by Teagan Kade
“I’m going to—” she calls, the muscles inside her ass beginning to clamp and release, forcing the final remnants of my desire free.
Cock in hand, I pull out and collapse onto the carpet, actually struggling to breathe. “That was so fucking hot.”
I feel the welcome warmth of her body sliding over mine. She rests her head on my chest, her breath pushing in and out between us. “You’re telling me. I didn’t know you could come doing, you know…”
I laugh. “This is a place of learning.”
She lifts her head up to whisper in my ear. “Looks like I’ve got a lot to learn then.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
WILLOW
Binge study—that’s what I’m calling this phase. I’ve been having nightmares that my head is a giant balloon filled with exam answers. One of my ears pops a leak, the answers flowing out. I try to plug it with a finger, to no avail.
I’d so rather be dreaming about Asher.
“Ugh,” stammers Amy, throwing her textbook to the floor. “How the hell am I supposed to remember this crap? There aren’t enough hours in the day.”
There are if you’re not attending toga parties and doing body shots off the football team, I’m tempted to tell her, but I simply nod and concentrate on my own study. I’ve hinted more than once to her the library might be more conducive to her needs. “And murder my image?” she replied. “No, thanks.”
I’d be down there myself if the place wasn’t jam-packed. Yes, a day out from final exams and campus is on study lockdown. I almost expect to see tumbleweeds when I look out the window.
I receive a text from Asher: I could study a whole lot better if I was inside you right now.
I squeeze my thighs together. Soon, my pet. Soon. I’ve been two days holed up in here and ‘horny’ doesn’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling. After exams I’m pretty sure I’m going to slam-tackle Asher and have my way with him in the middle of the quad.
“Is that lover boy?” Amy queries.
“It is.”
“I bet he doesn’t have to study.”
I open my mouth to unleash, but hold back, taking a moment to consider my words. “He’s got a lot going on.”
She winks. “So I’ve heard. What’s it like?”
“It?” I question.
Amy draws her hands out. “You know, Uncle Remus, Vlad the Impaler?”
I think this is the most Amy and I have conversed all semester. All it took was Asher’s penis to bring us together. What next? World peace? “It’s… fulfilling.”
She laughs. “The best bat in the world doesn’t mean shit if you don’t know to use it.”
“Oh, he knows how to use it.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say Amy was looking a little green. She gives a short “Hmpf,” and returns to her study.
I send a text back to Asher: I want your cock in my mouth.
I giggle to myself once it’s sent, pushing my cell under my pillow as though it might start glowing red and screaming ‘Shame! Shame! Shame!’ over and over, a bell ringing in the distance.
My cell beeps again with another message received, but I resist the temptation, sliding it under the pillow.
I’ll save you for later.
*
I meet Asher in the food hall for dinner. We agreed a nice, public place was our best bet—if we were alone we’d probably be ripping each other’s clothes off right now.
Asher’s chugging down a milkshake.
“How the hell do you get away with it?” I ask, shaking my head.
He puts the shake down. “Being so damn devilishly handsome? Well, it starts with a moisturizing scrub, followed by—”
I roll my eyes. “No, how do you have a body like you do,” I say picking up his shake. “When you drink crap like this,” I add, grabbing his burger. “And eat that?”
He swipes the burger from my hands and takes a bite. “You’re the doctor. You tell me.”
I fiddle with my hands, my Cobb salad largely untouched. That’s how nervous I am about this damn exam. “I’m far from a doctor yet. I’ve got to pass this exam first.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Not everyone has a photographic memory like you, Mr. Clark Kent.”
He leans close, lowering his voice. “What about my other superpowers?”
I roll my eyes again but can’t help the hot flash that tightens my core. “Maybe later. For now, I’m all business. Pleasure can come later.”
“Something will be coming later, that’s for sure,” he says, leaning back.
“And what about you?” I ask. “How’s your studying going?
“As great as my superpowers are, I do have to refresh myself from time to time. This is the toughest exam of the year. A lot’s counting on it.”
“It’s a shame our exams are on the same day.”
He puts his hand on mine. “You’ll be fine, Willow. You’re going to kill this.”
“Not the kind of thing you want to be saying to someone studying to save lives.”
“Correct you are, Doctor.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“I like the sound of you giving me a physical.”
“After our exams.”
He picks up his shake again. “Are you coming to the game?”
I draw a blank. It seems there’s no room for anything in my brain other than study right now. “The game?”
“The game,” repeats Asher. “After my big exam. I don’t know, only the most important game of the year.”
“How’s that?”
“Because the team who wins takes home a funny-looking trophy proclaiming them the College World Series champions.”
It clicks. “Oh, that game.”
“You can bet your ass there’ll be recruiters there, looking to snipe the best players. It’s the single-most important game of my career.”
“I see.”
“So you’ll be there?”
