“Don’t push your luck.”
He chuckles and captures my mouth, dipping me back into his strong arms and having one more taste before we start driving balls off the cliff of this suite.
* * *
“Don’t lie to me.” Cory laughs, that hearty laugh I’m starting to become addicted to. Hell, not starting, I’m already addicted to it.
“I’m not lying.”
We’re sitting on the couch of the suite after hitting all our golf balls into the range and we’re enjoying some really amazing steak and salad—Cory is watching what he’s eating these days, which I can understand. Yeah, that means no more three desserts in one night.
Gripping my thigh as we’re facing each other, he gives it a squeeze. “You’re lying. I can see it in the way your eyes are smiling at me.”
“My eyes can smile? Huh, I had no idea.”
“Stop fucking with me,” he teases. “Just tell me the truth and maybe I’ll let you caress my dick in the car again when I drop you off.”
“I drove myself here, remember?”
“Fuck,” he mutters and then looks out toward the lit-up driving range. “I knew meeting you here was going to bite me in the ass.”
“Just kidding, I took a Lyft.”
His face lights up. “Really?”
I slowly nod while running my tongue over my lip. “Looks like someone is just as excited as me about our end-of-the-date goodbyes.”
“You can say more than excited,” he responds, sliding his hand farther up my thigh, making the nerves in my leg twitch and bunch up. Leaning toward my ear, he breathes in my scent, running his nose along my jaw and to my ear. “Now tell me the truth.”
Chills spread all along my arms. He nibbles my ear and the spot between my legs starts to throb with anticipation of the heavy groping that will occur in his car.
“You know you came here because you wanted me to hold you the whole night, teach you how to swing a club.” He bites down on my lobe. “Admit it.”
“Never,” I sigh, even though the thought did cross my mind. Hitting a bunch of balls sounded like a good night but the idea of Cory wrapped around me the entire time was the reason I was fully on board with the date idea.
And the night was everything I imagined with Cory’s strong arms circling me, his frontside against my back, his powerful thighs pressing against mine, and his sweet, warm breath tickling my ear with directions on how to hold the club and swing.
True heaven. And it’s been just like our time at St. Croix. Fun, chatting about anything and everything. Easy.
“You’re such a liar.” He chuckles and pulls away, leaving me feeling empty and needy. He reaches for his drink and casually takes a sip, eyeing me from over the lip. “What?” he asks on a cheeky grin.
“You can’t just turn me on like that and then push away.”
“Oh, I can’t?” he asks with humor as his brows float up to his hairline. “This coming from the girl who loves rubbing her hand all over my hard cock while we’re making out in the car.”
“Hey, I’m not the only one getting handsy. Pretty sure my nipples get hard just from the sight of your fingers now. You’ve trained them to expect pinching when you’re around.”
“As they should,” he says just as he reaches out and pinches one of my breasts.
“Oh my God.” I swat his hand away. “How dare you try to touch my boob.” I act shocked and offended, which only makes him tilt his head back and laugh.
“I’ll remember this when you reach for my zipper later.” He tugs on my hand and pulls me onto his lap, situating me just right so I rest my head on his shoulder. With one of his arms draped over my legs, the other one casually stroking his hand up and down my back, he says, “I leave in two weeks.”
“I know.” I hug him closer. “It’s all moving so fast. I wish I could slow it down. Have more time with you before the season starts.”
“Me too.” He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering. “This feeling I have, churning in the pit of my stomach, it’s what I’ve been trying to avoid all these years when it came to jumping into a relationship.”
“What feeling?” I ask, my hand making small circles on his chest. Some smooth John Legend song plays in the background and off in the distance, we can hear other suites having a good time. But we’re secluded enough to create a good sense of privacy, for us to feel comfortable and relaxed.
He takes a deep breath. “Dread. Dread of having to leave you. Dread of not being able to see you whenever I want. Dread of having long hard days and not being able to give you all of me at the end of the night when I’m tired.” He pauses and takes my hand in his. He twists our fingers together as he says, “Dread that you’ll get sick of it, the schedule, the attention I give to the game, the long nights and short days.”
I bring our connected hands to my lips and say, “The great thing about having a brother as a major league baseball player is that I understand what you guys go through. I know what the season is like, Cory, so you can trust in my ability to be patient, even if maybe I’ve seemed impatient since we’ve been together,” I say on a chuckle.
“Impatient in the best way.” He kisses our connected hands this time. “I just hate that we have to report to spring training the day before Valentine’s Day.” His hand reaches up to my neck where he twists a strand of my hair with his finger, a move I’ve started to become quite familiar with. It’s sweet. “I’ve never had a valentine before.”
“You haven’t?” I asked, a little shocked. Pretty sure if he put up a sign that says looking for a valentine, he would have one hundred offers in under a minute.
“Nope, you would be the first.”
I suck in a sharp, dramatic breath and put a few inches between us, scanning his eyes. “Are you . . . are you asking me to be your valentine, Cory Potter?”
He chuckles and says, “Yeah”—he tugs my hair—“I am. Will you?”
“This is just so unexpected.” I feign shock. “Do I have time to think about it?”
