Hit and Run

by Tara Wyatt

  Didn’t mean he was going to stop flirting with her though.

  “Exhale, and step back into downward facing dog. We’ll stay here for an extended stretch.” She popped up off of her mat and started circulating through the class, making subtle adjustments to everyone’s form. New Agey music floated through the room, and Beau took a breath, trying to focus on the stretch and his breathing—you know, the things he was supposed to be paying attention to—but when he heard her soft footsteps padding toward him, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, his body tingling with awareness. Anticipation.

  Small, delicate hands gripped his hips gently, urging them up and back. He exhaled sharply, his cock thickening at the feeling of Piper’s hands on his hips.

  “There, that’s better,” she said quietly, her touch lingering for a moment.

  “Is it?” he asked, then cleared his throat when his voice came out sounding like he’d been eating rusty nails, not M&Ms.

  “Much.” She stepped around him, giving him a view of her long legs and round ass, showcased to perfection in those light purple leggings. He pressed his lips together, forbidding himself from saying any of the hundred things on the tip of his tongue about hips and positions and performance. Even he knew now wasn’t the time.

  Piper returned to her mat at the front of the class. “Inhale and roll forward into a plank. Push through the hands to round the upper back. Elbows hugged in close, exhale and lower to your belly. Inhale, come up to cobra pose. Root the legs down and lift the chest. Exhale, lower back down, chest to the mat. Plant your hands under your shoulders and inhale. Exhale, back to down dog.”

  She popped up off her mat again, once again roving through the class and helping others with their form. Beau deliberately sunk his lips lower, hoping she’d come back. Sure enough, he saw her pink-painted toes headed in his direction. Her hands were firmer on his hips this time as she urged him back and up, his calves grazing her shins.

  “Sorry, guess I’m just really bad at this position,” he said, and he could’ve sworn her fingers flexed into him for a second before she dropped her hands.

  “Mmmhmm.” She bent lower, her hand on his back, her breath fanning against his ear. Fuck, she smelled good. Like vanilla and something musky and floral. “I think you’re just trying to get me to cop a feel.”

  At that, his eyebrows went up and he turned to grin at her, his face only inches from hers. “Are you? Trying to cop a feel?”

  She returned his grin, her pretty brown eyes sparkling. “I think half of Dallas has copped a feel, so I’ll pass.”

  “Hey, don’t slut shame me,” he teased, even as his face warmed. A few guys around him chuckled, and she winked at him before she straightened and returned to her mat.

  For the rest of the class, he kept his eyes glued to her, taking in the swing of her thick ponytail, the gentle swell of her cleavage beneath her little athletic bra, the ease with which she moved from position to position. Her pretty heart shaped face, with the big brown eyes, high cheekbones and delicate mouth. Fuck, she was gorgeous. And sweet. And fun.

  He wanted her. Which was dangerous, because he also knew that he liked her, and if past experience had taught him anything, he’d have a hard time sticking to his rules if he liked her, and those rules were in place for a reason. A very good reason. Not only that, but he didn’t chase women, mostly because didn’t need to.

  But something about Piper made him want to. Yeah, she was sexy as hell and he loved flirting with her, but he couldn’t help but feel there was more to it than that. Something a little deeper than looks and flirty banter. He looked forward to talking to her. To seeing her. He liked the easy happiness that seemed to flow through him when he was with her.

  All the more reason he should stay away.

  And yet he found himself lingering on his mat after class was finished, the rest of the guys filtering out and heading back into the clubhouse for a break before hitting the field for BP in half an hour. He took his time rolling up his mat and adding it to the pile in the corner where everyone else had stacked theirs, watching Piper out of the corner of his eye as she rolled up her own mat and started putting her little speaker away.

  “Be honest,” he said, walking slowly toward her. She turned, her eyes sliding over his bare chest and her cheeks going the cutest shade of pink. “When you go to sleep at night, that Enya stuff invades your dreams, doesn’t it?”

