Finally, the cold tub does its job. My mind settles. My cock goes back to normal. I rise up, letting water sluice off me, wishing I could shed other things just as easily.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Savannah
During Brayden’sfirst plate appearance of the game, Lexi turns to me, smiling. “Oh, so it’s gonna be one ofthosegames,” she says.
“One of what games?” I ask as Brayden fouls off yet another ball. He’s seen more than ten pitches this at-bat. Three balls, a strike swinging, a strike looking, and the rest hit foul. That’s more than normal, I think? The Chicago crowd is certainly reacting as if it is, booing him each time he makes their pitcher throw again.
Lexi nudges a shoulder against mine. “Isaiah gets like this too. Something’ll happen, and he’ll play like his hair’s on fire.”
Nothing’s happening. Even if I have the shape of that nothing—a bite mark on my shoulder, the memory of Brayden’s hand across my ass, the way he told me to ride him until we both were overwhelmed with pleasure—all over me. “Yeah, maybe.”
Lexi laughs. “Hotel walls ain’t that thick. You think we didn’t all hear y’all this morning?”
My face flushes hot. I knew we were performing for Asher, but I didn’t think about the rest of the team. “Uh, oops.”
“Oopsis right.” But Lexi’s still laughing. “He’s not the first player to find his swing after getting married.”
“He is playing better,” I say, a question I disguise as a statement. I thought Brayden’s numbers seemed better than they had been, but I don’t know enough about baseball to really be sure.
Lexi turns to me. “He must feel like he’s got someone to take care of now.”
My face flushes hot at that. Down on the field, Brayden hits another foul, and the pitcher does a little walk around the mound like he’s trying not to scream in frustration.Just throw the fucking ball, someone yells from the stands.
The pitcher winds up. Throws the ball. Brayden swings and makes contact. The sound of it is loud enough to silence the stadium. The ball flies up, out into the stands, where several other fans wrestle for it before one of them petulantly tosses it back onto the field. It doesn’t matter, not as Brayden circles the bases. Not as he stops on his way back to the dugout at where Asher is in the on-deck circle. Says something to him that I don’t need to hear to understand.Your move.
It doesn’t take Asher twelve pitches. He positions the bat on his shoulder, swings at the first pitch, hits a homerun that goes screaming up past the stands and onto the outfield concourse.
There aren’t many Peaches fans in the ballpark, but the ones who’re here are loud.Back-to-back, back-to-back, they chant as we all scream and dance to the otherwise quieted home crowd.
“Huh,” Lexi says, when we’ve settled back into our seats. “Wonder what’s gotten into both of them.”
“No idea.” I don’t so much as glance at Lexi in case she’s giving me another one of those looks.
After the game, I send two text messages. The first is to Brayden, asking if he wants to go out, a question met with an almost instantyes. He’s eager.Good.
The second I send to Asher.
Me: Is there somewhere we can go to talk?
AA: hotel?
Me: walls are thin
AA: you worried you ‘talk’ too loudly, princess?
AA: I have an apartment. We can meet there.
And he drops a pin into the chat.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Savannah
Asher’s apartmentis in a low-rise tower with a jagged concrete and glass edifice, its windows facing every which way.
Brayden snorts when he sees it. “Of course Adler’s gotta live in a place like this.” But he holds the door for me as we go inside. “What’d you say he wanted to tell me?” he asks.
