I can’t help the way my stomach plummets. That’s what Foster Davis thinks of women. Disposable, interchangeable, and only good if he’s in the mood to bed one of them—otherwise they’re of no use. That’s exactly what I was to him. A warm, wet pussy to slip his dick into for a few minutes.
I hate how much it hurts.
Foster downs the drink the server brings him in one go.
Surprisingly, Hayes and Leighton rejoin us in the VIP section, looking disheveled and definitely freshly fucked.
I raise my hand. “Ready to go now?”
Leighton tilts her head, and I stand, turning back to Decker. “Thanks for the dance. If Dancing with the Stars ever asks you to be on the show, go for it. No one else stands a chance.” I wave goodbye to Easton as I’m passing Foster. “Sorry about your lady. Maybe next time.”
He doesn’t hear me because he’s rehashing the story to Hayes and Leighton.
As I’m stepping through Foster’s open legs, he locks mine between his, causing me to stop. I turn toward him. Neither of us says anything as we stare at one another for an uncomfortable beat.
“Sorry it didn’t work out with Stephie.” I glance at his lap. “She not into whiskey dick?”
He doesn’t spit out a sarcastic response. Instead, to my surprise, he says, “I’ll get you home.”
I lean down and pat his chest. “That’s okay, big guy. Go find another girl on the dance floor to warm your bed tonight. They’re all there for the taking, right?”
I straighten up, and he narrows his eyes at me. I step dramatically over his legs.
“Ready?” Leighton asks.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
She swings her arm through mine, and we walk out of the VIP section.
Leighton leans close and says directly into my ear, “So it’s totally the bad boy of baseball, right?”
I almost tell her. I’m sure that little stunt Foster and I just pulled gave us away. My brother is going to ask questions.
“Thank fuck, I think I’m too old for this place,” Hayes says as soon as we’re clear of the crowd.
Guess not.
“How would you know? You were in the alley fucking Leighton the majority of the night.”
He doesn’t say anything, and once we’re outside, I take a big, cleansing breath. I just want to get home, but at least going to Saffire helped make my decision easier.
I’ll do my duty and tell Foster, then the baby and I will move on with our lives.
Chapter
Four
Foster
* * *
I zip up my coat, jog down the outside stairs of the condo, and pass through the security gate. There’s another sign with The Dugout written on it, along with a bunch of notes. Some are specific to one member of the team who lives here, and others are addressed to all of us with the hopes that at least one of us takes them up on their invitation.
The name The Dugout seems to have stuck for our three-condo building, but I don’t really give a shit about it. Easton was pretty into the whole name thing. Not sure why he cares. It’s not really about us, it’s about them, and by them, I mean the diamond girls. They’re the ones who put us up on some pedestal as if they get into the Hall of Fame if they sleep with us.
For years, I took advantage of women and what they hoped would come after a night with me. I do feel like a dick for my immature and childish behavior. Later on in my career, I learned to lay it all out before I slept with a woman. That stopped the online bashing and stalking afterward—for the most part.
I let the security gate shut behind me, leaving the sign on the gate. If it makes them think we’ll get their notes, what’s wrong with giving them a little hope?
