Moonshot

by Alessandra Torre

  He twisted his hand, pulling the panties tighter, the cut of them in between my legs almost bringing me off the desk. I closed my eyes, and dropped my head, completely at his mercy.

  “Good lord, Ty.” He groaned the words, and his other hand was suddenly there, tight and rough in its grip of my opposite thigh. “Look at me,” he rasped out. “If you want more, I need you to look at me.”

  I opened drugged eyes, his face coming into focus, his eyes tight on mine.

  “There, Ty. Look at me.”

  I tried. But then his clench on my thigh was gone, and he ran his fingers across the tight stretch of my panties, a brush that did something inside of me, something that broke down any last stronghold, something that made my legs collapse, my thighs fully spreading for him, my chin trembling. His fingers brushed back, then took on a new life, slipping down, between my legs, pushing and rolling across the soaked fabric, my head falling back again, eye contact difficult as I tensed beneath his touch.

  “That…” One of my hands was suddenly on his shoulder, my nails digging into his shirt, holding on for dear life. “Don’t stop.”

  “Look at me, Ty. Stay with me, baby.”

  “I—” I whimpered out the word, not sure where it was going, his eyes reading me well, one of his fingers pushing past cotton and dipping inside of me.

  Holy shit. If I thought that … whatever that had been, was amazing, his bare finger, pushing inside of me, bending inside of me … it was, in an instant, the sweetest, purest pleasure I had ever known. I cried out his name, twisting before him, my hands clinging to him, crazy sounds of nonsense pouring out of me, everything in me focusing on the maddeningly perfect touch of his.

  I broke under his hands. I might’ve cried. I definitely swore. In those moments, his eyes on mine, his touch pushing inside, I climbed into heaven and fell back down a different woman.

  42

  He couldn’t. Never again, not with anyone else. Nothing would ever, after that moment, compare. Not with her cry, not with her reaction, not with her kiss. A woman shouldn’t be created in such heartbreakingly beautiful combinations. A woman shouldn’t, in fifteen minutes, have the ability to ruin him for life.

  43

  When I woke up, the room was dark. I rolled over and reached for him, my hands finding nothing, the bed empty. I sat up far enough to see the clock. 1:02. When I’d fallen asleep, I had been on my side, he on his, my body under the blankets because he’d said he couldn’t take the temptation, his body on top, six feet of gorgeous stretched out, his shoes kicked off.

  “Tell me about Ty Rollins,” he said, his gaze on me, his hand gentle as it tucked a bit of hair behind my ear.

  “Not much to tell. My mom died when I was seven. I joined Dad on the road. Been a clubhouse brat ever since.” I smiled, and his eyes softened, dropping to my mouth.

  “Tell me about your mom.”

  My smile faltered. “I don’t remember a lot.”

  “Was she a baseball fan?”

  I shook my head. “God no. I remember them fighting. That was really all I knew about my dad. That he’d be gone for long stretches of time, then he’d show up and they’d fight. About money, about his job…” I winced at the memory. “I was terrified when he picked me up and took me on the road.”

  He rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling. “There was no one else you could have stayed with? Grandparents or an aunt?”

  “Sure.” I snorted. “But he was stubborn. And for whatever reason, he wanted me with him. I hated him for it at first. I wanted to be home, with my friends, back in Pittsburgh.”

  “Not on the road with a bunch of old men?” He smirked.

  “Exactly.” I mimicked his pose, rolling onto my back, his body scooting closer, his arm lifting around me, and I rested comfortably in the crook of his arm. I’d never been in that place before, my chest rising and falling next to another, my face close enough to turn my head and kiss his neck. “But … you know … it was the best thing to ever happen to me. Not my mom dying, but coming on the road with him. Once I got over it all—the guys, the team—they became my family.” I curved a little into him, my hand resting on his chest. “And I wouldn’t change anything about it now.”

  “Anything?” His voice held a bit of hope, and my heart had lifted despite myself.

