Luckily, the door hid us from view, because as I moved my face away from hers, licking my lips as I went, I knew it would’ve been more than obvious what we were doing.
Her face was red from my beard. Her lips swollen.
Her eyes were glazed, and her breathing was still heavy.
She was the epitome of aroused.
She didn’t hide her feelings at all.
“Gotta go, Half-Pint,” I touched her nose. “See you in the dugout.”
With those last words, I let the door go, moved around it, and then jogged down the long hallway that led to the locker room.
And the entire freakin’ way I had to force myself not to turn back.
She was addicting indeed.Chapter 9I’ve decided I’m an ass girl. Horses are majestic as shit, but they don’t have the redeeming qualities that a donkey has.
-Sway’s twisted thoughts
Sway
I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.
Every single time I would let my mind wander, it inevitably went back to it.
Now, the problem was knowing what was under that hard body I’d been running my hands all over during that kiss.
A kiss that was three hours, one minute and thirty seconds ago.
A kiss that rocked my world.
A kiss that I wanted to repeat…over and over and over again.
“Hancock ‘Parts’ Peters, number 49, has been on fire tonight. I heard from another player that he was under the weather, but you wouldn’t be able to tell from this performance,” the announcer for Fox Sports, repeated for the fifth time. “He is on fire! Rose, replay the play from earlier.”
They replayed the play, again, and I watched, again, as Rhys caught the shallow pop fly to left field. The runner on third took off once the ball was caught and went for home. Rhys threw the ball home and, the runner realizing his mistake once he saw Hancock catch the ball, lowered his shoulder and ran into Hancock like a battering ram.
Both Hancock and the player went down in a tangle of limbs.
Poor Hancock was slow to get up, but get up he did…with the ball securely in his glove despite the pained grimace on his face.
Everyone but Hancock celebrated—including me.
“Yo,” Coach Siggy called. “You’re up!”
I turned to survey the sweaty man beside me, and barely managed to look down at my hands in time to avoid making eye contact with him.
I knew if I made eye contact with him, my entire face would flame. Which wouldn’t be good seeing as everyone—the press, the cameras, the fans, his teammates—had been watching every single move Hancock made for the last six innings.
“Let’s get a couple of runs,” Siggy called out.
I bit my lip and lifted my head to watch him as he made his way out to the field, his wooden bat in his hand, resting against one shoulder.
“What do you think he’s going to get this time?” Gentry asked from the seat beside me.
I knew he was talking to me.
He’d been doing it the entire game just to piss Hancock off.
Each time he’d say something, he’d turn to Hancock to gauge his reaction, and I was beginning to wonder if I should be answering his questions if it was pissing Hancock off each time I answered.
Eventually, I’d gotten up and moved to the end of the dugout.
Which had pissed Hancock off even more.
With one pointed glare in my direction and a gesture for me to retake my seat, I sighed and moved back.
Superstitions! What the everloving fuck was wrong with these men?
“I’m going to guess a home run.”
I was a glass half full kind of gal. If I could have it any way, I was going to go all in.
If I had to bet, I’d bet every single cent I had on me.
Most of the time that resulted in me losing my money in the first forty seconds, but that was the way I was.
All or nothing.
Which happened to be why I was letting Hancock do what he wanted to, and damned the consequences.
That’d always been my downfall.
I…
“Holy shit,” Gentry swore.
My head whipped around to the plate to see Hancock peeling himself off the ground, a glare on his face aimed at the pitcher.
“What happened?” I asked worriedly.
“Pitcher was going to walk him, so he was throwing the ball outside,” Gentry explained. “When Hancock crowded the plate to get access to the balls, the pitcher threw one down the middle and nearly took out his knees.”
My brow lifted.
The pitcher must be stupid, I surmised.
Otherwise, he would’ve never tried to hit Hancock.
Hancock was known as a hothead.
It didn’t take much to get him going.
Sure, he’d mellowed with his age, but most pitchers knew better than to taunt him. If you kept the beast soothed, then it was likely he wouldn’t go all crazy on your ass.
This kid, though…well, he was new.
That was my only hope for why he did what he did next.