  She dropped the speaker into her bag. “Are you asking what I dream about?”

  He grinned, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “It’s me, isn’t it? It’s me. It’s okay, Piper. No need to be embarrassed.”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “You wish.”

  “I do, actually.”

  Her eyes met his for a second before she brushed by him, unplugging the speaker’s power cord from the wall. She wound it up neatly and then handed it to him.

  “Could you please give this back to Abby? I borrowed it from her.”

  He tucked it into his pocket, noticing that she hadn’t responded to his last comment. She brushed by him again, her arm barely grazing against his. “You keep bumping into me. If you want to touch me, you don’t have to play games.”

  She turned to face him, her lips pursed in an effort to disguise the smile trying to break free. “Maybe it’s you who keeps bumping into me.”

  He took a moment to study her. Really study her. The pretty face, the sexy body, the humor dancing in her eyes, and just looking at her was lighting something up inside him. Like someone had just plugged him in, sending electricity running through him.

  “Maybe it is. We could get to the bottom of it over a drink, if you want. Maybe later this week?”

  “Oh.” The smile dropped from her face and she shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Really?” he asked, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Just one drink.”

  She turned to him and shot him a little smile that he felt right in the middle of his chest. “But it wouldn’t be just one drink, would it?”

  “It wouldn’t?” he asked, playing dumb. He knew exactly what she meant.

  “I think we both know what would happen if you and I went out. And I’m not looking for that.” She stepped a bit closer. “I like flirting with you, Beau, but I’m not looking to date anyone or whatever it is you do. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

  Disappointment slammed into him, and he nodded slowly. “Hey, no problem. It was worth a shot.” His face burned and he glanced toward the door. “I gotta get to BP. I’ll see you around.” His stomach lurched uncomfortably as he turned and left through the open door, heading back toward the clubhouse. He sank down into the chair in front of his cubby, swiveling slowly as the guys all talked and joked around him.

  It had been a long time since he’d felt that sting, that barb poking right between his ribs at the knowledge that he wasn’t wanted. This was why he didn’t date, didn’t chase. Because one rejection, and he was that little kid again, watching his mom’s car as she peeled away after leaving him with his grandfather again because she didn’t want him. Because there was something wrong with him. There had to be—why else had she dumped him whenever she had the chance? Not that he could ask her. She’d died of a drug overdose when he was thirteen, sending him to spend his teenage years with his grandpa. She’d loved the drugs more than him. And logically he knew that she’d been an addict and her actions weren’t always within her control. But as a kid, he’d felt that rejection, so often and so deeply that it had permeated his bones, staying with him.

  He stood, shoving all of that shit down deep where he wouldn’t have to feel it or think about it. Wouldn’t have to examine it and live with the truth of who he was—a fucked up, unwanted kid who’d grown into a fucked up, unwanted adult.

  He pulled on his gear for BP and headed out to the field, ready to work and forget all about Piper and the sting of her rejection.

  Three

  Exhaustion pulled at
Piper as she stepped inside her small apartment, her arms laden with grocery bags and several days’ worth of mail she’d retrieved from her mailbox in the lobby. She stepped into the kitchen directly ahead of her and set her grocery bags down on the island, then tossed the mail down beside it. It was late afternoon, and she needed to have dinner—thank goodness she’d meal prepped for the week on Sunday, because she was far too tired to cook right now—and then get to work filming new content for her YouTube channel and recording a podcast. If recording went well, she might be in bed by ten.

  She headed to the fridge and pulled it open, retrieving a bottle of water and slugging it back. Her eyes roved over the space as she rehydrated, taking in the cheery yellow, blue, and gray furniture she’d found at secondhand shops and the large windows looking out onto the city. Past that space was a hallway with two bedrooms, one of which she slept in, and the other she used as her studio. Water in hand, she paced to the windows, her mind whirring with everything left to do today.

