Though I wouldn’t say no to some hanging out sans sex. Maybe. My dick disagrees. But certain things in my chest are really hoping this can turn into something more than shared orgasms.
Another ball, and I shuffle back near the bag.
I’m really going to be good, though. I plan to invite Jed over to our apartment tonight. Frankie’s gone for a client meeting, so it’ll just be people Jed’s familiar with. Plus, Frankie’s a lot, and I don’t want to scare Jed away. Ease him into our chaos slowly. I really,reallywant him to like our chaos. It’s just…Jed is so solitary and serious.
It’ll be fine. He seems to like me, and I’m my own brand of crazy. At least when it comes to sex. Remove sex, and does he still?
What a question. One that’s spinning around inside me like an out-of-control top. Because no one’s ever wanted more that that before. I’m at risk of jumping out of my skin. I need to fucking run.
I creep off third. Olander blasts a high fly to right. I jog back to the base, gaze trained on the ball. The right fielder’s coming in for it. It’s nottooshallow, though.
“Read it!” Coach calls from behind me.
My decision. This guy’s got an arm. But it’s no match for me. Not right now. Not when adrenaline and anxietyare coursing through my veins like jet fuel. I set. This bag is a sprinter’s block to me.
Clean catch.
I bolt. The throw comes screaming, but my feet are fire. The ball’s spinning. Spinning. Spinning toward the catcher’s mitt. I can sense it—baseball and I are that in sync—he’s got the time to make the tag. But I know how to get by him without giving him a chance. I drop into a slide and soar outside the plate, arm darting out in a swipe so fast the catcher has no fucking hope. I spin to standing in one smooth move.
Slappin’ the fucking base, man. Or I guess I should say slappin’ the plate.
I tip my imaginary cap to the stands and walk toward the dugout of my cheering teammates.
And that, folks, is how it’s done.
I jog down the steps and am assaulted by back and helmet slaps and high fives.
When I reach Paulie, he picks me up and spins me around. “Fuck yes, man! That was like watching poetry.”
“Poetry in motion!” another one of my teammates yells.
“Someone’s gotta bring some fucking grace to this sport.” I grin and pull off my helmet.
I shake out my hair, and my attention falls on Jed. His lips are fighting a smile, but his dark eyes don’t stand a chance. They glow.
He crosses his arms and lifts a brow. “You think you’re hot shit, don’t you?”
“He is!” someone calls out.
“Not think. Know.” I wink and wave a hand at our cheering teammates as proof. I settle next to him, resting my arms on the rail.
Jed rolls his eyes, but his small smile totally ruins the effect. “You really need someone to put you in your place.”
“You volunteering?” I murmur.
He drops his head into his hands on the rail, his back shaking with mirth. He peeks at me.What am I supposed to do with you,glimmers back at me. He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to.
“Wanna come over tonight?” I blurt.
He chokes. Then dissolves into laughter.
I frown at him. “Not nice, Stone.”
He composes himself and gives me an indulgent smile. “It’s just amazing to me how you can do something likethat”—he waves toward the plate—“so fucking smooth, and then assault me with that question with all the finesse of a bulldozer.”
I lift a shoulder. “I like to keep ‘em guessing. You never know if you’re going to get smooth Shane or sloppy Shane.”
“They’re both pretty awesome,” he says quietly. “Yeah. I’ll hang tonight.”