“Not even a little.” He releases my hair and grips the back of my neck, bringing my mouth to his where he lightly moves his lips across mine, a sweep of lust, a whisper of what could be something so much more. A tease. When I try for more, he keeps me where I am. “Patience, Natalie,” he whispers.
“I’m about to fuck your patience.”
He moves his head to the side and laughs so hard, his forehead falls to my shoulder.
I sigh. And roll my eyes. I want him so desperately, so I definitely want to fuck his patience. But then I consider his words. The only frame of reference I have is Ansel, and I know without a shadow of doubt, that Ansel never felt this intensity for me. But what Cory feels . . .
Dread. Dread of having to leave you. Dread of not being able to see you whenever I want. It astounds me. I’m lucky in more ways than one.
Yes, I want his cock. Patience be damned.
But I’m learning that it’s actually his heart I truly want more. So patience is what he’ll get. Glad he finds it funny.
Chapter Twenty-One
CORY
POTTER SPOTTED IN THE PALMS
Have you been on Potter Watch this preseason? We have, and look what just came in. Featured below is Potter still on the beach, basking in the sun, while his Rebel teammates are hard at work, getting ready for the season. Looks like a preview into what spring training is going to be, Potter stretched out in the outfield while his teammates put in the hours.
Latest poll in the Rebels horrible acquisition of Cory Potter is:
Send the waste of money back to Baltimore.
I close out of the article and rub my hand across my forehead.
Fucking clever, very low, but clever. Why not use a picture of me alone at the hotel beach in St. Croix to make it seem like I’m lounging about when in reality, I’m at the stadium every goddamn day working my ass off, getting stronger? I’m the first guy there every goddamn morning, putting in the time, and the guys are noticing m
y work ethic and have started joining me. Pitchers and catchers have already reported to spring training, so Jason is on his own in Florida, but the position players, they’re hitting up the cages, warming up their bats just like me. But the thing is, I’m two weeks ahead of them, and I will continue to be one step ahead because I know they read the articles. I know they’re not fully on board with me yet, especially after my performance last season.
What I still don’t get is why. Why the personal vendetta against me? If Rebel fans want to see their team win, why continue with the divisive vitriol? Who hates me that much here? It’s what I don’t understand. Have never experienced before. Am completely disappointed by.
As I’m stretching on the training table, Marcus Gomez, our third baseman, walks into the training room fresh from the weight room. He came in when I was halfway done with my workout.
I don’t know much about him other than he’s more reserved than the other players on the team, is married with two girls and a little boy with a hearing problem, and he’s dedicated to his position.
He sees me on the table, nods, and walks to the table next to mine.
“How long have you been here?” he asks, taking a seat and picking up a Theragun to start massaging out any tight muscles with me.
“Hour in the cages, half hour cardio, hour lifting,” I say. “Was thinking about going for another round in the cages but my hands are starting to feel the wear. Don’t want to push it.”
He casually nods. “Have you always trained like this during preseason?”
“It’s the only thing I know,” I answer honestly. “I found out at a pretty young age if I wanted to earn a spot on the team, I had to put in the work.” I look over at Marcus and say, “Trying to earn that spot.”
He chuckles. “Pretty sure you don’t have to earn it. Your paycheck is going to put you at first base whether you feel like you earned it or not.”
“Earn it among the team, the fans. I couldn’t care less what the front office thinks.”
Marcus nods knowingly and winces when he says, “Been reading the articles?”
“Hard to miss them,” I answer, working on my left quad, watching the muscles bounce and wave with the pressure of the gun.
“You know none of the guys believe that shit, right? They see you in here; they see your hard work.”
“That’s not what Maddox—”
“Maddox has a strong opinion until proven wrong,” Marcus says with a tired expression. “In all honesty, he’s a good guy, but he’s always tough on the new players. We have a hard road here in Chicago as a Rebel player in a city full of Bobbies fans. Maddox has been a Rebel since the day he was drafted from high school. He didn’t go to Brentwood like you or your friends. He spent countless years in the minors trying to climb his way to the top and now that he’s there, he takes his position as homegrown Rebel to heart. His goals for this team are to pitch a winning game, and make sure every player is loyal to the core.” Marcus shrugs. “It’s who he is. He gives me shit because I’m not the first to jump over the dugout fence and join in the fistfights he enjoys so much, but that’s not who I am, and I’m gathering from watching you for the last ten years, that it’s not you either.”
I shake my head. “Never will be. That’s something they’re going to have to deal with. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be the first to pull someone off one of my players, but I’ll never join in the fight. I respect the game too much to demean it by fighting on the field.”
“Could not agree more,” Marcus says, working on his thigh. “What are you doing after this? Want to grab something to eat?”
I try to hold back a smile. Did I just make . . . a friend?
“Sure, that sounds great.”
* * *
Two burgers are placed in front of us. Whereas Marcus opted for fries, I asked for steamed broccoli, an extra patty, no cheese, and no bun. Still fucking good, but not as good as Marcus’s food looks.
Fry stuffed in his face, Marcus says, “You start your diet early?”