  And while her thoughts spun ahead, a few of them kept pulling her backwards, to that afternoon. To Beau.

  God, she hadn’t been expecting him to ask her out. Not by a long shot. He’d caught her off guard, and she felt bad about shooting him down, but she’d been completely honest in her answer. There was chemistry between them, and given that she practically drooled all over him every time they spoke, she knew exactly what would happen if he actually put any serious moves on her. They’d wind up in bed, and then things would get awkward and messy and weird, and she couldn’t afford to lose the Longhorns as a client. Not only that, but she wasn’t looking for a relationship—if he even did relationships—of any kind right now. She had far too much on her plate to even entertain the idea of having an actual boyfriend, even if she did sort of want one. Even if she was a little lonely.

  Plus, there was his reputation to consider. She liked him, enough that she wasn’t interested in just being another conquest. Another notch on his scarred bedpost. As much as she liked him, she didn’t trust him not to hurt her.

  On top of that, she’d heard that he was going to be a free agent at the end of this season, and who knew if he’d stay with the Longhorns or end up signing with another team. He could be living in a totally different state by the end of the year.

  So many reasons to say no. And yet a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made a mistake. He’d looked so crestfallen, as though he’d taken her rejection to heart. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, and she did like him, but it wasn’t that simple. There were so many other angles to consider, and she just couldn’t risk it.

  As much as a part of her wanted to.

  She walked back to the kitchen and started putting her groceries away, one of the bags nudging the pile of mail and sending the various envelopes sliding across the counter. She didn’t think anything of it until she saw the geometric logo of the Dallas Business Incubator in the top left corner of one, and her heart immediately kicked into high gear. Fridge still open behind her, she set the groceries in her hands back down on the counter and picked up the slender envelope, her fingers trembling.

  Oh, God. A skinny envelope was bad, wasn’t it? Then again, everything was online now, so maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe a skinny envelope was good. It could be good, right? She didn’t know, and she wouldn’t until she worked up the courage to open the envelope. A shiver of nervous anticipation worked its way through her as she studied it, willing it to contain the news she’d been waiting and hoping for for weeks now.

  If she got this loan, it would change everything. She’d be able to take her business to the next level and take a huge step forward when it came to accomplishing her dreams. If she didn’t…well, she’d have to keep grinding just like she’d been doing for years while looking for alternate sources of funding.

  She bit her lip, tapping the envelope against her palm. Her stomach felt empty, like a yawning pit, and a part of her wanted to hide the envelope in a drawer and pretend she hadn’t gotten it. This was a crossroads moment, one that could change the course of her professional life. If she got this loan, she’d be able to develop the app, to implement the custom meal plans, to sell merch and branded equipment, all with the goal of making fitness and nutrition fun and accessible to people around the world. Of making the world a happier, healthier place.

  “Just open it,” she whispered. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, gathering her courage. She blinked rapidly and then forced herself to tear it open, pulling out the single sheet of paper inside.

  Dear Ms. Rhodes,

  Thank you for your interest in the Dallas Business Incubator. After careful review of your application, we regret to inform you that we will not be able to extend funding to you at this time.

  Unfortunately, we have concluded that your current financial situation precludes us from granting you a loan, as you have insufficient assets and equity to support a loan of this size. Should your financial picture change and your equity to income ratio improves, we would be happy to reconsider your application.

  The rest of the words blurred before her as tears flooded her eyes. She bowed her head, her lips pressed tight together as the letter fluttered from her fingers and down to the countertop. Her heart beat sluggishly as she tried to wrap her mind around the rejection. How was she supposed to build any equity without a loan? How was she supposed to increase her assets if she didn’t even have the cashflow to do what she needed to do with the business now?

  “Shit!” Her voice was startlingly loud in the silence of the apartment.

  Lowering her elbows onto the island, she dropped her head into her hands and let the tears of disappointment and frustration come. Despite all of the growth she’d accomplished over the past couple of years, she felt like a failure. As though what she wanted was completely out of reach, and maybe she was a fool for even wanting it. For even thinking she could do it.