I reach for his shake. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
*
I barely sleep. Instead, I lie there like some sort of study slot machine running through questions and answers still sure I’m going to screw this up somehow. And I can’t. It’s not an option given what Mom sacrificed to get me here. I’m not going to let her down. I’m not going to let myself down.
I struggle through half a banana come morning. Asher wishes me luck with about ten kiss emojis as I head to the exam hall. I find a quiet spot and sit, frantically running through my notes and telling myself ‘you’ve got this’ in a frenzied mantra. As I’ve learned, the last thing you want before going into an exam is to hang around fellow students asking ‘Did you study this? Do you think they’ll ask us that?’ I’m panicking enough as it is.
The heater runs quietly inside, but otherwise the hall is dead silent as we sit there.
“Begin,” comes the call.
I take a deep breath.
You’ve got this, but when I say it in my head, it’s Asher speaking, his warm smile following, and in that moment I know I can do it. I can do anything with him by my side.
Once I start, it’s not long before I slip into exam mode. The punishing hours I put in pay off. The exam passes in what feels like minutes.
“Pencils down, please,” says the head examiner, a mutual huff arising from the lines of desks, but I’m smiling. I’m smiling because I know I’m going to pass. I only hope Asher’s having as much luck on the other side of campus.
Like he needs it.
Outside, I swear to god the sky looks a little bluer, the grass a little greener. The feeling of freedom is so big and bold I wish I could bottle it.
I half-walk, half-run to the spot near the admin building we agreed to meet after our exams. Asher wanted to walk me to the game personally, make sure I got a good spot to witness the Hellcats’s ‘epic win.’
I turn the corner, smiling hard, but while there are people waiting in the open, none of them are Asher.
Maybe they’re running late, I tell myself.
I wait another five minutes, and another five after that, but still there’s no sign of Asher.
I pull out my cell again. No missed calls. No texts.
It’s odd.
I wait ten more minutes and dial, but the call goes straight to his voicemail.
He wouldn’t have forgotten. There’s simply no way.
I hang up tapping my phone against my hand. What’s going on?
I make my way to the exam hall Asher was scheduled to be at. I recognize a girl from his class.
I run up beside her. “Excuse me.”
She turns, a little surprised to find me talking to her. “I don’t suppose Asher Slade was in that exam just now?”
She nods. “Yeah, sure was, but he ran off when we got out, just bolted. I guess he’s, like, really keen to get to that game. Go, Hellcats and all that, right?”
“Right,” I reply, distant.
She walks away as I stand there clueless, dread creeping in from every side.
Asher Slade. Where are in the world are you?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ASHER
It’s the kind of call you never want to take. “Mr. Slade,” the woman began. “This is Belinda from Penbrook Memorial”.
“The hospital?”
“Yes.”
My first thought was Willow, my heart seizing, but then I remembered she’d texted me only a minute ago.
No, it was Coach Harris—dependable, steadfast Coach who looks the picture of health even though he’s in his sixties. He had a heart attack at home getting ready to take Bailey for a walk. The front door was open. Bailey could have run, but instead she stayed by his side barking at the top of her little lungs until one of the neighbors finally came around and raised the alarm. The hospital said another minute and he would have been dead.
I pull into a parking spot and shut off the ignition, yank off my helmet and drop it on the ground, rushing for the stairs.
I ask one of first nurses I see for his room and she makes a call. “Twenty-seven A.” She points. “Down that way.”
I thank her and run off.
I come into Coach’s room expecting to be amongst his family and friends, but there’s no one save for Bailey sleeping soundly beside his bed.
Coach’s eyes flick from the window to me. He looks pale, tubes coming out of his nose, primary-colored wires running to small pads on his chest, a mechanical beep, beep coming from the machine to his left.
“You’re wondering where everyone is, aren’t you?” he says.
I take a seat beside his bed. “I’m flattered I’m the first person on your contact list, but yeah. I kind of expected… someone.”
He smiles. “Baseball’s all I have, kid. I was a single child. My wife, my parents—all gone. In fact, my father died right here in this hospital almost ten years ago to the day. Guess what from?”
“Heart attack?”
He nods with bent lip. “I don’t smoke. I don’t drink and the only time I’m getting fucked is when I put money down on the Rangers.”
I reach down and give Bailey a rub between the ears. “You’re not completely alone.”
Coach coughs, readjusting himself on the bed. “You’re telling me. I guess I’ll have to buy the little pipsqueak a big steak or something.”
I shift in the chair myself wondering if they deliberately make these things uncomfortable to get you out faster. “When are you going to be back on your feet?”
He goes to throw his hand up, but the gesture is weak. “Fuck knows. They’re talking test this and test that, observation… And surgery. You can bet your balls they’re going to cut me up.”
“You should listen to them. You should rest.”
“The doctors?” he laughs. “Dad ‘listened’ to them. Look where he ended up.”
I rock forward. “The game starts in half an hour. I guess you’re not going to make it?”
Coach looks to the window again. From here we can see the top of the Litterbox. “No, son. Not unless the Almighty decides to grant me a miracle.”
