Because you came in his hand twenty minutes ago, thanks to that slutty peach.
I sigh, relieved when the drill is over and he sends us into the field for hit rotation practice. Five hits each, and we run the bases. In the outfield where it's quiet and there are a hundred feet between me and Grey's dick, I feel like I can breathe. The ball doesn't make it to me, which is nice. Clearly, I am not fit to play today. But it means I get to watch our rag tag team, which makes me feel a lot better about my own skill. Like when Cass and Helen run for the ball, but both stop short, assuming the other was going to get it, and the ball lands right between them. Or another time when Darren and Luis run for a grounder andslam into each other hard enough they end up flat on their backs. Or when Clara, fueled by several gallons of coffee, smashes a ball so hard, it dinks the fence while we all watch with our mouths open.
As the resident worst, I am last in the lineup. And I am nervous as all hell as I trot in. I flip my hat around and pull on a helmet while Helen bats, trying not to look at Grey, who is squatted behind the plate, his hat backward and ass on display. Every time the ball hits his glove, the sound does something to me that I can't explain but leaves me wondering what it feels like to get spanked.
Helen finally connects, and everyone cheers like maniacs. Since it took her a dozen pitches to get there, Grey has her run the bases despite not hitting her five. I still haven't hit a ball other than our one-on-one practice, so on top of standing next to Grey when his mouth is at my fated pussy's level, I can swing and miss a dozen times and run the bases like a good girl so we can all move on.
"Batter up," he says when it's my turn, and I almost die on the spot. I can't tell if he's smirking, but I have a feeling he might be. "All right, peaches. Nice and easy. Eye on the ball."
"Okie dokie, Coach."
He makes a noise that sounds a little like a laugh, and I'm so distracted by it, the ball sails by. I didn't even know Shelby threw it.
Grey stands, throws it back, crouches again, saying, "That's all right. You've got this. Step into it and twist at the hip."
He's barely so much as looked at me since I got to the field, and now he's being all smirky and hot and sayingbatter upall casual.This is so dumb, Molly. It's exactly what he was talking about. Are you in too deep? One orgasm, is that all it took? You weren't even naked, for God's sake.
The ball makes that slap against the leather of his glove again, and I look down, blinking at him as he stands to throw it back.
"You good?" he asks gently.
"Peachy." This time, I stare at the ball in Shelby's hand like I could hit it over the fence with my eyeballs alone. I swing but whiff it.
Once he throws it, he really takes a second, making sure I meet his pale, intense eyes. "What's the matter, Molly?"
"Nothing," I mutter. When he doesn't relent, I add quietly, "I'm just annoyed. Maybe a little confused. Can we keep going? Everyone's staring."
A nod. He crouches. Doesn't say anything. I take a deep breath and try to clear my head. Shelby winds up, releases the ball, and I lean in, eyes narrowed on that hot pink ball as it flies toward me.
We both realize my mistake, but it's too late to do anything about it. I've leaned out far enough and low enough that the ball is sailing straight for my nose. I only have time to turn my head, the ball cracking into my helmet with a jolt. And just like that, the horizon tilts, and the ground slams into me, and everything goes dark.
CHAPTER 22
DR. COACH
GREY
"Fuck!" I shout, throwing off my mask in horror as I watch Molly crumple to the ground. "Fuck! Oh my God--Molly!" She's limp in my arms, out cold, draped across my lap awkwardly.
Shelby gets to me first. "Oh my god, she leaned right in front of it! Jesus!"
"Molly." My heart is pounding. I grab her chin, pat her cheek. "Molly, wake up." Nothing. "Fuck." My head snaps up to find the team hovering, panicked. "Call an ambulance!" I'm checking her pulse when her eyes blink open, and she squints up at me.
"Did I get on base?" she asks like she's half asleep, and a tight laugh bursts out of me. The wash of relief is so intense, it's dizzying. I close my eyes and clutch her to me for a second. Just a second.
She's made no move to sit, and I don't move her while I check her pupils by shielding her eyes against the field lights. "You scared the shit out of me, peaches. What's your name?"
"Miss Molly bo-bolly Lane. And you are Coach Greyson Brooks McHotbooty, Wolf Daddy, Esquire."
The team howls. I don't even care. "What day is it?"
"Friday, day of the peaches! Slutty, slutty peaches." She giggles, and I don't ask more questions for fear she'll out us.
"Still want that ambulance, Coach?" Luis asks.
I study Molly as she sits up wobbling a little. I've seen a lot of concussions, and this is definitely one. "Molly, what's two plus three."
"Five," she answers, rubbing her ear. "My ear is ringing."
