“Speaking of, the guys are talking about doing their margarita movie night thing tomorrow.”
“Diaz told me.” She adjusted her tiny blue pigtails. Dani had the gift of effortlessly pulling off any look, including messy braids. “I put in a couple of calls to local movie theaters. We should be able to rent out one of the screens.”
That sounded like fun. I’d heard all about the guys’ Monday night tradition during our bus ride from Oregon. Right after the most blinding orgasm of my life. In a public restroom.
Good lord, who am I?
I turned back toward the field just as Soren bent over, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. Today was Dani’s day for game coverage, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t create a little something for myself, right? Without second-guessing it, I lifted my phone and pressed record.
I took it all in from behind the camera, like a naughty voyeur.
“My dirty fucking girl.”
My nipples pebbled as I recalled Soren’s words.
I watched him as he fielded a ground ball with catlike reflexes. His crisp, white jersey with “Sinclair” written across the back was tucked into a matching pair of baseball pants that did wonders for his backside. A backside I had spent a lot of up-close-and-personal time with as of late. I might have accidentally zoomed in on that particular feature.
Panning up and over the stitched number four, I caught the overgrown brown-black hair creeping out the sides of his red baseball hat. Now that I thought about it, his five o’ clock shadow was coming in closer to eleven o’clock these days. He hadn’t shaved since before we got to Arizona, probably some weird superstition, something baseball was known for. I wasn’t complaining though. Not when he looked like a Viking, pirate fantasy come to life.
It was well worth the beard burn on my thighs.
And just when I thought the man couldn’t get any hotter, he straightened to full height, adjusted his cap, and turned ever-so-slightly over his shoulder. He searched the crowd, almost as if he could feel the weight of my penetrating gaze. It didn’t take him long to find me—we were seated just beyond the team’s dugout—and when he did, he tipped his hat like an eighteenth-century gentleman and smiled as if to say, “I know exactly what you taste like.”
Because that was Soren Sinclair: the perfect amalgamation of politeness and pussy eating prowess.
“Oh my god, we’re so posting that.”
I jumped. “Hm?”
“That thirst trap video you just made.”
“I didn’t— That’s not what—”
I trailed off as I reviewed the video I’d captured. The one that I’d meant just for me . . . and my vibrator.
Hells bells.
Dani was right. I’d thirst trapped Soren, and I hadn’t even known it. My stomach suddenly knotted, and not because of the hot dogs.
“Seriously, you have to post that.”
“I don’t know.” I chewed my lip, searching for the right words. “Isn’t that kind of, objectifying him?”
“Have you heard of the female gaze, Clarke?” I nodded. I’d taken a course on female filmmakers in college, so I was vaguely familiar with the concept of the female gaze. “The female gaze is all about empathizing, showing intimacy while also showing respect.”
I had never heard it explained so eloquently, not even by my professor.
“This is a different side of Soren Sinclair, one that the fans will eat up. What person hasn’t dreamed about somebody looking at them like that?”
She had a point. Soren was well known by the press, but not for reasons he might have liked. Maybe this is what he needed to rehab his image.
Besides, our arrangement was temporary. I had no claim on his smiles. There had been women in his life before me, and there would, undoubtedly, be plenty more after our fling had run its course. I had a job to do, and like Dani said, fans would love to see this side of him. The one that said, “You’re the one person in the world that can make me smile like this.”
That.That was what every person dreamed about.
Rather than overthink it any further, I added a sexy, popular pop song, edited down the butt content to a minimum—because there were some parts of Soren that I didn’t feel comfortable sharing with the world and I doubted he would, too—and uploaded the video to the Roasters’ Tiktok.
“Done,” I said around a heavy sigh.
