“This team is through an organization for kids who have lost a parent or sibling. It’s a cause that’s close to my heart.” Colt clenches his jaw and looks away for a moment to gather himself.
I have to swallow past the lump in my throat a few times before I can croak, “That’s a good cause.”
Colt gives me a soft smile before rummaging in his backpack for something. When he finds what he wants, he chucks a wad of white-and-blue fabric at me.
I catch it reflexively. Shaking out the bundle, I realize that he tossed me a white baseball jersey with blue stripes. Both “11” and “Davenport” are embroidered in matching blue on the back.
After examining the shirt that’ll be way too big on me, I questioningly look up at him.
His mouth tips up in a half smile. “I’m already wearing team colors. You’re not, so you can borrow my jersey.”
I mean, he’s not wrong. I’m in pure black, and I’d assume the team colors are white and blue.
Shrugging, I take off my leather jacket so I’m just in my tight black undershirt. The stretchy material is sweat-wicking and comfy for riding, but it’s a lot tighter than anything I’d normally wear. Combined with my skinny riding jeans, I feel like I’m wearing a catsuit without my jacket over the top.
Colt growls, and I look up at him in alarm. I freeze when my gaze collides with his. Colt’s icy blue eyes are burning with something that looks a lot like heat or anger. I can’t really tell which it is, and I automatically shrink back at the thought that he’s pissed at me.
Apparently, this was the wrong move because Colt’s expression turns thunderous. He takes a step toward me before whirling around. With his back to me, Colt puts his hands on top of his head and looks up at the sky.
“Put on the damn jersey, Lark,” he growls over his shoulder. “Now.”
My eyes widen, and I hurry to do what he says. Pulling the shirt over my head, I’m unsurprised when it falls to mid-thigh. Colt’s a good ten inches taller than me, so it makes sense that his top absolutely swallows me.
Once I’m sufficiently covered, I mumble, “Sorry. I didn’t realize I looked so bad in the undershirt. I don’t usually give any thought to how I look when riding, so… sorry.”
I want to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment. One of the hottest guys I’ve ever met is grossed out by seeing me in a tight shirt and pants. I guess I don’t need to worry about guarding my heart from him, because he clearly would never want me like that.
“You looking bad isnotthe problem. Not even close. Trust me, sweetheart.” Colt turns back around and scrubs a hand over his face before seeming to shake himself out of it. “C’mon. Let’s get on the field before they start the game without us.”
CHAPTER 13
COLT
Lark is going to be the death of me.
She strips down to her undershirt that leaves very little to the imagination, then shrinks back like she’s going to run from me. That’s like waving a bright red flag at my beast. He loves the hunt and wants nothing more than to chase Lark, catch her, and rut her until she’s begging him to stop.
Which won’t be happening anytime soon. Not when there’s still so much she doesn’t know.
She’s lucky I didn’t bend her over her bike and show her just how much I like her tight little shirt and pants on her. I bet she’d whimper and whine so pretty for me when she’s pinned down and forced to take all of me.
And now I have a raging hard-on. Fucking great.
Discreetly adjusting myself, I place my hand on Lark’s lower back and try not to drown in her melted sugar and winter berry scent as we walk over to the field.
I also try to ignore how good she looks in my jersey. The possessive part of me wants to demand that she always wear my clothes, but I’m not stupid. I’d have to explain way more than I’m allowed to if I did that. As much as Azrael’s decision on thisfrustrates me, I understand where he’s coming from. I just don’t think it’s the right move.
“Coach Colt! Finally, man. I thought we were gonna have to forfeit the game because our coach stood us up. What was so important that you’re fifteen minutes late?” Oscar, one of the older boys on the team, heckles me when I step into the dugout. His brown eyes widen when he sees Lark next to me. “Ohhhh. I get it. I’d be late for that too.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I’m late because Coach Austin called out sick. Coach Lark agreed to help me out with you punks this afternoon, so be nice, Oscar.”
Oscar grins at me as he brushes his floppy brown hair out of his eyes. He then turns his megawatt smile on Lark. “It’s so nice to meet you, Coach Lark. Thank you for giving up your Saturday to spend with us. Me and all the other kids really appreciate it.”
Lark’s cheeks turn pink at Oscar’s thanks. “It’s no problem. I used to love watching and playing baseball as a kid, so I’m excited to help out today.”
“Davenport,” the ref barks. “Are we gonna start anytime in this century?”
“Yeah, yeah, Jones. I’ll be out on the plate in just a second.” Turning to the team, I look at the unofficial leaders—Silas, Oscar, and Violet. “Did everyone warm up? Do you need me to stall for time to get everyone ready? We’re the visiting team this time, so we’re up to bat first.”
