Page 66 of Curveball

That was all it took, those words, and he let go. His head dropped back as my name left his lips, pulling me to the brink right along with him. Once we both came down from what was probably the most intense orgasm I’d ever had, he wrapped me in his arms.

"Fuck, Wildflower. It doesn't get any better than you."

I tilted my head up to look at him. "Right back at ya, Ace."

Chapter 30

Walker

With Farrah's hand in mine, I led her out onto the ball field. To have her here on this field with me was revitalizing. Both thrilling and incredibly satisfying. To my surprise, Farrah had asked if she could come out and watch me practice with the team. After giving her a quick tour of the clubhouse, I took her out to the field so she could take in the place that made me come alive.

The team's owner approached. Duke Preston was young for a team owner—only forty years old, sharp, and immensely supportive of his players.

Coach Parks mentioned that Duke wanted to see how I was progressing… no pressure.

"Good to see you, Walker. Coach Parks tells me you're looking pretty damn solid." He shook my hand before turning his attention to Farrah.

I smiled and, after shaking his hand, placed it on the small of Farrah's back. "Good to see you too, Mr. Preston. I'm definitely feeling good. Farrah, this is the owner of the Austin Aviators, Duke Preston. Mr. Preston, this is my girlfriend, Farrah King."

Duke shook his head. "Please, call me Duke." He shook Farrah's hand and smiled. "Nice to meet you, Farrah. Have you had a chance to check out the ballpark?"

Farrah grinned. "I did, Walker showed me the clubhouse, and he was just now showing me the field."

Duke groaned. "Not the clubhouse. I apologize; we really need to renovate. It's on the list for this year; we just redid all of the concessions and dugouts."

Unable to help myself, I interjected. "Funny, you say that. Farrah here is an extremely talented designer."

Duke's eyes lit up. "Well, we’re still looking for a designer. I'd love to see your portfolio." He pulled his wallet from his pocket and held out a card to Farrah.

Farrah shifted on her feet, nervously tucking a long blonde strand behind her ear as she took the card. "Oh wow. Okay, yes, I can definitely send you my portfolio."

We chatted briefly before he had to run and I had to warm up.

Practice went well; the speed of my fastball was back up, and I was clocking ninety-nine miles per hour regularly. The topspin on my curveball was tight.

And seeing the smile that beamed off Farrah's face as she watched me in my element was electric.

On our drive back to Primrose Hill, Farrah turned towards me. "I forgot what an incredible pitcher you are." Her eyes sparked with excitement.

I chuckled as I intertwined our fingers together and rested them on the center console of my truck. "I don't know how to take that comment."

She laughed. "I mean, I’ve watched every game you’ve pitched in, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you live. I love watching you. Your skill, accuracy… hell, your speed, it’s insane. You're just so talented at what you do." Farrah smiled and adjusted the volume of the radio as if she hadn’t just blindsided me with that little tidbit of information.

"What was that, Wildflower? You’ve watched every one of my games?"

It was moments like these—honest truths we were finally sharing—that had slowly begun to close the wound I’d carried since she left.

She kept her focus on the road outside the passenger window. "Maybe."

I sat in my truck scrolling through my phone, waiting for Farrah and Hadley—I was picking them up to head to Sunday dinner with our families—when a photo of Farrah and me appeared in my feed. My mouth tipped into a soft smile.

It was from Austin, the two of us walking down the sidewalk after one of my practices. We were holding hands, her head thrown back in laughter, long golden waves spilling down her back, me staring at her like she was the only thing in focus. I clicked on it and read the caption.

Walker James seen again with same mysterious blonde. Who’s the woman who’s captured his attention?

I smirked. “She’s had it since I was fifteen,” I muttered to myself.

Against my better judgment, I scrolled.