by Tara Wyatt
Heat crept up her neck, and she shoveled in a mouthful of fruit. Her stomach rumbled appreciatively, and she dug in to the pancakes, which she had to admit tasted amazing. After a couple of bites, she set her fork down.
“And cooking me breakfast feels…” She frowned, searching for the right word. “Datey. And we’re not dating.”
Dylan leaned back and crossed his arms, a contemplative expression on his face. “Hmm. You know, I think you’re right. Well, we can fix that.” Her plate disappeared from in front of her as he whisked it away.
“Hey, wait!” She followed him as he moved toward her garbage can under the sink. He turned, a cocky smirk that made her want to kiss him and smack him at the same time tugging up his gorgeous lips.
“I’m just trying to follow your rules, Magnolia.”
Something sweet tried to unfurl in her chest at his use of her full name, but she squashed it down and grabbed on to the anger simmering in her blood instead. She took the plate back from him and set it on the counter, wheeling to face him.
“They’re not my rules; they’re our rules, first of all. And second, don’t make me out to be a bitch for having boundaries.”
All the cockiness vanished from his face, his expression softening. He ducked his head and nodded. “You’re right. You’re right. And I never meant to make you feel like you were being a bitch. You’re not, Mags. Not at all. I was just teasing. And…I mean, I stayed because I like hanging out with you. Is that so awful?”
She bit her lip, turning his words over in her mind. The half-apology. The use of the forbidden nickname. The admission he liked spending time with her. All they did was wind the knot of confusion sitting right in the center of her chest a bit tighter.
“I don’t know what to think,” she said, picking up a strawberry from her plate and popping it in her mouth.
“I have a crazy idea.”
She pressed her lips together, feeling as though the ground were shifting beneath her and she couldn’t quite get her footing. Dylan had always been able to put her off-balance. Always. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
He leaned toward her, a conspiratorial smile on his face. “Let’s be friends.”
“But the rules—”
He cut her off with a shake of his head. “The rules don’t say anything about not being friends. We’re still talkin’ night-time hook-ups, booty calls, no romance, all of that. Okay, yeah, I slept over. I was tired. No big deal, right? I meant it when I said that I wanted to be friends with benefits.” He took a step closer to her and snagged a blueberry off her plate. “And the truth is, while I knew you ten years ago, I don’t know you real well now. But I want to.” He took another step closer, caging her in against the corner of the counter. “Don’t you want to know me, too?”
She sucked in an unsteady breath. Could she be friends with Dylan McCormick? Reply hazy, try again. Crossing her arms over her chest, she narrowed her eyes at him.
“I did know you, Dylan. And you broke my heart.”
Pain flashed across his face, and she could tell that her words had cut deep. Good. At least that was something. For several long seconds, he didn’t say anything, and then finally, he shook his head.
“I was a stupid kid. I know that’s not much of an excuse, but I am sorry I hurt you. I’ve always regretted it.”
“You have?”
“The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you. Then, or now.” He hesitated slightly before continuing. “That’s why I told you no when you first suggested we hook up.”
She wanted so badly to believe him, but she couldn’t stop thinking about that rainy night when he’d discarded her and everything they’d had. An entire future. All that possibility and goodness, washed away like mud into a river. If the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, why had he done it?
She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
“I’m bein’ genuine with you here. Promise.” He laid his hand over his heart, his eyes big and gleaming with sincerity.
Maybe, just maybe, if they were going to be friends in the present—and nothing more than friends, because she’d learned her lesson where Dylan was concerned—the past didn’t matter. What had happened between them felt like a lifetime ago. They’d both been different people. To be friends, all that really mattered was who they were now. And Dylan was right. They didn’t really know each other now, as adults. And yet, she couldn’t ignore the worry tugging at her.
“This whole thing was supposed to be about closure and being friends…I dunno. It feels like opening something up, not putting a final punctuation mark on it.”
“I mean, yeah. I guess it would be kind of a new beginning in a way. I don’t really know what kind of closure you’re looking for, but you could gain a friend in the process, is all I’m sayin’.”
“I…” She sighed and stared at him, weighing her words. “I don’t know if I know how to be friends with you.”
He smiled, his expression warm and gentle. “I promise I don’t bite.” He leaned in and tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. “Unless you ask nicely.”
A half-giggle, half-moan escaped her lips. She arched up onto her toes, aiming for his mouth when her stomach rumbled loudly, ruining the moment. They both laughed, and Dylan handed her plate back to her.
“C’mon, let’s eat before it’s cold.”
They sat back down at the table and she watched him as she took another bite of her pancakes. “Just a friendly breakfast between two half-naked friends who spent the night boinking like bunnies,” she observed wryly, hoping that if she could find the humor in the situation, everything wouldn’t feel so laden with meaning. She wanted to cling to the idea that he was an asshole for breaking their rule about sleeping over, but he was here cooking her breakfast and telling her he wanted to be her friend. Pretty non-assholish, in her book. And what if he’d driven home in the wee hours of the morning, bleary-eyed and exhausted and something had happened? Her throat constricted a little, and she pushed the thought away.
Dylan arched an eyebrow at her as he chewed. “Boinking? What are you, twelve?”