  She let herself cry for a long while, until her tears were spent and her shoulders felt heavy. Until she felt weary and even more tired than before.

  And then, she tossed the letter in the trash, put away her groceries, and headed into her studio, resigned to the grind.

  Down, but not defeated.

  “Welcome back to this evening’s game featuring your Dallas Longhorns against the New York Yankees. For those of you just joining us, Antoine Giller, the Yankees pitcher, appears to have suffered an injury and it looks like he’s going to come out of the game,” says Ron Whittaker.

  “I’m not sure what happened,” says Wayne Hopkins, “but we do know that Giller’s been struggling this inning, with three back-to-back walks to load the bases for the red-hot Beau Beckett.”

  “Beckett’s currently batting a healthy .329, with seventy-two RBIs and twenty-six home runs on the season, and we’re only at the end of June. He’s a shoe in for the All-Star team, and fans are already chanting MVP every time he comes up to the plate or makes a big catch.”

  “It’ll be a shame if the Longhorns can’t hang onto him when he becomes a free agent at the end of this year,” laments Wayne. “The Yankees have put Oscar Benitez into the game, who’s making his MLB debut. How’d you like to make your MLB debut pitching against Beau Beckett?” he asks with a chuckle.

  “First pitch to Beckett is down and away, ball one.” Ron chuckles. “Don’t think I’d like that much at all. Making your debut is nerve wracking in the best situation, and facing one of the AL’s hottest hitters is far from the best situation for Benitez.”

  “Most definitely,” agrees Wayne.

  “Here comes the pitch and Beckett hits it hard to left field and…this one’s gonna go! Good golly Miss Molly, that ball is outta here! How about number twenty-seven for Beau Beckett, and a grand slam to boot! That gives him seventy-six RBIs on the season with that hard shot into the seats in left field.”

  “Boy, what a thing of beauty,” says Ron, raising his voice to compete with the cheers of the crowd and the strains of “Tequila,” the Longhorns’ h
ome run song, playing through Dell Park’s speakers. “You can’t throw a fastball right over the plate like that to Beau Beckett unless you want to kiss that ball goodbye.”

  Beau jogged around the bases, red and blue fireworks exploding above his head as the crowd went wild. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, making him feel as though he could run all the way to Houston and back without getting winded. As soon as he’d swung and felt the crack of the ball off of his bat, he’d known it was gone. It hadn’t even been a question.

  He finished running the bases and jumped onto home plate, where McCormick, Blake and Miller were all waiting for him, showering him with fist bumps and high fives and ass slaps.

  “Fuck, yeah!” yelled Hunter, jumping and slapping at Beau’s shoulders. “You got all of that!”

  Beau grinned and ruffled Hunter’s hair, knocking his hat off in the process. He bent to scoop it up and trailed behind the rest of the guys as they made their way to the dugout. Javi was waiting at the top of the steps, holding a black blazer with everyone’s names embroidered on the back and the words “The Black Jacket” emblazoned down the right arm. Beau turned his back and let Javi help him slip the team’s home run jacket on, struggling a little to get the sleeve over his elbow guard. Anyone who hit a home run got to wear the jacket for the rest of the inning—or until another Longhorn sent the ball out of the park. It was a new tradition on the team this year, started by Hunter, and it was a fun one. Everyone wanted a turn in the Black Jacket, and it seemed to motivate everyone at the plate. It was a celebration of both skill and camaraderie. Amazing what a $90 jacket from JCPenney could do.

  Beau walked through the dugout, accepting high fives and claps on the shoulder from everyone before stashing his gloves and helmet and helping himself to some water. He sank down on the bench, Hunter sitting down beside him.

  “Okay, it’s official,” said Hunter, leaning his forearms on his thighs. “You can’t leave. Ever.”