With angry movements, she ripped her polo shirt off over her head, tossed it onto the chair in the corner of the room and snapped the shirt in the air to unfold it.
The moment she slipped it on, and the tight black Panthers baseball shirt slipped on over her breasts, I knew I’d made a good decision in saving it.
The t-shirt fit her like a glove.
Then she went and ruined me for all other women.
With a practiced move, she slipped her hand up the back of the shirt, unbuckled her bra, and slipped it off through one sleeve, followed shortly by the other.
My mouth went dry as I watched her breasts sway with the movement.
“Will you marry me?” I asked her.
She blinked.
“What did you just ask me?”
I licked my lips as she started to push her jeans down her thighs.
My cock started to pulse with each beat of my heart, and I wanted so badly for her to walk over here and sit on my cock.
I wanted to grab a hold of those luscious globes of her ass, dig my fingers in, and urge her to ride me hard.
“Black panties,” I muttered. “I said I like your black panties.”
She looked down at the black panties, and then back up to me.
“Huh,” she said, then an evil grin lifted the corner of her mouth. “If you like the front,” she turned. “Then you’ll definitely like the back.”
And oh, God, did I.
She was wearing those cheeky underwear where half of the ass cheeks hung out.
On others, they were definitely sexy.
On Sway…no words did her justice.
They were freakin’ amazing.
I had a stern talking to with my cock while she was in the bathroom, and then switched off the light in anticipation.
The moment she got out and switched off the bathroom light, I was nearly on the verge of demanding she take me.
Begging wasn’t beneath me.
But she crawled into bed moments after the light switched off, and then seconds later she was asleep.
How was that even possible?
She had to be faking. Had to.
But then a soft little snore had me blinking in surprise, and I laid there for another half an hour while I contemplated masturbating right next to her before I fell asleep.
***
“Ummm,” my brother drawled as he held the paper up the next morning. “Is there something you’d like to tell us?”
I looked over at the paper, and my eyes widened.
Sway, who’d been behind me, was reading it and staring in horror.
“Why do they think we’re getting married?” she cried. “Oh, my God. I need to call my parents!”
Then she left the room, leaving me to face my family. Alone.
“I wanted her in the room with me…so sue me.”
Chapter 12
Even if the voices aren’t real, they have some fucking awesome ideas!
-Hancock’s secret thoughts
Hancock
“Parts,” the reporter, the fifth in the last twenty minutes, grinned at me. “Gosh, but you’re huge.”
I nodded my head, aware that I would likely be on national television when I said what I had to say next, but I couldn’t help it.
It was the perfect opener.
“That’s what she said,” I pointed to the person behind me.
I hadn’t realized who it was until an outraged cry from Sway had me turning to look.
Then, like any man with a sense of humor, I burst out laughing and pissed her off even more.
By the time we ended the interview two minutes later—with me still laughing—I had tears running down my cheeks.
“That was wrong,” Gentry chuckled. “But so good.”
Sway glared hard, but I didn’t miss the lip twitch that was trying to make itself known.
“I’m glad you’re back, man,” Gentry broke the tension.
My brows rose.
“Gentry,” I looked at him fully. “I haven’t missed any games.”
He shrugged.
“But you missed all the practices,” he said. “There’ve been two that I’ve had to go through without you.”
I snorted. “That’s why you should re-sign with the ‘Jacks,” I told him. “When your contract expires at the end of the season, you should remember the feeling you’re having right now.”
He rolled his eyes.
“My family’s been bugging the shit out of me to come back to Oakland,” he commented. “I told them I’d think about it if I got the offer from them.”
I sighed.
“I already told you,” I crossed my arms. “That you would hate living there. Think of all the snow.”
“There’s no snow in California, well, most of the state, anyway.” Sway decided to drop her attitude and join in on the conversation.
I held my wrists out to her and she immediately started wrapping them without needing to be asked.
Gentry watched in amusement as I answered her silly comment.
“There’s more possibility of snow there than there is here,” I pointed out. “We only had one instance of snow last year, and that was one day and less than a quarter of an inch. Oakland got a foot last year.”
Sway started to laugh.
“You’re impossible,” she informed me, patting my wrists. “You know they didn’t get any snow.” She paused before she got even a step away. “What’s this?” she asked, touching my newest acquisition.
“A new glove I picked up from the equipment shed,” I explained.
The equipment shed was more of a store of sorts. Sponsors donated items that they hoped we’d use, such as shoes, bats, balls, and tools of the trade.
“What are you doing to it?” She touched it.
I lifted the glove into my hand and unwound the five rubber bands I had holding the glove closed around the ball and showed her.
She frowned. “Why are you doing that?”
“You have to break a glove in. You can’t just start using it during a game and expect it to perform to your liking,” I told her. “So, you break it in, and this is one of the ways of doing it.”
