Swing and a Mishap (Summersweet Island 2)

The memory of the last time we stood in this spot just like this when she admitted how she felt about me suddenly flashes through my mind… along with the reason for her pushing out of our hug. The reason for her tripping over her own feet so she could step back and away from where we were standing. The reason for her tears. The reason for her feeling like she was my second choice. And the reason her eyes kept glancing down that night just like they are now. It immediately hits me she’s not just looking down so she doesn’t have to meet my eyes because she feels weird or nervous. She’s looking at home plate. A mere six inches from where I’m standing.

It’s not the same home plate, but it doesn’t matter, does it? She still had to watch me kiss another fucking woman on national television there. When Palmer told me the name of the bar where Wren met Kevin, I vowed to never step foot in that place. Just the thought of my wonderful, sweet Wren being taken advantage of there was enough to make me want to vomit and rip the whole building apart with my bare hands. And here I am, just standing in the same place I kissed another woman, wanting Wren to kiss me, probably making her feel like she’s not special at all and I’ll just kiss anyone on home plate.

Fuck!

Quickly closing the distance between us, I realize there’s something bad I need to erase from her memories first, before I can worry about the ones Kevin left behind. Gently separating her hands she’s still wringing together, I lace the fingers of both of mine through hers, tugging her toward me as I start walking backward.

“What are you doing?” Wren asks, her shoulders no longer tense and an easy smile coming over her face the farther away we get from home plate, making my chest hurt that I was such a fucking idiot.

I don’t say anything; I just squeeze her hands and continue walking backward, stopping when my feet are on first base. Pulling Wren closer until the smell of vanilla is surrounding me, I take one of our joined hands and wrap them around Wren’s lower back, tugging her closer until she’s pressed against the front of me. Letting go of her other hand, I cup her cheek and tilt her face up.

“Kissing you on first base,” I finally answer in a whisper before I do just that.

I gently press my mouth to her full, sweet lips, taking my time to caress them, worship them, and kiss her the way she should have been kissed her entire life—adoringly, and like she’s the most exquisite treasure in the world. Because she is. And she needs to finally understand that.

Ending the kiss with a few soft pecks, I pull my head back and can’t help but smile when I look down to see Wren’s eyes still closed with a dreamy look on her face. She quickly blinks them open when I slide my hand off her cheek, unwind our arms from around her, and start walking backward again, pulling Wren along the baseline with her hand in mine until we get to second.

Repeating the same maneuver as soon as my feet hit the base, I wrap our joined hands behind her back and pull her up against me, giving her another slow, worshiping kiss on second base. And then I do it again on third, and the pitcher’s mound, and I jog her all the way to the outfield, and kiss her in left, center, and right, Wren breathless and laughing as I kiss her all over this fucking baseball field. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are shining with happiness, and all the sadness when she first stood a few feet away from me by home plate is long gone from her face by the time we make it back to the dugout.

Wren is wrapped tightly in my arms with hers dangling over my shoulders, while she stands up on her toes, and I give her one last soft, loving kiss before pulling back to look down at her smiling brightly up at me.

“I’m sorry for acting weird by home plate. I was being stupid,” she whispers, making a deep growl rumble from my chest.

“Enough.”

That one word and the force in which I stress it has Wren quickly clamping her mouth closed. Unwrapping my arms from around her, I bring my hands up between her arms still draped over my shoulders and hold her face in my hands.

“You are brilliant, and amazing, and never stupid. I did some bullshit once before on home plate, and you have every right to feel some kind of way about that, and if you want to kick me in the balls, I will allow it.”