She stuck her tongue out at him and he winked at her. Flutters erupted in her tummy, combined with a warm, sunny feeling, one she hadn’t been expecting to feel around Dylan. “How would you describe it?”
Heat flashed in his eyes and he licked a stray drop of maple syrup off his lip. Maggie rubbed her thighs together, a tiny ache taking root between her legs. “I’d say we spent the night fucking each other senseless.”
Her lips parted, and she sucked in a breath, her heart picking up speed. Their eyes locked, electricity snapping in the air between them. Dylan threw his fork down, and they both pushed up out of their chairs at the same time. Half a second later, she was in his arms, her body pressed against his, his hands in her hair as he kissed her, deep and sweet. He broke the kiss to pull the shirt off over her head and shove his jeans down, and then he lifted her onto her bistro table, spread her legs and dropped to his knees in front of her.
Maybe being friends with Dylan McCormick wouldn’t be so bad.
Eight
Nothing worthwhile ever happened overnight. Life, Dylan had learned, was all about baby steps. His baseball career hadn’t happened all of a sudden—it had happened slowly, one hit, one catch, one game at a time, and by showing up and putting in the work every day. Now, he was taking the same approach with Maggie. And getting her to agree to try to be friends felt like a pretty big baby step in the direction of winning her back. If she was anything like the girl he’d fallen in love with ten years ago, she was stubborn and needed to come around to things on her own time. He’d show her what they could have and who they could be. She’d see it. She had to.
Because, damn, he couldn’t get enough of her. Couldn’t get enough of the feel of her body pressed against his, the sweetness of her mouth, or the smell of her skin. Couldn’t get enough of the sound of her laugh, or the way she breathed softly and deeply in her sleep, or the way s
he chewed on her lip when she was thinking. She was funny, and stubborn, and smart, and exuded a warmth he’d gotten easily addicted to back when they’d been teenagers—a warmth he still saw glimpses of now. The things that had drawn him to her then were still there, plus all kinds of new things. When he’d told her he wanted to know her, it hadn’t been a line. No, it had been nothing but the complete, naked truth. He wanted all of her. More than that, he wanted her to want to give him that.
A quick road trip to Houston for the battle of Texas had taken him out of town for three nights, but the team had gotten in late last night, and he couldn’t wait to head over to her place after the game tonight. Rule breaker that he was, he’d texted her as soon as the chartered flight had landed, asking if he could come over the following night. She’d texted him back almost immediately, two words that had sent anticipation pounding through him.
You’d better.
He was counting down the seconds until he saw her again. But for now, he had batting practice to focus on.
Finished with his defensive drills, Dylan grabbed one of his bats, slipped a weight on the end of it, and started going through his warm-up swings. He’d already hit earlier in the cage, and while that had gone well, every day when he showed up for BP, it was as though whatever he’d worked on, any progress he’d made, had just vanished. He’d felt good in there this morning, his mind sharp, his muscles loose, his timing on. Now, he just hoped what he’d found would still be there when it was his turn to hit on the field. With Hunter suspended, he knew his position in the lineup wasn’t in jeopardy, but he still needed to get out of this slump. It felt as though a lot of other shit was coming together. He’d found an apartment to rent, he was fitting in well with his new team, and he’d reconnected with Maggie. Now he just needed to actually hit some fucking baseballs.
When it was his turn, he stepped up to the plate, easing into his stance. As usual, Abby stood off to the side, directing the practice.
“Sac bunt!” she called, and Dylan angled his bat at the incoming pitch, making solid contact and sending it dribbling toward third base. “Hit and run!” He smacked a line drive up the first base line. She kept shouting situations—man on third infield in, sac fly infield out, safety squeeze, drop it mid-field, send it out—and Dylan kept hitting the ball. Every. Single. Time. An awareness of his body moved through him, and for the first time in way too fucking long, he felt fluid at the plate, like he was finally firing on all cylinders. A weight lifted from his chest with each hit, making him feel lighter and lighter. By the end of his thirty pitches, he was starting to sweat with exertion, his body tired but soaring with satisfaction.
Before moving on to the next batter, Abby jogged over to him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Great job, McCormick. Told you it’d all come together. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. Keep it up.”
He grinned, stretching and tilting his face up to the sky.
“Bottom of the second and here’s Dylan McCormick, who’s yet to have a hit this season,” says Wayne Hopkins. “Last season, before the knee injury, he was plugging away with a .290 batting average, five home runs, and twenty-three RBIs. He struggled before coming over from the Padres, and his woes have continued here in Dallas.”
“Injuries can really derail a guy,” says Ron Whittaker. “They’re hard to bounce back from, not just physically but mentally, especially when you miss nearly an entire season like McCormick did.”
“Here’s the windup and the pitch and…McCormick sends one out to deep left. It looks good…it looks good…And it’s gone! Good golly Miss Molly, that ball is outta here! McCormick with home run number one on the season. With one swing of the bat, he’s ended his 0-for streak and put the Longhorns up 1-0 over the Kansas City Royals. Welcome back to the show, Dylan McCormick!”