“The Cubs did win the World Series,” I jibe.
He laughs, coughing and reaching for his chest, the beeping becoming more pronounced. “True, but I’m in no shape to be screaming from the dugout. In fact…” he pauses. “I’ve been doing some thinking.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Shut your pie-hole and listen.”
I put my hands up, sitting back.
“I’m going to get you reinstated as team captain. The boys need a leader again, and I’m a fat lot of fucking good at the moment. Besides, you’ve practically been coaching them the last few weeks anyhow. It’s a title thing, but I think it would boost morale—for everyone.”
“You think the Dean will go for it?”
A smile widens on Coach’s face. “Son, I just had a heart attack. The Grim Reaper himself had me in his clutches. Compared to that, the Dean’s going to be a pushover.”
I smile back. “If you say so.”
“I do, and I also say that you’re going to win this match for me. Bring it home, son.”
“I will.”
“Say it with some fucking conviction.”
“I will!” I shout.
A young nurse pops her head in.
Coach grins at her from his bed. “We’ll keep it down.”
With a disapproving look, she leaves.
Coach gives me a wink. “Hey, at least the scenery’s nice.”
*
I’ve got fifteen minutes to get the Litterbox, and even that’s cutting it fine. I call Willow on the way, explaining as best I can what happened. I expect her to protest when I tell her the team’s going to play, but she gives her support and says she’ll be watching.
I swing my bike up onto the curb and sprint for the player’s entrance.
Inside, I find the team standing around in the locker room.
“We thought you’d fallen into a fucking hole,” says Leon, pushing off the wall.
“Not quite.”
I collect them together and give them the news. They’re shell-shocked, as I expected, but I use it to bind us together for a common goal.
I place my hand in the center. “For Coach.”
Hands follow on top of mine. “For Coach!”
I’m still buttoning up my shirt as we’re coming onto the field.
The game starts.
North Carolina was a pain in our ass last year. It looks like it’s going to be more of the same.
A homer I send into the stands helps, but by the fifth we’re still down.
Leon comes to the rescue, striking out two Tar Heels back to back.
I take the plate again. I’m not going to let this one go, not today.
I swing, stretching out my shoulder.
The Tar Heels’s pitcher might think he’s got me fooled, but I can see the curveball coming a mile away. I belt it hard into the infield, easily making second before they get the ball back into play.
I’m waiting on base and I turn my eyes up towards the bleachers, struggling to see against the glare. I scan for Willow, but she’s nowhere to be found.
Come on.
I’m so caught up looking for her I don’t realize play has resumed.
“Asher!” yells Leon.
I take off, barely making third.
I look again. Where the hell is she?
I’m about to call her before the eighth when I spot her above the dugout, right there in front of my fucking eyes. Seeing her, knowing she’s here, gives me the boost I need to gather the team and map out a plan.
It works like a fucking charm. I have the boys concentrate on sending everything out to the infield, Carolina’s weak spot. It means more work pounding the bases, but it pays off.
The ninth arrives. It’s do or die.
It’s Yours Truly’s time to shine.
The home crowd’s chanting. “Slade, Slade, Slade.”
I hold my bat up and point to the sky. It’s cocky, but I want these Carolina asshats to know I mean business.
I line the bat up, squatting.
The pitcher’s an equally cocky prick by the name of Gonzales. His curveball’s a bitch at the best of times, but I can see by the smirk on his face he’s got something extra-special lined up for me, something dirty.
He pitches and it’s high, a screwball with hot sauce on it, aimed straight at my head. I manage to side-step it just in time.
The arrogant asshole’s still smirking. The fucker’s testing me.
I settle back into my stance, the top of the bat weaving above my head.
Gonzales leans back and lines up the pitch.
Not this time, pretty boy.
The ball’s got pace on it, a curve so strong you’d need a protractor to measure it, but I’m on it. I belt that leather-bound sucker so hard the crack rings out high into the bleachers, the ball sailing towards the lights.
I hesitate a moment thinking I’ve hit an easy homer, but the ball loses altitude fast and drops for the outfield.
“Go!” call the boys, one voice.
I dig in and sprint for first, keeping an eye on the field, breathing through the run.
A lanky Carolina outfielder collects the ball faster than expected. He throws it hard and long, but I’ve already cleared second on my way to third.
It’s tight—real fucking tight.
I hear the ball collect in the mitt of the baseman on third as I head to home, my thighs burning from the effort. Come on. For Coach.
Through it all I hear Willow screaming as loud as she can.
It pushes me on, even as I hear the ball whistling behind me.
I give it everything I have, the catcher with his mitt raised ready for the out.
I start to tilt, full speed, laying myself out.
I slide, toe pushing as far as I can muster, sliding into home, the solid thud of the ball slamming in the leather mitt above my head.
“Safe!” calls the umpire.
It’s done.
I’ve kept my promise.
The team swarms onto the field and lifts me up, but there’s only one person I want to see right now.
