Dirty Curve

Daniel Rojas, one of my relief pitchers, steps up first.

“Rojas, this—”

“Hey, Meyer.” He focuses on her, nodding his chin my way. “Cruz.”

I frown, my eyes moving between the two.

Meyer gives a single wave. “Hey, Danny, how’s it going?”

“Good, good.” He grins, but he’s pushed to the side when Allen, our shortstop’s younger brother, steps up.

Allen smiles. “Meyer, what’s up?”

“Hey!” Her lips curve and she leans forward, giving him a half hug. “Did you get my email yesterday?”

“Hell yeah, I did.”

Meyer laughs. “Well earned. I bet your coach was ready to throw you a party after that.”

“My body owes you for that one.”

“What the fuck, bro?” I snap and both their heads snap to me.

Along with a few others around us too.

“Your body owes her?” I step in front of him. “Are you for real right now? You’re gonna come into this house and say some shit like that? To my girl?”

“Tobias,” Meyer whispers.

His palms lift in the air. “Aye, I was referring to the ass kicking my coach would give me in the gym and on the stairs, man. Legit my body, my muscles ... I didn’t mean anything else by it.” His eyes flick past my shoulders briefly. “She’s a badass tutor, that’s all.”

Tutor.

She’s a badass tutor, he said.

Of course.

Here I am excited to introduce my girl to all these assholes, but most of them already know her. She tutors for the athletic department and is their top tutor at that. Tutoring athletes is her job. Spending time with athletes is what she’s paid to do.

There’s a flicker of heat in my abdomen, a nasty flare of jealousy.

But then Meyer’s fingers flex alongside my own, reminding me that her hand’s still tucked in mine, and the stormy sensation is smothered.

With a calm I don’t quite feel, but confidence I do, I look to my girl. “That she is, my man.”

There’s an anxiousness I’m sensing from her, but she smiles, and I imagine she’s got that whole angel-devil thing going on.

It’s a fucked-up quality, possessiveness, but it is a quality.

And I think she kind of likes it.

Either way, I didn’t bring her here to have a shitty night, though, so I swallow the part of me I’m still working on and lift our joined hands, kissing her knuckles as I lead us the final steps to my teammates.

It turns out she only knows two more people here, and the rest take turns stepping in front of us to say hello. The plus side is they like her, but of course they do.

What’s not to like?

As a group, we hang around the kitchen, spending the next hour laughing. They make jokes, flirt, and try to get under my skin, but it doesn’t work.

It might have sixty minutes ago, but not now. Not after witnessing her with my crew. There’s a respect between them and her, one they earned on their own time, and knowing that feels pretty fucking good.

They see her as a person, not a toy, and I’m loving the look in these asshole’s eyes as they realize she’s mine. Mine, mine. As in not just a date for the night.

“So, Meyer, how’d you get stuck with this guy?” My buddy Franky drops down beside her, throwing his arm over her shoulder. “Everyone knows I’m the one who swings harder south.”

I knock his arm away, pulling my girl in front of me, and curling my hands around her waist. “Yeah, bro, you swing heavy ... but you also stay swinging.”

Franky shoots to his feet, a drunken grin on his face. “One time I couldn’t make a moment count, and to be fucking fair, I was a half a bottle of Jose in!”

The boys laugh and Meyer hides her smile by dropping her chin to her chest.

“You know how it goes, Franky, Jose, no lay.”

“That’s the last time I tell you guys shit!” he shouts with a smile, spinning away when his name is called.

Neo turns to the group and starts telling them some story about him and X in high school, so I lean forward, putting my lips to Meyer’s ear.

“For the record, my southern region is impressive as shit, I’m talking north pole status.”

Meyer’s shoulders shake with her laughter, and she tips her head back, but as her brown eyes meet mine, a weight slips into them, shadowing the golden rims from my view.

The moment her lips move, they’re all I see. Plump, full and intoxicating. I take them with my own, playfully nipping at her when she pulls away.

“I’m going to step outside and call Bianca to check on Bailey,” she whispers.

“I’ll go with you.”

“Stay.” She spins in my arms. “I’ll be right back.”

If it wasn’t policy to leave a freshman outside the door to keep track of who comes in, I would have followed, but since we do, I stay planted where I am, keeping one eye on the front door, the other on my boys.