“Routine,” I answer, not wanting to make him feel bad, but from the way he’s stuffing fry after fry in his mouth, I’m going to guess he doesn’t mind at all. “So how are these last days with your kids?”
“Stressful. I try to spend as much time with them as possible, and help Kate out, knowing the next months are going to be hard on her. I get my workouts in while they’re in school, and when they’re home, it’s homework, dinner, and then the time we have before bed is usually playing games or just having fun as a family.”
I nod, impressed with his schedule. I thought mine was hectic until I realized not having kids makes things a little easier. “Wow,” I say. “I don’t know how you do it. Dividing your attention up like that; props to you, man.”
“It becomes . . . routine.” He smiles and then takes a giant bite out of his burger while I chow down on my broccoli. “What about you? You’re not married, right?” I shake my head. “Girlfriend?”
I swallow. “Just recently. First season with a girlfriend, actually. I tried to put it off as long as I could but I couldn’t keep myself away from Natalie.”
“That’s how I was with Kate. We met in college and I was trying to focus on the sport, but she dug under my skin after she became my tutor for economics.” He chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “I was a goner, man. Same thing with you and Natalie?”
“Yeah, she’s actually Jason Orson’s sister.”
“No shit. He’s cool with that?”
“Practically flung her in my direction.” We both laugh. “Yeah, he’s cool. And she, hell, when I first met her I thought she was married. That’s what my sister thought.”
“And your sister’s married to Carson Stone, right?”
“Yup, met in college. Got married a few years ago. Couldn’t ask for a better brother-in-law, or man for my sister. Bobcats jersey aside, he’s a pretty awesome guy.” Marcus chuckles at that. “Got to know Natalie while in St. Croix with friends.”
“Pre-preseason trip?”
“Yup. Did you go somewhere?”
“Disney. Kind of a tradition for now but will probably change when the kids get older.”
I sip my water and set it back down on the table. “When we were in St. Croix, there was a miscommunication, and we ended up having to share a room.”
“Oh shit.” He laughs and asks, “You were already crushing on her at this point?”
“Fucking besotted.”
Marcus slaps the table and laughs his ass off. “Oh shit, you stood no chance.”
“Nope, especially when she started wearing nightgowns to bed.”
“You were fucked.”
“In the best way possible.” I sigh just thinking about her. “She’s, fuck, man, she’s so beautiful on the inside, which matches her outside. She’s funny, loves joking around, and has the greatest heart. Her energy gives me joy, and I’m fucking terrified I’m going to lose that with the season coming up. She keeps telling me everything is going to be okay, that she’s used to the baseball season because of Jason, but I don’t know.” I lean back and drag a hand over my jaw. “I’m already starting to feel the fatigue of the articles. Then there are the fans on the streets, in restaurants, when I’m walking into the goddamn stadium. I’m used to being booed at when I go to other stadiums, but I’m not used to being hated by my own fans. It’s taking a toll.”
Marcus pauses and sets his burger down. “I didn’t know you were being berated outside of the articles.”
I laugh, but it lacks humor as I play with my fork. “Every goddamn day. I’m pretty strong mentally, but fuck, they’re saying some shitty things and I . . . I’m lucky that Natalie looked my way, you know? I don’t need her hearing the shit people say to me, about me, nor do I ever want her to get involved in the mix either. I think that’s what I’m worried about the most, her getting thrown into all of it.”
“They won’t touch her,” Marcus says. “I’ve been a Rebel for six years now and even t
hough the fans are pretty dirty, one thing they don’t touch is families. Or else I would be having a talk with the front office especially considering my son’s disabilities. They pick on the players, not the families.”
“I hope so,” I say, wondering if I’m the exception though. I spoke with Gregory, the head of publicity for the Rebels, and he was shocked by the amount of bad press I’d received, to the point that they’re working on campaigns to help with my image with the fans. Some of their ideas . . . giving me an edgier makeover so I don’t look so clean-cut; they’ve asked me to not shave as much, leaving a constant scruff on my face, and they even suggested I start a Twitter fight with someone. I told them I would grow the scruff and that was about it.
Start a fucking Twitter fight? Really? That’s what’s going to win over these fans? Yeah, I won’t stoop that fucking low and that’s what I told Gregory. I will grow the goddamn scruff, but when it comes to winning over the fans, that will be with my bat and glove, not a fake attitude.
Respect the game, always.
“Hang in there,” Marcus says. “There’s already buzz among the players about your work ethic and the power they’re seeing coming off the bat. Once we’re in Florida, you’ll have more time to bond with the guys. You’ll be surprised how much team bonding we do. Things will turn around.”
I give him an appreciative smile and pick up my burger wrapped in lettuce. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“Can I give you one word of advice though?”
“Sure, anything,” I say.
He nods at my burger. “Don’t eat that rabbit shit around the guys. You’ll be creamed, man.”
I laugh out loud and nod. “Got it.”
* * *
“Okay, why are you in such a good mood?” Natalie asks, as I sit down next to her on my couch. Without even giving it a second thought, she straddles my lap and starts playing with the hem of my shirt.
The Trade Page 27