“I’m right there, Princess. Don’t stop,” Dylan warned.
My lips tightened around him, and that was all he needed. His body arched off the bed as he shot hot, thick cum into my mouth, and I swallowed every last drop.
Jase fell onto his back on the bed, and I collapsed between the two of them.
When I finally caught my breath, I glanced at my phone on the nightstand. “Shit,” I blurted, sitting up.
Jase propped himself up on an elbow. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s almost time,” I said, scrambling to find my dress. “Rhett’s about to propose to Fallon, and I can’t miss it.”
2
Jase
Two weeks later,Dylan and I were on a flight to Portland, Oregon. The plan was to catch a few home games of the Seawolves, who were in their first year as a Major League expansion club. My father, Chase Matthewson, was their bench coach.
With school on break and a few days off from our summer league, we were able to visit our dads at the same time as the MLB draft.
About a year before Dad retired from the MLB, Mom moved my sister, Cammie, and me to San Diego. She signed me up for travel ball, where I met Dylan Statler, and we became best friends. When my dad hung up his cleats, he moved to SoCal to be closer to us and met my coach, Gage, who was also Dylan’s father. Turns out they’d been college roommates years ago who’d hooked up before Gage suffered an off-campus injury that led him to drop out of school.
Before too long, those former college roommates got married, making Dylan and me best friends turned step-bros.We shared an apartment, a love of baseball, and, every once in a while, the same woman. Like on the Fourth of July, when we had a threesome with the president’s daughter. I still couldn’t believe she wanted us, but it had been an amazing night. So much so that once Dylan and I got back to LA, I found myself on The Loop, a social media app, following the socialite with blue eyes.
After taking a sip of the water the flight attendant had given me, I pulled my phone out of my hoodie and opened the social media app. As I scrolled, I stopped on a post of Faye and her best friend, Morgan, at a club. They had drinks in their hands and were smiling as Faye took a selfie. I could also make out the Secret Service detail in the background. The memory of that night two weeks ago flashed in my head.
“That Faye?” Dylan asked, leaning over.
“Yeah,” I responded.
“You follow her?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Me too.”
“Think she’d ever be up for round two?”
“Only one way to find out.” He nodded toward my phone. “DM her.”
“And what? Ask her to fly to Portland and meet us?”
“I’m sure she can hop on Air Force One or something.”
“I don’t think it works that way.” I chuckled.
“Then tell her we’ll come to her. We can go to Boston once summer ball is over, or ask her to come to LA when we’re back.”
“You want me to be that direct?”
“Sure, why not?”
Faye didn’t seem to have a problem saying exactly what was on her mind, so maybe Dylan was onto something. I opened her profile and hit the button to write a message:
We want another night with you. We can come to Boston or meet up in LA. Let me know
I went back to the feed and kept scrolling through the app, but it didn’t take her long to reply:
Oh you think I’ll just drop my panties because you messaged me? That was one night. I have events, family, and a detail. I’m not on call for you. If I want more, I’ll reach out