  “Maybe I’d change one thing,” I conceded, thinking of all of the places this conversation could go. A relationship talk? Was this what we were about to have? Or was it still too early for that? In baseball, I knew everything. With relationships, I knew nothing.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  I didn’t give him anything more, was too shy to put myself out there, and our conversation moved to baseball’s greats, then movies, then spring training and our favorite stadiums. We’d talked until we were hoarse, then we didn’t say anything for a while. At some point, the room had blurred, my eyelids too heavy. At some point, he’d left, turning out my light and going back to his room. Room 724. He’d thrown that out at some point, lifting his eyebrows suggestively, my eyes rolling in response.

  Room 724. I moved out of the bed and brushed my teeth. Staring into the mirror, my hair was loose and wild, my lips bruised from his kisses, the faint burn of a hickey on my neck. I pulled my hair back and stared at it in the mirror, fascinated. A hickey. I’d never had one before. I let my hair fall back into place and examined my reflection, a stranger’s reflection, that of a wild woman.

  Room 724. I rinsed my mouth and flossed. Walked back into the bedroom and found my phone. Plugged it in and checked my texts. Three from Tobey, one from Dad. Nothing from Chase. I crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling.

  Room 724.

  My body knew before my mind. My feet moved quickly when I finally stood, my room key pocketed, pajama pants pulled on underneath my jersey. I opened the door and was careful in my shut, glancing toward Dad’s room, the door closed without incident, then I was headed down the hall, with no clear game plan in mind.

  I was such a stupid girl. Running to a man’s room in the middle of the night. A man who I thought I shared something with. A man who had left my bed for something a little more mutually beneficial. I realized my mistake as soon as she swung open the door, her hand to her nose, her eyes swinging a little before they landed on me. Her boobs had grown since the game, pushed huge and out of a corset top, a beer and cash in one hand, her smile wide, Chase seen dim in the background, his back to me, a second girl hanging on him, the glimpse of her the last thing I saw before I turned, muttering wrong room, and ran down the hall, tears blurring my vision, to the safety of my room.

  When I rounded the curve, almost there, I was stopped, strong hands grabbing me, my name said as I looked up through the sting of tears and into a familiar face.

  44

  “Ty.”

  It was Tobey, and I almost pushed away, my mind conflicted, escape my primary goal. What if Chase came after me? What if Tobey saw? What would he say? What would I say? Stupid, stupid, stupid. A shot of anger coursed through me, and I straightened, finding my footing, my hand wiping at my face.

  “Are you okay?” His face, so concerned, so not Chase. From down the hall, there was the sound of a door banging against something, and my urgency increased.

  “I’m fine. Where’s your room?”

  “Right here.” He held up a key, a beer in his grip, and I grabbed it, tilting it to my lips, the liquid cold and sour against my freshly-brushed teeth.

  “Easy, Ty.” He laughed, reaching for the bottle, and I held it away, nodding to his room. “Open it.” I chugged the rest of his beer, liking the way his bleary eyes followed my throat, settling on the open neck of my jersey. My first sip of beer—it was weak and watery, cold and a little bitter. I swallowed and wanted more. Wanted to be someone different, a girl who didn’t care about Chase or our night or…

  the girl, her back to me, her lips against his bare shoulder, her arm reaching ar
ound him…

  Why had they been in his room? And why did he give me his room number if he was going to do that?

  Tobey’s door was open, and I stepped through, the empty bottle tossed toward the trash, my feet bee-lining for the kitchen of his suite, my hand pulling at the door of his fridge. Empty. White lights illuminating clean shelves.

  “What’s wrong?” Tobey was right behind me, so close that when I turned, I bumped into him, my hand pulling at the bottom of my jersey.

  I tried to smile. “Got any more beer?”

  “No.” His voice was wary, the response stretched out, and he stepped back slowly, my hopes of erasing this night with alcohol dimming. Then he crouched, fumbling open a cabinet, and my eyes dropped, the door open, a row of mini bottles shining from the dark depths. “But I have these.” He smirked up at me, and I stepped forward, my hand held out, mind replaying too many things.