“Fourth inning and the Longhorns are decimating the Royals by a score of 10-2, and up next is Dylan McCormick, who had a solo shot homer in the second inning, ending his hitless streak over a month into the season,” says Wayne Hopkins.
“You have to think that the pressure’s off now that he’s got a hit,” says Ron Whittaker.
“Oh, for sure,” agrees Wayne. “What do you think he’s doing differently tonight?”
“He seems more relaxed, and he’s letting the ball come to him instead of chasing, which has helped his timing for sure. He’s got some swagger out there. He looks confident.”
“Here’s the pitch from Rodriguez and McCormick hits it out to left center…it’s at the wall…and…goodbye! Good Golly Miss Molly, that ball is outta here! Dylan McCormick with his second home run of the night.”
“Hitless streak? What hitless streak?” jokes Ron.
“Fans aren’t going to be talking about that anymore, that’s for sure. What a night for Dylan McCormick.”
Dylan lay on his back in Maggie’s bed, her head resting on his chest as he stroked a hand up and down the smooth skin of her bare back. The afterglow of his orgasm—not to mention his two home runs earlier that night—still hummed through him, making him feel like a fucking king. Right now, in this moment he had everything. Two home runs, and his woman in his arms, naked and satisfied. A fresh start, in so many ways. Originally, he’d been angry about being traded to Dallas, but now, it felt like a second chance season.
He smiled as he felt Maggie’s lips wander across his chest in a string of lazy kisses. Even though he’d just had her, his cock twitched at the idea of sliding inside her again.
“You know, in ten years, your stamina’s improved. A lot,” she said, angling her head to glance up at him, a mischievous grin tilting up her lips.
“Hey, I was eighteen. Cut me some slack. The fact that I was able to last longer than thirty seconds back then deserves at least a little credit.”
She giggled. “I wasn’t complaining. Now or then.”
The weight of all the time between then and now sat on his chest like a boulder, and he wove his hand into her hair. “What have the past ten years been like for you? I wanna know everything.”
She rose slightly, giving him a look with an arched eyebrow. “Everything?”
He snorted out a breath. Yeah, he didn’t need details on the men she’d undoubtedly been with. He was already struggling to control his inner caveman. “Okay, maybe not everything. But what’s your life been like?”
She settled back down on his chest, drawing idle circles on his skin with her fingertip. “Well, after you left, I mainly just worked, trying to save up enough money to go to school. I got a scholarship, but it only covered tuition, so I still needed to save for books and living expenses and all that. I was all set to go UT Arlington when Mama got sick, so I couldn’t go right away.”
Dylan’s chest constricted, and a little flicker of guilt rose up inside him at the mention of her scholarship. “What kind of cancer did she have?
“Stage four breast cancer. We had insurance, but there were still a lot of medical bills to pay, plus she couldn’t work because she was so sick from the chemo. So I stayed back to look after her and work while she went through treatment.”
A hard lump settled in his throat, making it hard to swallow. He ached for her and what she’d gone through, and he knew there was nothing he could say to make it hurt any less. He wished with a fierce intensity that he’d had the courage to check in on her life, but he’d been too afraid of what he’d find. What if she’d been happily married to someone else? What if looking in on her had only made the pain of walking away from her worse? He hadn’t had the balls to face any of that, so he’d let her be, pretending he didn’t think about her regularly.
Maggie got quiet for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. “That was a really hard time for me. Watching her get sicker and sicker, trying so hard to keep the house and the car and everything going…it was a lot.”
“I’m sorry, Mags. I’m so damn sorry,” he murmured against her hair, regret that he hadn’t been there for her twisting his stomach into knots. He shouldn’t have taken hi
s father’s offer. Even though it had benefited Maggie in the end, it had been a mistake. He’d let the bastard manipulate him.
Never again.
“She fought really hard, but she was never going to win. She died about two years after she was diagnosed.” She glanced up at him, biting her lip. “You want to know something awful? I was relieved when she died. I felt like I could finally breathe again.”
“That’s not awful. You didn’t want to see her suffer anymore. I get it.” He paused before continuing. “It must’ve been hard to be on your own.”
“It was, but it was freeing, too. I went to school, and after graduation I moved into the city.”
“When did you start working for the team?”
“A couple of years ago now. I never thought I’d end up in the baseball world, but I actually really love it.”
“What did you go to school for?”
“After Mama died, I needed a change of scenery, so I ended up going to UT San Antonio and did a degree in Communications. Thankfully, I was able to transfer my scholarship.” She propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at him, her blond hair tumbling around her bare shoulders in messy waves. “Hey, what did you end up majoring in at Vanderbilt? When you left, you hadn’t decided.”
“Never really settled on a major. I tried anthropology, sociology, economics. Bounced around between different faculties.” He shot her a rueful grin. “You know me. School was never really my thing.”
“I might remember something about that, yeah.” She dipped her head. “I remember helping you cram for your biology final that night your dad was out.”
His chest expanded as he remembered the night, very early in their relationship, when she’d come over to help him study. They’d ended up making out until their lips were swollen instead. “We didn’t do much studying, but we learned a thing or two about biology,” he said, tipping his mouth to hers.