“What are the other ways?” she questioned.
“Some people beat it with a mallet to loosen up the leather,” Gentry added in. “I used to drag mine behind my bike when I was younger.”
“And you don’t do that anymore?” Sway teased.
I shook my head.
“No,” I disagreed. “The best way to break it in is to play with it. However, that ain’t gonna happen during a game, and especially a game that’s against the little fucker who tried to separate my head from my neck.”
“He’s not playing tonight,” Sway said. “Or was I wrong about that?”
“You’re not.” I stood up and tucked my glove underneath my arm as I picked up my hat. “But that doesn’t mean that the other players won’t be on edge over what happened. They’ll be waiting for me to try something…and, who knows? They might be right.”
Sway sighed.
“I’ll see you in a little bit,” she smacked my ass lightly. “Now, get out of here. I have other players besides you to take care of.”
My eyes widened, and a fierce sort of jealousy tore through me at the idea of her doing any other player than me.
Of course, I knew what she’d meant by the comment, but it didn’t make it an easier pill to swallow as my mind chose that moment to race.
But then she had to go and ruin my anger by one simple comment that she tossed out offhandedly.
“Doesn’t that beard bother you in the summer?” Sway asked, running a finger along the edge of my beard.
My brows rose. “Manliness isn’t seasonal, Sway.”
She tilted her head down and laughed, and I couldn’t help but watch the way her breasts jiggled with each breath of laugher.
“Be good. You know where to find
me before the game.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me.
I snorted and smacked her ass, taking great joy in the resounding smack and the sting in my hand as I did it.
She squawked in outrage, and I tossed her a grin that couldn’t be misinterpreted.
I wanted her.
I wanted her badly.
And I would have her.
By the end of the night.
She would be mine.
***
Was it possible to run the bases with a hard on?
Yes, yes it was.
But it was not easy to slide.
I stood up and dusted the dirt off my pants, glaring at the umpire.
“I was safe, and you damn well know it, Henderson!” I yelled. “You saw it, I saw it. Hell, even my eighty-year-old grandmother saw it from all the way up in the stands.”
I gestured to the stands where my family was standing and yelling about the shitty call that was just made.
But that was just how the entire game went.
“You didn’t touch second base,” he said. “And Rhys touched it, meaning you’re out.”
“That’s a load of bullshit and you know it!” I bellowed, anger making my voice shake with rage.
“Sorry, Parts. You know the drill.” He gestured to the bench.
I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Coach is contesting it,” I gestured with my chin. “I’ll leave when you prove to me that I missed it.”
I damn well hadn’t missed it, and the ump needed to get his fuckin’ eyes checked if he thought differently.
Henderson growled in frustration, and I caught the shake of his head before he turned and stomped up to the other umpires who were going over the call on the TV that was situated beside the home dugout.
My eyes automatically went to the dugout where Sway usually sat, but when my eyes finally trained on the spot, I realized it was empty.
Brows furrowing, I let my gaze wander and quickly realized why I’d been so pissed off in the first place.
She’d been chatty today.
Really chatty.
Like right now for instance.
She was chatting up Rhys like they were the very best of friends, and I found that I didn’t like that anymore than when she was talking to Furious George the same freakin’ way.
Jaw tightening, I turned my face away from the two and focused in on the umpires.
“You touched second,” the third baseman for the other team, Milo something or other, said, breaking into my thoughts.
I turned my eyes only to take him in.
“I know,” I mumbled.
“When I got into the draft, it was my dream to meet you one day,” he informed me.
A grin broke out on my face as I realized I had a bona fide fan on my hands.
“Is that right?” I asked.
He nodded eagerly.
“Where’d you go to college?” I asked.
“Penn State,” he answered quickly. “I was lucky to have a scout see me. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
The kid was funny.
He also had one hell of a beard, which was abnormal for a kid his age.
“How old are you?” I asked, admiring his beard.
The kid brought his hand up to his beard and started to stroke it.
“How old do I look?” he challenged.
I snorted.
“Twenty-two, at most,” I admitted. “The beard does things for you, though.”
Milo started to chuckle.
“Thanks,” he grinned. “And you’re right. I’m twenty-two.”
“You know anywhere good to eat?” I asked. “I’m going to force our athletic trainer to go out with me to dinner. You’re welcome to come if you want.”
He hesitated.
“I’m not sure if that’s allowed…” he hesitated.
I shrugged. “Up to you, kid. Just throwing the offer out there.”
He nodded, thinking.
“The Root is good,” he finally decided. “It’s got a good atmosphere, and not many people know about it. Locally owned and not many tourists go to it.”
I nodded. “They have burgers?”
He nodded his head eagerly. “They do. The best.”
The crowd started to boo, and I realized that the call had been handed out.
