one of the windows on the back side of a house. Ryan’s jaw dropped as he stared at the shattered window.
As fast as his legs would carry him, the little boy scrambled to the fence rail, lining the yard of the house he had accidentally vandalized. Ryan watched as the boy splayed both hands over the top of the baseball cap, perched upon his head. Ryan could see the boy panicking, trying to figure out how to get himself out of the predicament.
“Hey! Is this your house?” Ryan called to the boy.
“No,” the kid nervously answered. “It’s Mister Yarbrey’s house. This is a ‘zaster. He cooks kids.”
Ryan chuckled. “If you busted out my windows, I’d cook you, too.”
The boy slowly walked toward Ryan. As he approached, his fear turned to excitement as he studied Ryan’s face. The kid froze, outstretching his arms as though he were holding the world on his shoulders.
“No . . . way! You look exactly like Ryan Priest.”
Ryan jerked his head back. “No way! You think so?”
“I’m serious. You look exactly like him. You really do. He plays baseball. Well, he used to. He got in trouble, though. Lots of it. He did some bad stuff and they threw books at him, I guess,” the kid said and carelessly shrugged. “Then, he broke his arm, so he wimped out. But, before that, he was easily one of the greatest players to ever play the game.”
“How do you know?” Ryan asked.
“I love baseball. Even more than anything. I know everything about it.”
“Oh really? Then what’re you doing, dinging up your bat, driving rocks through people’s windows?”
The boy pointed to the window. “That . . . was an accident.”
“I’ve heard you hitting rocks for an hour. Look at your bat. See all those dimples? Why aren’t you swinging on a ball instead of rocks?”
“I hit my ball into the creek. My mom doesn’t have money to buy me a new one. Baseball is my whole, entire life! I have to practice every day.”
Ryan nodded. “I see. So, what’re you gonna do about this window? If your mom can’t buy a ball, I don’t guess she has money to buy a new window, either, huh?”
The boy looked back at the broken window. “She’s gonna kill me,” he sighed.
“What about your dad? Do you think he’s going to be happy? You know, my dad would’ve beat my ass for a stunt like this.”
“Yeah, well my dad isn’t like yours,” the boy snapped.
“You better go get him. The kid-cooker guy is going to figure out what you’ve done sooner or later. He’s gonna be looking to talk to your folks.”
“No. Mister Yarbrey is on vacation until next Wednesday.”
Ryan scoffed. “Oh, great! Well, you can’t just leave his house like this until he gets home. You know how to nail up plywood?”
“Uh, no.”
“Well, if you’re going to be drilling rocks through people’s windows, you might want to learn. Go get your mom or dad. I’ll help your dad cover this over.”
The boy squinted and pursed his lips, drawing his shoulder up to his ears. “Well . . . there might be one little, bitty problem with that.”
The kid was so cute. His baseball cap was too big for his little head and pushed down on his ears. Then, his facial expressions struck some chord in Ryan.
Ryan fought a smile as he sighed. “Oh, well, of course there’s gotta be a problem. Alright! So, now what’s the problem?”
“My mom is at work. I’m not even supposed to be outside unless she’s home.”
“Kid, you’re screwed. Where’s your dad?”
“I don’t have a dad, anymore. When I was a kid, he loaded his stuff into a car with a mean lady and they took off,” the boy said with a matter-of-fact emptiness, his hands swiping through the air as he talked.
“Really? That happened when you were a kid? Wow! That must’ve been a long time ago, huh? I mean, you’re practically a geriatric patient, at this point.”
“A what? What does that mean?”
“How old are you?”
“I’m seven. Well, technically, I’m eight. My birthday is in seven months, or six, or so.”
Ryan scrunched his face. “Then, technically, you’re seven. You’re not technically eight until it is technically your birthday. What’re you doing home by yourself, at seven years old?”
