Swinging Strike (Cessna U Wildcats Book 1)

by Kimberly Readnour

  The same feelings I thought I could fend off.

  Now, I’m not so sure.

  The intense way he stares at me, like he actually believes what he said, should make me mad. Instead, my hormones are partying it up at the thought of turning him on. Stinking traitors.

  His long lashes lower, fanning across his cheeks. A beat passes before he turns those blue globes back on me. He leans closer, and I find myself doing the same. “I thought I’d talk about your best asset.”

  “My best asset?” I’m half-afraid to ask what that would be, fearing I already know the answer.

  “Yeah, your brain. Since you’re smart, I figured if we focus on your strength. I won’t come across as an ass. Although, I’m afraid it may be too late.”

  I shake my head. His unique ability to say something jerky and then follow through with an equally touching statement baffles me. The last shred of willpower staving him off bursts into a million shards. We’re face to face, lips almost touching. My breathing ticks up a few notches. Before I can respond to his original question, Noah steps outside.

  “Hey, Braxton. I think Miller needs to go out or something. He’s up there whining. Your door’s locked; otherwise, I would’ve taken him.”

  “God, I hope he’s not chewing up my room.” Braxton stands and nudges his head toward the door. “You want to meet the new mascot?”

  “The latest wildcat, huh?” I try to play it off as casual, but ever since Shannon told me about him, I’ve been dying to meet the fur baby.

  “Come on.”

  He places his hand at the small of my back, and we walk through the living room. I can feel every gaze on us, but his touch gives me the confidence I need. When we pass the support poles, I point to them. “I take it these are the infamous stripper poles you keep referring to?”

  His eyes sparkle with humor. “Still waiting for my private show, Pole Girl.”

  “Cold day in hell, Smith.” He chuckles, but for some reason, the idea doesn’t sound so foreign. It sounds more exciting than anything. He weaves his fingers with mine as I lead him up the stairs wondering what people think. That’s not true. I already know what they think, and they’re not putting me in a good light, but for once, I don’t care.

  “Here we go. Miller, I want you to meet Cara.”

  I’m greeted by a woof, and then a furry ball of happiness leaps to my feet. I bend down, as much as my dress allows, and embrace the canine.

  “Oh my gosh, he’s so sweet.” He licks the side of my cheek causing me to laugh.

  “Miller, no. Behave. Sorry, but he seems to really like you.” Braxton kneels down beside me and starts petting the dog.

  “That’s okay. I’ll wash it off. He’s just so cute.” I peek over at Braxton and catch him staring at me. My breath hitches as the air around us charges with an electricity stronger than I’ve ever felt. He drifts closer, seemingly unaware of his movements. Or maybe he is conscious of his actions, I don’t know. Either way, my hands still on the side of Miller. Music filters in through the door—an upbeat arrangement I’d normally dance my ass off to—but all I can concentrate on is Braxton’s mouth mere inches away. My blood races through my veins as he leans forward to… Kiss me? Do I want him to kiss me?

  By the way my heart pounds in my chest, I think I do. I want to do a lot more than kiss him if I’m being honest with myself.

  Running my tongue across my upper lip, I watch the blue in his irises darken to a slate color as he closes the gap between us. He dips his head lower, and—

  Woof!

  Miller nudges his nose between us and rubs against Braxton. I let out a breath seemingly confused as to what almost transpired and equally disappointed nothing had.

  “What do you want, boy? Do you need to go out?” Another woof accompanies the question.

  “I need to walk him. He usually goes out in the woods.” Braxton looks down at my outfit, specifically my heels. “Do you want to wait here?”

  “No, I’ll go get something to drink.” It occurs to me Garret and Lexie never came back outside. “First, I’m going to visit the bathroom and wash this slobber off.”

  “I’ll find you when I get back.”

  Braxton and Miller leave, and I’m left to myself. Once I clean the slobber off my face, I walk toward the kitchen but stop short when I spot Isabella standing by her circle of friends. They’re the last people I want to run into. I turn to leave, but my legs refuse to move when I overhear Isabella’s words.