  We were so good together. I twisted the cap of the first tiny bottle, something clear, and I swallowed a huge gulp of coconut fire, my throat burning, my eyes tearing as I took the juice Tobey handed me and chased down the liquor.

  I thought he’d been different. Different than the mistakes I had read about, the stupid decisions of his past. I’d thought, in just the way he’d looked at me, that I was healing. Fixing him. I took another bottle, Tobey unscrewing a duplicate and holding out mine, our tiny bottles clinking together, and then more was going down, another burst of bitter fire, this one golden, this one worse, both of us coughing at its end.

  Tobey smiled at me, appreciation in his eyes. “Damn, Ty. I didn’t take you for a hellion.”

  A hellion. I liked it, liked the look in his eyes, that wary pride. Liked the way his gaze stuck to my chest when he reached back into the minibar.

  I thought we were special. Another clear bottle, and the room spun briefly, then stopped, the world back in focus, just as ugly, but Tobey tugged at the end of my hair and said something, something funny, and I laughed. He pulled my hand, leading me toward the couch, and I didn’t move, pointing back at the minibar, wanting just one more.

  I was a hellion.

  I was strong.

  I was wild.

  I could not be hurt.

  I’d been falling in love. Wasn’t that how love felt? The connection that was impossible to fight? The unique tie between two souls that changed lives forever? This one didn’t burn going down my throat—it soothed, it warmed. I smiled at Tobey and realized, in an instant, how handsome he was. Rugged. He held out a soda, and I pushed it away. He pulled at the front of my shirt, and I stepped, or fell, into his arms. He pushed hair out of my eyes, and then we kissed.

  Then we were on the couch.

  Then he was above me.

  Then everything that had once been pure, was gone.

  I’d heard that it’d hurt the first time, but it didn’t. I hardly felt anything. And I didn’t, in the minutes before I stumbled back across the hall and into my own bed, think of Chase at all. I returned to my empty room, no sign of my father, my phone silent, no missed calls or texts. I hadn’t thought, in my night of recklessness, of Dad, and the possibilities of being caught. I crawled into bed and fell asleep with one bit of comfort, that he would never know what had happened.

  Another dumb thought. One of so many that night.

  Fuck Chase. And fuck being eighteen. So far, it sucked.

  45

  “Was it your guy?” Chase turned, finding the girl in the TV’s light, her approach closer, his eyes watching the blow of her hair as she moved, individual strands fluttering through the air.

  “No, but he’s coming.” She bent over the table, doing a line. Chase felt sequins move against his hand and turned his head, laughing softly at the girl, kneeling by him, her hands on his belt. He pushed at her gently, and she tumbled back, a string of curses shot out. It didn’t matter; nothing mattered. Not for this tag-along. Not for the other girl, both of them here for the drugs. Drugs they weren’t providing, this tiny taste worthless. He watched her finish the line and snapped his finger, gesturing for the mirror, her pass too slow, his eyes narrowing.

  At least she was brunette. Watching Ty sleep, her hair tangled against the pillow … it’d been so soft and white. So much like Emily’s. He shouldn’t have told her the stories, memories that had made him smile, but so painful in the aftermath, once she was asleep, once the room was dark and it was just her sighs and his thoughts. Too many thoughts, especially tonight. June 21st. The night he could never forget. The night always the hardest to get through. It was no coincidence that he’d gotten a DUI three years ago today. It was no coincidence that right now, he was here, surrounded by these idiots, craving an escape. Another few lines would do it. Then he’d be able to forget.

  There was another knock, and he watched her stand, grabbing the cash, her move to the door unsteady on her heels. This visitor was right, a man’s voice heard, and he finished off his beer, sitting in the chair, anticipation pushing hard through his veins.

  Soon, he’d forget. Soon, the anniversary of Emily’s death would be the furthest thing from his mind.

