Page 70

She finally responds with a photo of her and Harold kissing and then another one of her solo and in my jersey, sitting on my sofa. She looks so comfy, it shoots a pang of desire through me. I imagine coming home and leaping over the back of the sofa to lie on top of her. Have her fingers woven in my hair and my legs settled between hers. My cheek pressed between the valley of her breasts, her heartbeat in my ear.

Although my text back to her isn’t so wholesome.

I want another one of your tits.

Since I know she’s not wearing a bra, all she’d have to do is lift up the bottom of the shirt. But instead of a photo, I receive another message.

Is this from Austin or my boss?

Both.

This feels like an ethical violation.

Take it up with human resources.

Let me guess.

That’s also you?

You bet.

Now show me what I’m missing.

Yes, boss.

A few moments later, another picture comes through. Instead of smiling, she has her tongue stuck out, one hand lifting the hem of the jersey, showing off the small but high breasts of hers, pebbled pink nipples that make my mouth water. It’s silly and hot and perfectly Millie.

Good luck tonight.

Later, we win with a shutout, and I have a six-inning no-hitter.

CHAPTER 20

MILLIE

Eighty games into the season, and the Thunder are doing well. With all my research—the very studious kind of watching clips on YouTube that break down different pitches and the very unserious kind where I find videos of Austin walking out to the mound that zoom in on his butt—I can now follow along with the announcers and the postgame interviews when they talk strategy and statistics. I know this is one of Austin’s best years. Not since he was called up to the majors has he done so well, so consistently. In the past, he has psyched himself out of the games at some point in the season and it all sort of falls apart for him, but so far, so good.

I would not be so arrogant as to think it has anything to do with me, but maybe this trade to Philadelphia has made something click in his mind. I would assume playing with a sibling, like he did in Atlanta, might cause some competition in any family, but especially in his family. When Brett has been dubbed the heir and Austin the spare.

I’ve learned that Doug Ashwood raised both of his boys to be pitchers, but in college, Brett needed Tommy John surgery, and because he was such a good all-around player, his coach tried him at catcher, and he’s been there ever since. My studying has made me understand that catchers are sort of like a field general in battle. They help keep the tempo of the game steady by calling the pitches and controlling the defensive flow of the team. A player like Brett, who is a phenomenal catcher while also being an excellent batter, has made himself indispensable to his team.

Whereas, pitchers are basically a dime a dozen. They’re, arguably, the most important player on defense, and yet if something’s not jiving on the field, they’re the first to go. If a pitcher has a bad day, there are literally a dozen others waiting to take the mound. So, I find it completely understandable that Austin feels so much pressure every single day, not just because of his position on the team, but in his family as well.

He won’t say, but I have to guess whatever happened to bring Austin to his breaking point that he would start a fight with his brother in the middle of a game, it had to be pretty bad. Austin, while rough around the edges, is a thoughtful person. He’s generous to a fault, humble even when he doesn’t need to be, and he has made my son and mother fall completely in love with him. Over the last two weeks, he’s had my mother’s favorite foods delivered to the house and has started FaceTiming me just to talk to Noah, giving him advice and pumping him up before games. This man has no ties to my family, and yet he continuously shows up for them when there is no reason for him to.

Unless, of course, it’s because of me.

And I am arrogant enough to assume that.

I genuinely think he likes my mother and Noah. I genuinely believe he is a good person who wants to help out where he can. I also know he wants to get in my pants, and being sweet to my family is the fastest way to do that.

Not that I’m complaining.

I am not very sexually experienced since I went from being a late bloomer immediately to motherhood. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.

The little sex I have had has been more of an exploration than actual enjoyment, but with Austin… I’ve gone around the board so many times, I hit the jackpot. I am rich with reward. As if after all these years, I’ve finally collected all that stored desire and sunk into the gluttony of being coveted.

Because there is nothing—nothing—like feeling the blaze of Austin Ashwood’s two-toned gaze raking my skin. Bearing the weight of his body on top of mine. The bristle of the hair on his legs as they rub against mine. The sinful stretch of him every time he thrusts inside me. And then his sticky orgasm on my stomach.