“I’m very mature for my age. My mom said she can’t find a babysitter that doesn’t cost a fortune. Half of the babysitters don’t show up, anyway. So, I have a set of rules I have to follow.”
Ryan pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yep! You’re doing really good with that, I see.”
“I’m gonna get dead. She’s going to kill me,” the boy groaned as he covered his face with both hands.
“You deserve it. You screwed up. When I screw up, I get in trouble. So, since you’re . . .
“This is the worst day of my life. What am I going to do?” the kid whined, hopelessly dropping his head back.
Ryan’s eyes aimlessly scanned the glen as he licked his lips, knowing he couldn’t leave the kid to deal with this, alone. “Alright. When does your mom get home?”
“Around six . . . I . . . think,” the boy stammered.
“Six o’clock? You’re going to be home, by yourself for the next two and a half hours?”
“It might be seven o’clock, actually.”
“What time does your mother get home?” Ryan demanded.
The boy dropped his shoulders and his face changed to a sad expression. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, kid. Give me something to work with. I’m trying to help you.”
The boy shook his head. “There’s no use. I’m a dead man.”
“I’m thinking I understand why your babysitters quit showing up,” Ryan jabbed. He looked down at the boy’s hopelessly sad face and felt guilty for his comment. “OK. We’re going to fix this. Do you have a way to get in touch with your mother?”
“Yes. I know the phone number for her work.”
“OK. I want you to go call her and ask her if you can go to the store with me. We’re going to need to get some plastic sheeting and some plywood. Then, I’ll teach you how to cover that window until the kid-cooking guy gets home. I’m only going to help you if you promise you will tell that man what you did. If you’re trying to make it right, I will help you. But, if you’re going to wimp out, you’re on your own. So, what’s it going to be?”
“I never wimp out!”
Ryan flashed him a sarcastic look. “Well, good! Now, where do you live?”
The boy turned to a row of houses, one street over. He pointed to a boxy looking, tan, two-story house with peeling paint, an unkempt yar
d, and toys strewn about. “That’s my house.”
“OK. I’m going to drive around to the front side of your house. You need to go call your mom. Tell her what you did and that you’re going to man up and fix it.”
“I can’t. I’m not ‘posta to be outside unless she’s home. I’m not ‘posta to talk to strangers. Nothin’.”
Ryan’s eyes shifted around as he processed the situation. Every time he looked at the boy’s face, he felt an overwhelming urge to help the poor kid. Ryan knew the fear the kid felt. Truth be told, throughout his childhood, Ryan had busted his share of windows. George Priest never paddled his son. However, he taught Ryan how to take responsibility for his actions and how to work to repair his mistakes. No matter how much easier it got to make the repairs, the stress of breaking a window never lessened. Looking in the little boy’s face, Ryan couldn’t ignore the pleading look in the kid’s eyes.
“You’re going to have to tell your mom the truth. You messed up and she’s going to be mad,” Ryan shrugged. “You’re going to fix it, though. Right?”
“How much money do windows cost?”
Ryan looked at the large, plate glass window. “That window is probably seven feet wide, probably five feet high . . . It’s not going to be cheap.”
“I have some money in my piggy bank,” the kid proudly offered.
Ryan chuckled. “Well, I hope you’ve got about seven or eight hundred dollars in that piggy bank.”
“Nope!” the boy cried, gripping his head, again.
As tears flooded the boy’s eyes, Ryan breathed a heavy sigh. “Alright, alright! Turn off the flood waters, already. I told you I would help you. I swear, if I ever see you swinging at rocks again, I’m going to skin your head. Now, not only do you need a new baseball, but you need a new bat, too. On top of that, you have a window to pay for. When you practice around houses, you use tennis balls. If you want to practice with baseballs, you get your friends and you go to the field.”
“I don’t have any friends, and I can’t go to the field. My mom is always at work and I’m not allowed to be outside, ‘member?”
“What is your name?”
“Nathan Michael Evan Brock. My mom calls me just Nate all the time.”