  “I can’t stand those type of girls.”

  “Ugh, I know what you mean. They’re so desperate,” one of her minions says, and I wonder who the poor victims they’re talking about are. A quick scan reveals some scantily dressed girls congregating by a group of guys I’m positive play on the team.

  “They’re utterly pathetic. Don’t they realize they’re nothing but whores?”

  My blood boils. I don’t understand people’s problem. The so-called cleat chasers are just a group of girls who know the score and are perfectly content with it. If some individuals have delusions of snagging a guy, what makes them any different than the girls standing around talking about them? They’re hoping to snag a guy too but go about it differently. Idiots.

  “They have no shame. I heard Belinda slept with three of the new freshmen already. I mean, come on. They’re so young. I don’t know what the guys see in them anyway.”

  “Just a piece of ass,” a girl says, giggling.

  I’ve heard enough and can’t stop myself. I don’t know who this Belinda is, but she doesn’t deserve to be made fun of. That could have easily been me or any of my friends back home. I wasn’t technically a cleat chaser, but I did hang around a baseball player knowing full well he wasn’t faithful to me. I may not have gone after any other players, but I sure was at Drake’s beck and call. And yes, I was the delusional one who hoped to change him, but that doesn’t make me bad. Nor does it make any other woman bad.

  “Yo, you better watch what you say about people. They’re not any different than you.”

  “I don’t sleep with every teammate to brag.”

  “What’s it your concern if they do? Maybe they enjoy sex like anyone else.”

  Isabella’s eyes narrow in on me. “Some of us are here for meaningful relationships and don’t care to have our men sleeping with trash.”

  Her gaze bores right through me as if she’s referring to me as the trash. I do not have time for this. I rein in my temper because a fight is the last thing I’m looking for.

  “Whatever, I just came in here for water.” I cringe when my accent comes back full swing.

  “Wooder?” Isabella laughs. “Looks like Pole Girl can’t even pronounce simple words correctly. It’s pronounced water.”

  I pounce only to have a strong arm pull me back at the waist. Braxton sets me straight, and once I balance myself, I glare at his friend.

  Braxton runs a hand through his hair and blows out a frustrated breath. “Why are you making fun of someone’s accent?”

  Isabella’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. “I wasn’t.”

  His eyes narrow, but then he turns toward me. Without saying a word to her, he grabs my hand. “Want to get out of here?”

  Yes, I want to scream, but I’m so angry I’m afraid to speak. I give him a quick nod instead. He leads me toward the front door, snaking in between people and ignoring Isabella’s protest as she shouts his name. I glance at Braxton once we’re outside. His jaw is tight, set in determination. I don’t know where he’s taking me, but I’m not protesting.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  BRAXTON

  My fingers grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. I don’t understand why Isabella came after Cara like that. The moment I overheard Izzy making fun of her, I saw red. I had to leave before I did something stupid like hit a girl. But damn, I’ve never seen Izzy act this way before. She seemed jealous, which makes zero sense.

  After a few calming breaths, I relax my grip and
risk a glance at Cara. She sits in the cab of my truck staring out the windshield.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “I’m fine.”

  I’m not sure if she’s telling the truth, but she looks more than fine with her long, sleek legs tucked to the side. Her olive-toned skin practically glows against the white material. She’s fucking hot. Like model-level hotness, and maybe, that’s what raised Isabella’s hackles.

  Admittedly, even in my mad state, I have to shift in my seat and hope she doesn’t see just how much a certain part of me appreciates her attire. We’re just about where I want to take her, and we’ve only said about ten words collectively.

  “Nice boots by the way.” That earns me a soft smile.

  “Thanks. They’re my babies.”

  I laugh. “Why do women love shoes?”

  A flash of humor dances in her eyes, and I relax somewhat. “These were my one indulgence. My brother told me to get whatever I wanted. He was trying to make up to me for being an overprotective jerk. I made him pay.”

