Quit Your Pitchin'

by Vale, Lani Lynn

  I would.

  Maybe.

  If I was alive by then.

  Because I was seriously about to die, right then and there.

  Especially with the way George was slowly fucking himself into me, confident that the deepness of the shadows, partially covered by the wall around the corner, hid us from view.

  Which must’ve been what was setting me off, because the next thing I knew, I was seconds away from coming.

  But I tried extremely hard to hold it off.

  I couldn’t come right then, because if I did, there would be no way in hell I’d be able to keep quiet.

  No, sir.

  Not with how big it felt.

  I sucked in a breath and bit down lightly on George’s neck to try to keep the cry from pouring out of my throat.

  There was no way in hell that George didn’t know what was about to happen, either. I knew that he felt the way I was convulsively clenching around him. Then there was the way I latched onto his bicep with one hand, and his trapezius muscle with the other, and dug my fingernails in deep.

  My battle was lost on his final thrust.

  When he started to spurt his release inside of me, I could no longer hold it in. I died, right then and there, with men walking down the hall away from us.

  I squeaked, biting down a little harder, and clenched down so hard on him that he cursed.

  “What?” man one asked.

  “Nothing, man,” man two said. “You need to get your hearing checked or something.”

  As they moved farther and farther down the hall, the more my heart rate calmed, until all of a sudden, I was aware of just how fucking stupid George Hoffman made me.

  I looked at him in the darkness, reading the same anger and reluctance on his face that I had on mine.

  Moments later I let my feet fall to the ground, and immediately George withdrew.

  I felt his heated release fall from my body and drip down my leg, and had never felt so barren and cold.

  George bent over and captured my panties, handing them to me.

  I finished tying my halter top behind my neck before taking them.

  Instead of putting them on, I lifted my dress back up my thighs from where it had fallen and wiped what I could of his release from me.

  I still felt wet and sticky, but at least it wasn’t going to roll down my leg anymore.

  He waited until I was fully clothed, and then pushed out the door I never remembered entering.

  I squinted and cringed from the bright sun, and it took me a few moments to adjust.

  But when I did, I saw that George was no longer waiting for me.

  Nope.

  He was back in the dugout standing next to Hancock, no longer looking at me at all.

  I walked up to Hancock’s side and stared at the last three college players taking their turns, and then reached for the beer that Hancock had in his hand.

  “Can I have a drink of this?” I asked him. “I have a bad taste in my mouth.”

  He handed it over.

  It looked untouched.

  “Have at it,” he said. “It’s hot anyway.”

  I drank it all.

  “You want another beer?” he asked, sounding amused.

  I wanted valium, but a beer would do for now.

  I took the beer that had magically appeared in his hand, because it was easier to do that than to think about what I’d just done.

  I was such a whore.

  I’d fucked my ex-husband, when I was mad at him, all because he’d crooked his stupid big finger at me.

  Chapter 24

  I love your stupid face.

  -Text from Wrigley to George

  Wrigley

  I was downright miserable, and I was trying to decide why I always had to be such a slut when it came to my ex. And I was crying for no freakin’ reason.

  And then my doorbell rang.

  Warily, I walked to the door.

  I checked the peephole and frowned, then yanked the door open.

  “Diamond?” I asked, my voice still sounding thick with tears.

  Diamond was at my door, and I looked at her with such shock that I didn’t once contemplate not letting her in.

  “Diamond, what’s wrong?” I asked worriedly.

  Diamond looked like she was about to swallow a beach ball.

  “I had to come talk to you.”

  “About what?” I questioned, wiping my hands over my eyes.

  “I know what you think you saw.”

  I frowned. “What do you think I saw?”

  Diamond swallowed.

  “George and Melanie.”

  My stomach churned.

  “What you saw wasn’t anything of George’s doing. That was all Dodger,” Diamond said softly.

  “How do you know?” I laughed miserably. “It looked pretty damn real to me. They were kissing! Oh, and let’s not forget that Dodger wasn’t even here.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just know what I heard.”

  I opened my mouth and then closed it, unsure what to say.

  “And what, pray tell, did you hear?” I laughed hysterically. “And them kissing on national television wasn’t the only thing I saw. I saw them together at the park while I was working, again on the freakin’ television. While he was taking care of our son. And I walked in my door and found her kissing him. Again.”

  Diamond looked like she was about to be ill.

  “Dodger got to her.”

  My heart slammed in my chest. Again with Dodger.

  “I’m pretty sure Dodger didn’t get to George. He wasn’t fighting the kiss. And he was willingly smiling down at her at the park. Oh, and he brought her to the fucking game today, and sat her in My seats.”

  Diamond winced.

  “I went to her house today, and Dodger was there talking to our grandmother,” Diamond said.

  My brows went up. “You willingly went to our grandmother’s house?”

  Diamond shrugged. “There was something there that I wanted.” She waved her hand in the air. “But that’s neither here nor there. What you need to know is that they were talking about that girl.”