  46

  I didn’t want to see Chase Stern ever again. I didn’t want to see the smooth arc of his body as he jumped for a catch. I didn’t want to see the hug of his ass in baseball pants, the muscles beneath his uniform when he lifted his hands to adjust his hat. I didn’t want to see the twitch of his smile when his eyes met mine.

  When he came on deck, I stayed in place, his slow and lazy climb passing up the steps to my left. I held my breath as he passed, my chin resting on my crossed forearms, my eyes stuck on Rodgers, who took a step off second. Chase stopped in the dirt before me, right in my line of vision, his practice swings slow and perfect. I straightened, my irritated huff subdued as I moved left, leaning against the dugout wall.

  “Grab me a new bat?” My eyes flicked to him, dropping to the bat he held out.

  “What?”

  “I want to hit with something else.” His mouth did that thing that I didn’t want to see, where it twitched, as if we shared a secret.

  “You always hit with that bat.”

  His eyes flickered at my tone, and he stepped closer. “I’ll try the Marucci.”

  “Why?” This was stupid. He’d hit with a Louisville Slugger all season, and now he wanted to try something new?

  “Is something wrong?” Dad was suddenly there, next to me, his eyes hard on Chase.

  “No,” I muttered, grabbing Chase’s backup bat, another Slugger, and thrusting it out to him, my eyes daring him not to take it.

  He did, flipping the old bat toward me, the exchange wordless, the weight of Dad’s eyes stifling. Then Cortez hit a single and Chase was up, his glance at me unreturned, my actions brisk as I wiped off his original bat, sliding it into place, my back to him when he swung hard, the Louisville Slugger sending the ball high into the cheap seats, the home run adding three runs to the board.

  Try a Marucci bat. Guess I wasn’t the only one walking around with a head full of stupid.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I froze, bent over my tennis shoe, my final knot of laces slow as I bought an extra second before standing. I looked up to the front of the locker room, where he stood, his hand on the doorway, an edge to his voice.

  “Nothing.” I grabbed my jacket and shrugged into it.

  “You’re not staying for the second game?” His gaze skated over my jeans. We were into the first inning of the second game, today a long doubleheader day.

  “Just running up to the box, got a message for Heston’s wife.” I held up the folded piece of paper, a note I already peeked at, the sexual promises in it stopping my snoop three sentences in.

  “You’re acting weird.”

  I pulled the end of my ponytail out of my jacket, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t feel well.”

  “This have anything to do with last night?” He stepped closer, and I moved back, grabbing at my phone
. I wasn’t going to cry. Not here, not in front of this asshole. “It does.” He sounded surprised. “I thought you were okay with all of that. It wasn’t…” His voice softened. “I didn’t mean to push, if you weren’t ready—”

  I cut him off before this conversation got more off track. “It wasn’t that.”

  In the stadium, there was a cheer, something happening. I felt a sear of panic. “You need to go. You’ll be up soon.” Someone could come in at any moment. Our staff. The Reds’ staff. Another player. Someone could come in and we’d—this—would be caught.

  “Did I miss something?” He moved, blocking my exit, and gripped my shoulders with both hands. I finally looked up, a mistake. He looked so innocent, so sincere, his brow furrowed over those gorgeously dark eyes. Eyes that I had fallen into last night. Eyes that I had seen a future in, some ridiculous imaginary future. “I thought…” He swallowed. “I thought last night was pretty great.”

  Ha. Fury boiled in me, images burned in my soul pushing to the surface, the heave of cleavage, his bare back, the run of a girl’s hand down it, her mouth reaching for his face… “It was great,” I spit out. “Until you left. Until you went back to your room and—” I couldn’t finish. The words stuck in my throat like bile.

  He let go of me. “You went to my room? Last night?”

  “Yeah.”

  He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “And what’d you see?”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Not a confession, just a request to know how deep his grave was dug.

  I shouldn’t have answered. I should have pushed for more, pinned him until everything came out. But we were in the middle of the game, and our time was short. “Girls.” I swallowed hard. “Kissing you.”