Quit Your Pitchin' (There's No Crying in Baseball 2)

Too bad I didn’t take my own advice.

***

Four hours later, I was buzzed, and answering my cell phone.

“Helllloooo, Grandma!”

I looked over to Wrigley and mouthed, “It’s my grandma!”

Wrigley’s eyes were so wide and adorable I just wanted to lick them.

“George…are you high?”

“Not high, drunk. Yo, Grandma. What’s up?” My thoughts were bouncing around like crazy, and I couldn’t remember what it was that I was trying to accomplish.

I wasn’t totally drunk off my ass, but I was pretty damn close.

If I had one more beer, I’d be there.

“George, darling,” Grandma called through the line, trying to focus me. “Can you come down here and help me out for a few minutes?”

I frowned. “Where are you?”

“The chapel next to Beau’s Place.”

Beau Bryon was her husband, and Beau’s Place was the strip club that he owned.

It was classy…for a strip joint.

It was also smack dab in the middle of about three chapels—you know, just in case you wanted to get married to a stripper.

“Okay.” I frowned, trying to squint at the clock. “When?”

“Now.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes over to the woman next to me.

She was still dressed in my grandmother’s wedding dress, and her eyes were glued to the beer bottle in front of her.

There was a game that the bartender had given her that she was now fixated on.

It was a circle, foam ring that she was trying to get around the neck of a beer bottle across the bar from her. She got five shots. If she missed all five, she had to take a shot of Patron. If she made it, she got to have a drink of her choice free.

So far, she’d missed four, two of which shots I’d done for her.

We’d just finished up a plate of nachos and hot wings, and were working on our shared dessert when my grandmother had called.

“I can be there in like fifteen minutes,” I hedged. “We’re eating chocolate cake.”

Well, I was trying to eat it. Wrigley was eating it so fast that it might not be there for much longer if I didn’t hang up soon.

“Finish that up, tell her not to spill any of it on the dress,” she ordered. “Then get the hell down here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, then shoved the phone into my pocket.

“If your grandmother owns half the team, why does she sit in the peon seats and not in a skybox or something?” Wrigley asked around a mouthful of half-melted ice cream.

Before I answered, I reached forward and picked the bowl up, drinking the rest of the melted ice cream/caramel/chocolate cake concoction at the bottom of the bowl.

Then groaned.

It was so good.

After practically licking my lips and the bowl, I stood up. “Because you can’t smell the peanuts, and drink the beer, and hear the crowd as well in the skybox…” I paused. “At least that’s what she says, anyway. Secretly, I think it’s because she doesn’t want to be a hoity-toity team owner that doesn’t interact with the fans.” I leaned over. “Grandma wants us to come see her. Let’s go.”

Wrigley tossed the final foam ring, then threw her hands up in the air as she finally made it.

“Score!”

My eyes went down to the bodice of the dress as it slipped down even lower on her chest. Her boobs looked marvelous in it, the lace looks like it was goddamn made to sit against her skin.

“Come on, woman.” I held out my hand for her to take. “Let’s go.”

Wrigley took it and then threw herself into my arms. “Take me to bed or lose me forever!”

I stared at her intently. “Top Gun?”

“Top Gun!” she declared.

Twenty-one minutes later, we ended up at a chapel helping my grandmother officiate a wedding.

Well, she officiated it. Wrigley and I acted as witnesses. At least, I think we acted as witnesses.

***

Two hours later, we crashed into my hotel room.

Both of us were drunk off our asses, but that didn’t change the way we felt about each other.

She was all over me, and I was all over her.

Her hands were down the back of my pants, and my eyes were only for her.

We fumbled and lurched, jumped and shifted, until moments later we were both naked and on my bed.

Distantly I was aware of a crash as our bags hit the floor—followed by us moments later as we rolled off the bed in our exuberance to feel each other up.

A little circle dispenser hit my chin, and I picked it up and chucked it across the room, then returned to my surveying of her body—with my mouth and hands.

She growled into my mouth when I found a particularly sensitive part of her anatomy with my fingers.

“George, please,” she breathed. “Pleassse.”

She hissed out the ‘S,’ and I started to move down her body.

I came to a stop right above her pubic bone and pressed a single kiss there before continuing my jaunt down her body.