“They gave you the base,” Milo muttered. “Knew they would.”
I knew they would, too.
Henderson was a dick, and it seemed like he always made bad calls against me. Then again, when I was younger—about Milo’s age—I decked him because he’d thought it’d be funny to laugh at something another player had said about my mother.
Granted, I wasn’t the most chill of people when I was younger—and likely still wasn’t if the rise of my blood pressure had anything to say about it—but that wasn’t something you continued to hold over a person’s head. I was ten years older now.
At thirty-two, I was nothing like the hotheaded boy who’d entered the league.
If anything, I was a hell of a lot more rounded and could control my temper just as well as the next guy.
“Fuckin’ A,” Milo muttered, then dove for the ball that I hadn’t even realized had been hit.
“Shit!” I hissed, running for home.
The catcher got in my way at home plate, and I knew the ball was about to hit his glove any second.
And it did, landing right in the sweet spot.
With no other recourse, I slammed into the catcher like a linesman, hitting him so hard that my breath left me in a whoosh.
We both went down in a tangle of arms and limbs just like I’d done my last game.
Frantically, I tried to scramble for the base, which I somehow missed when I hit the catcher, and touched it.
That’s when I saw the ball that was lying next to the plate.
“Fuck yes,” I bellowed, getting to my feet.
I offered my hand down to the catcher, and he shook his head, refusing to take my hand.
Not caring, I pointed at Milo.
“You almost had me,” I told him.
A grin kicked up the corner of his lips, but he didn’t respond.
“Fucking bastard,” the catcher mumbled as I walked away.
I chuckled as I walked back to the dugout, laughing when my teammates came out to meet me.
When I got to Rhys, I glared at him, and might have slammed chests with him harder than I needed to.
He gave me an annoyed look, but I knew he knew the reason for it.
I hadn’t come out and said it in as many words, but he damn well knew she was mine.
I took a seat in my spot, and tried really hard not to glare at the woman who was sitting there reading a book like she didn’t have a care in the world.
“What are you reading?” I grumbled.
She looked over at me for a few short seconds, and then turned back to her Kindle.
“A romance,” she answered, not bothering to give me any more than that.
“What is it called?” I pushed.
“Double Play.”
“Hmm,” I murmured. “What’s it about?”
She gave me a narrow-eyed look.
“A baseball player and the greatest catch of his life,” she answered. “Do you mind?”
I held my hands up in surrender and went back to watching the game.
We had this one in the bag.
We were ahead by ten, and we only had one inning left. Half if we managed to keep the lead.
Although it didn’t happen often, it was possible that we’d get cocky and the other team might catch up.
Not today, though.
The players on the other team were playing like shit, which was what had gotten them in the hole in the first place.
The only way they’d win now was if we stopped trying, and that sure as fuck wasn’t going to happen.
Chapt
er 13
I want someone to look at me the way I look at my Jeep.
-Sway’s secret thoughts
Sway
I hesitated outside the exit to the parking lot, wondering whether I should wait for Hancock or not.
He hadn’t said anything about wanting to do anything with me after the game.
I was also tired as hell from the plane ride, and the vehicle that was taking the athletic training staff was about to leave, so I made a choice and headed for the Jeep.
And, of course, Sinclair was driving.
Normally, I would’ve been in control of the rental, but since I rode in the day before with the team and the other staff who normally travel with the team, I didn’t put my name on the rental policy.
Normally that wouldn’t matter, but Sinclair was obviously smug about having the privilege of driving rather than being a passenger.
“Didn’t think you were riding with us, Sway,” Sinclair made a point to mention. “Did your friend give you the boot?”
I ignored him and walked to the back door, opened it, and took a seat next to Lacey.
“Hey, Lace,” I smiled at her.
Lacey grinned and offered me a piece of gum, and I shook my head in the negative.
“No, thank you,” I turned to look out the window.
“Everyone ready now?” Sinclair asked.
After three confirmations, one from Lacey, one from me, and one from our front seat passenger, John-John, aka JJ—our intern—we pulled out, heading straight for the hotel.
The hotel was less than five minutes away from the stadium, but after only two minutes of Sinclair’s jerky driving, I realized that if I had to ride with him again, I’d very likely vomit.
When my head hit the window as he pulled in, I made an executive decision to talk to the team management. If a man wouldn’t hesitate to do seventy in a forty, making me see my life flash before my eyes, he absolutely should not be driving the other members of the team’s training staff while we were out of town.
Surely the management would want their staff to arrive to and from the games safely.
Right?
Lacey and I traded a few looks while JJ held onto the handle above his head like his life depended on it.
By the time we pulled under the covered awning, JJ looked deathly pale, Lacey was taking on a tinge of green, and I was wondering whether or not I could hack a walk back to the ballpark tomorrow.
Pitch Please Page 9