  “An overprotective brother, huh?” My mind drifts to Shannon for a moment.

  “He’s not too bad. Most of what he dished out, I deserved.” Her voice drops toward the end. I’m not sure how to take that. I think she can hold her own in a fight if the way she took off after Isabella.

  “If he’s anything like me with my sister, I like him already.”

  “You have a lot in common.” She shakes her head as if she didn’t mean to say that. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re almost there.” I make a right and pull into the parking lot. Her eyes draw in.

  “The ballpark?”

  “The best place on campus.”

  The corners of her mouth tug up. “But it’s closed. Are you taking me to the woods behind the outfield?”

  “Nope. We’re going inside.”

  Her eyes widen. “How? Isn’t it locked?”

  “I have a key.”

  “I’m not even going to ask how you have that.”

  “It’s best not to. I could get an old man fired.” I laugh uneasily because there is some truth to that statement. Once we reach the back entrance, I motion to the door. “After you.”

  My gaze dips to her feet, and I can’t stop my grimace. The walk is kind of far, and I’m not sure she’ll be comfortable. Taking pity on her, I grab her by the waist and toss her over my shoulder. My hand lands on her thigh, and I try not think about how creamy smooth her skin feels.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieks.

  “Saving your feet. I’m kind that way.”

  “Put me down. I can walk.” She laughs so I know she doesn’t mind. I tighten my grip when her little fists pound against my back in a half-hearted attempt to stop me.

  “Nope, I’ve got you right where I want you.”

  She lets out another laughing scream as I carry her through the familiar corridor. We remain this way until I reach the stadium and place her down. The moon shines high above putting enough cast on the field to illuminate it.

  “Aw, this is beautiful. It’s so peaceful and quiet without anyone around.” Her words are barely above a whisper as she stands beside the railing and peers out into the outfield. Her hair, as black as the midnight sky, falls in long, soft curls. She’s gorgeous, no doubt, but her physical beauty isn’t what has me tripping. No, it’s the peaceful contentment consuming her face. This sense of urgency to protect this girl tugs at my gut, and I want nothing more than to maintain this peace she’s feeling. This need to know more about her, to know what makes this girl tick, swirls inside me.

  What has you so guarded, Pole Girl?

  I shake off my confusing thoughts and grab her hand, but the gesture doesn’t curb my curiosity. Holding her hand just feels right, and that admission scares me more than anything. I’m falling for her, fast.

  I lead her to the seats behind home plate, and we settle into the chairs, eyeing the outfield. “This right here is my sanctuary. Where I go to unwind.”

  “I can see why.” She leans back and rests her feet on the railing in front of us. She stares up to the sky. “When I’m looking at the stars, I feel so insignificant. Like I’m a tiny blip on a screen.”

  “In those shoes, I guarantee you’d be more than a dot.”

  “They do make me taller.”

  “I think they make you pretty damn sexy.” I turn to face her, and when our gazes connect, there’s a shift near my heart I don’t understand. I flex my fingers beside my thigh to keep from touching her, but this woman has some voodoo spell cast over me. I brush the back of my hand against her hip, unable to stop myself.

  She draws her gaze back to the night sky, but not before I catch the slight smile ghosting her lips.

  “Do you miss home?” I ask.

  She draws in a breath and slowly releases it. “Sometimes. I miss my mom. She can be overbearing… No, she is overbearing, but she just cares about me, ya know. I haven’t been the golden child.”

  “I can’t imagine you giving anyone too hard of a time.” I laugh. “Although, I thought you were going to lay down Isabella.”

  “I’m not sure what her problem is with me. The only conversation I’ve had with her is when she crashed our lab.”

  “You don’t have any classes with her or anything?” I ask, a little surprised.

  “Nope.”

  I keep my expression neutral, but her words don’t settle well. I kind of thought Cara may have done something to provoke Izzy. When goaded enough, Isabella can be a bit feisty, but if Cara hasn’t had contact with her… Fuck. Isabella must’ve crossed lines again. I thought we were straight on our friendship. After our failed attempt at dating, I made our relationship clear. I thought she was on board as well.