  “Melanie?”

  She nodded.

  “What were they talking about her for?”

  “Dodger thought it’d be a grand idea to play up the interaction between Melanie and me because of who she is, and who I am.”

  I whipped my head around and found George standing in my open doorway. “And your grandmother is doing it because her father is a Mr. Moneybags. She only sees dollar signs, and has no care in the world that she’s hurting you in the process.”

  That was always the way with her, honestly. That didn’t surprise me.

  What did surprise me was that George was standing in my doorway.

  “What are you doing here?” I stiffened.

  “I’m here because I want to be here,” he said simply. “I tried to give you time to cool down and talk about this rationally, but then you left the stadium today and came straight here. I tried to get in, but security refused to let me pass because you put me on a list of visitors that weren’t approved.”

  My lips twitched.

  I had done that.

  “That doesn’t explain how you’re standing here right now,” I pointed out.

  “The night security guard likes me,” he explained. “And I still pay the lease on this place.”

  I opened my mouth and then closed it.

  “You told me it was paid for two years,” I replied somewhat shrilly. “And each time I tried to pay, and get them to send you a refund check, they refused!”

  George shrugged, then his eyes strayed to Diamond.

  “Nice to see you,” he grinned.

  And he actually sounded sincere.

  I bit my lip and returned my gaze to my sister. “You, too.” She looked back at me. “Dodger is a dick. Listen to him
.”

  Then she headed toward the door that George was still blocking.

  The moment she got up next to him, she tilted her head way up and said, “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

  George blinked, then nodded. “For what it’s worth, I accept your apology.”

  Then he moved to the side, and Diamond left without another word.

  I was left staring awkwardly at the love of my life, wondering what I should say.

  I was still mad.

  I didn’t care about my brother or my grandmother.

  What I cared about was the fact that George kept kissing her.

  “Go ahead and try to convince me, then.” I laughed under my breath, then walked to the kitchen and reached for a wine glass. Moments later I had it filled to the brim and was taking a sip.

  “Her kissing me at the final game was purely by accident. I caught the ball in front of her face, she was going to kiss me on the cheek, and I turned because she was talking and I couldn’t hear her. That was it. I didn’t mean to do that,” he explained to my back.

  I tensed. “And the park? What happened there?”

  One time I could buy. Two times, I couldn’t.

  “She was coming over to talk to us.”

  “How did she know where I lived?” I questioned. “And why was she coming over?”

  “Rhys,” he answered. “And she was coming over here to tell me and you about what your brother, her father, and your grandmother were doing.”

  “And that was what?”

  “That they were working together to get a news story,” he answered quickly. “Your brother wanted a photo for his magazine. Your grandmother and Melanie’s father were working together on a domestic abuse—”

  “On the porn industry’s domestic abuse problem with their female lead porn stars, and directors.” I finally understood, remembering the memo that had crossed my desk a few weeks ago. “Her dad is wanting to shine light on the problem because his new girlfriend is being targeted by her ex-pornstar boyfriend. And grandmother is just a money hungry whore who will do anything to get a check. Shit.”

  My grandmother had gotten a new sponsor, and that sponsor was an older male porn star that was trying to bring attention to the injustices in the porn industry. We were set to have a conference later this month that was centering on how to find help, and what to do when you felt that something or someone was forcing you to do something you didn’t want to do.

  I had wondered why this had all started so fast. Normally we all agreed on which organizations we chose to help, and a porn industry really wouldn’t have been my cup of tea if I’d been given an option.

  He nodded.

  “And my brother is just a douche,” I finally decided.

  He nodded.

  “Jesus,” I muttered.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why was she kissing you in my apartment?” I took a hefty sip of my wine.

  I was now down to a half a glass.

  “That was her saying goodbye,” he said. “We’d waited for you for over an hour and a half, and she had an appointment to be at.”

  My brows rose. “And you think it’s okay to spend an hour and a half with a woman, in my apartment? Then kiss her?”

  I took another swallow and swirled what was left of my drink in the glass.

  I’d need more. There wasn’t enough there to even take a sip.

  I poured more into my glass, then set the bottle down a little too hard on the counter.

  I took one more hefty swallow, then had the cup taken out of my hand.

  “I didn’t want to kiss her. I didn’t even want her near me. But she was very influential in getting her father to donate money to your charity, so I didn’t want to be a fucking dick to her and tell her to stop touching me when there was half a million dollars set to go to your charity thanks to her.”

  I pursed my lips.

  “It was never my intention to make you hurt,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  I turned to him. “I’m so tired of the freakin’ media knowing shit about you faster than I do.”

  He grunted. “That is never under my control. My feelings for you aren’t under my control either.”

  My brows rose.

  “It’s not easy loving you,” he informed me.

  I bared my teeth at him. “I never told you, you had to love me.”