  “I’ll have a talk with her.”

  “Don’t feel like you have to for my benefit. I can take care of myself.”

  “Okay, Rocky.”

  “Philly bred, baby.” She pounds her chest then raises her arms in a mock victory.

  Another laugh escapes. She’s so dang cute. “Guess so.”

  “Actually, I’m from Jonesburg.”

  “What? You’ve been misrepresenting yourself all this time?”

  “Not exactly. The town is a suburb. I still have the rights to claim Philly heritage.”

  “I’ll let this new discovery slide, but I still want to talk to her. She has no right treating you badly.”

  “Lexie tells me you’re good at playing ball.” She points to the field, officially switching topics.

  Duly noted.

  “I hold my own.”

  “She also told me you’d probably get drafted.”

  I stare back at the sky. Right now, if I could be that tiny blip on the screen, I’d take it. “Chances are looking good.”

  She narrows her eyes at me but doesn’t say anything. I don’t know if she can’t tell I’m not enthused or not. For some reason when I’m with her, I don’t want to put on my normal act. I just want to be me. She makes it so easy to do that.

  “Were you like every other boy and dreamed of playing for the hometown team? In your case the Giants?”

  “You better believe it. See that over there?” I point to right field and then rest my hand by her thigh.

  “Yeah?”

  “When I was little, no matter what field I played in, I envisioned every home run sailing over the right field and splashing into McCovey Cove. It’s always been a dream of mine.”

  “You hit left-handed then?”

  My brow lifts in surprise. There haven’t been any right-handed hitters to smack one there yet. Color me impressed. My pinkie brushes against her smooth skin. When she doesn’t pull away, I keep stroking ever so slowly. “You really know your baseball.”

  Her lips twitch, but her hand moves next to mine. “You can say that.”

  And the surprises keep coming.

  “I wanted to see my team play this year, but it doesn’t look like I’m going to get the chance.”

&
nbsp; “I’m sorry. It sucks when your team doesn’t make it to the playoffs.”

  “Hey, there’s still hope. The wild card is within reach.” I nudge her thigh which causes our fingers to grab hold of each other. Heat seizes my balls. Damn, I don’t know what this girl does to me.

  “Maybe. They’re only a game behind the Phillies. I thought the Phillies were out of it, but they came back swinging. Truthfully, I’m hoping for a Philly-Dodgers matchup.”

  “You seriously wound me.” This conversation is nice. Actually, all of our conversations have been real. It’s one of the things that draws me to her and makes me want to actually date her. One and done isn’t exactly my motto—there hasn’t been that many girls—but I don’t date or chase. Or I never did until now. But this girl, I’d chase to the ends of earth. “But if the wild card game is between the Giants and Dodgers, I doubt I’d go.”

  “Don’t think you could score tickets?”

  “Nah, I don’t want to spend the money for one game. It’s not as if my parents couldn’t afford it, but they’re practical. Dad wouldn’t be happy with me if I went.” Not to mention how pissed he’d be if I spent time away from perfecting my skills, especially with my shitty performance of late.

  “At least they have money. I’m sure you didn’t suffer too much growing up.”

  “You’re going to tell me you’re from a poor family when you’re wearing one thousand-dollar shoes?”

  The cutest grin spreads across her face, and that look alone tells me I’m a goner. I just want to devour those lips and claim her as mine.

  “Fourteen-hundred-dollar shoes, but yeah, my mom doesn’t have much. Never had. It’s my brother who has done well with himself. He spoils me.”

  “What does he do?”

  She hesitates, and for a moment, I regret asking. But why? Unless he’s doing something illegal, I can’t image the need to be evasive.

  “He’s in marketing.”

  Her answer is still vague, but I don’t press. I want to get to know her, not her brother, so I switch topics.

  “You never did tell me what you’re majoring in.”