  He moved then, pressing me up against the counter.

  “Just shut up.”

  My mouth opened to contradict him, but he slammed his mouth onto mine, making me burn for him all over again.

  “And stop crying,” he ordered against my lips. “It fucking hurts to see your eyes red, and know that the reason they are is that you were crying over me.”

  I looked away.

  “And stop turning away from me,” he pushed, turning my chin back toward him.

  I didn’t look away this time. “I’m a jealous hag, George.”

  “Well, I’m a goddamn moron who only ever sees you.”

  I looked down at my hands. “I say things, and act irrationally…I’m never going to change.”

  “I retaliate by doing stupid shit, and say things I don’t mean, too.” He paused. “I think we’re two peas in a fucked-up pod.”

  I laughed, then dropped my forehead to rest on his chest.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I do,” he countered.

  I looked up. “You do?”

  He winked. “I do.”

  ***

  George

  I scooted closer, ensuring Wrigley and I were as close as we possibly could be with the dress that she had on.

  It was the same one she’d worn to our first wedding. My grandmother’s dress.

  It fit a little tighter, and she had way more cleavage this time than she did the last time—at least from what I could tell from our wedding photos—but she was even more beautiful than she was back then.

  Why?

  Because she showed signs of bringing my son into the world. The best possible gift anybody could ever give another human being.

  “And do you, George Hoffman, take this little lady, Wrigley Hoffman, to be your lawfully wedded woman?” the Elvis impersonator asked with a grin.

  I looked down at my soon-to-be wife.

  “I do.”

  Epilogue

  I’ve got a great idea. Let’s take a group nap.

  -George after watching his newly cast-free child for four hours

  George

  “You ready to meet your buddy that gave you a ride on his helicopter?” I asked my son.

  Micah nodded his head solemnly. “Yes, Daddy.”

  It’d been six months since his accident, and all six months were a struggle.

  In the accident, Micah had broken both legs, both arms, and fractured his pelvis.

  He’d spent six entire weeks in a cast from almost head to foot.

  But it could’ve been worse.

  He could’ve been gone altogether.

  Wrigley walked at my side, her hands holding down her dress as the helicopter blades slowed.

  Her hand was wrapped tightly around her lower half, making her four-month pregnant belly distinct in the long dress that flowed to her feet.

  Her hair was a wild mess around her face, and she was laughing as she tried to hold everything in place all at once.

  Finally, the blades stopped spinning, and the pilot and flight nurse got out, both of them making their way to us.

  I put Micah down on the ground, and he started to run to them.

  My boy wasn’t shy, that was for sure.

  Cleo, the pilot, dropped down on his knee and offered his hand.

  My son ignored his hand and threw himself in his arms. “I want to be a ‘opter piwot like you!”

  I grinned and reached for my wife, bringing her into the curve of my arm.

  She turned her face up to me and allowed
me to see the happiness there.

  “I think that you got a wild one on your hands,” she teased.

  I agreed. “I think we do, too.”

  ***

  Later that night, with Micah in his bed in his room, and Wrigley on the couch with her feet up, I hastily flipped through the recipe book.

  “I don’t see a recipe for ‘Grammy’s Snowballs,’” I told her. “I see the sugar cookies. I see the peanut butter Hershey Kiss ones, and I see one with pecans…”

  “I think that might be the one,” she called. “Does it have powdered sugar in the recipe?”

  I scanned the hastily-scribbled recipe. “Yes.”

  “That one is it.”

  I continued to look at the recipe. “It calls for pecans, which we don’t have. And I’m fairly sure we don’t have enough flour for…”

  “George?”

  I looked over at her. “Yeah?”

  “Your little girl is demanding Grammy’s Snowballs. Either you find a way to make them, or I might very well die,” she declared.

  I rolled my eyes, then headed for the door.

  “I’ll be back.”

  Thirty minutes later, I had the ingredients needed and was heading back to my truck when I saw Dodger standing there with a camera on the sidewalk.

  “Dodger, for the love of God,” I said as I pulled my keys out of my pocket. “Go the fuck away.”

  Wrigley’s brother hadn’t gotten any better since we’d gotten married again over eight months ago. In fact, he credited himself for our reconciliation.

  No, I had no clue how he thought that, but whatever.

  As long as Wrigley didn’t buy the bullshit he shoveled, I’d be okay.

  Even though, I think, there will never be a time that she trusts the tabloids or her brother ever again.

  “I can’t, George,” Dodger said as he snapped another picture. “The fans love you, and my boss likes good ratings. Since he knows you won’t run away from me, he’s always sticking me on these stupid assignments. And no, I still have no fucking clue why he’s so obsessed with you. I’d much rather follow Sway Peters around than you and my sister. At least I can check out her ass without being disgusted.”

  I would’ve laughed had I not known he was being one hundred percent serious.

  “Have a nice night, Dodger,” I drawled, walking to my truck.