Hard Luck

by Liv Morris

  I tunnel out everything. The crowd, their screams, the pressure—everything disappears except the pitcher and his next movement. The wind up, then the release, and it’s mine. Fucking mine. A low and inside pitch.

  I swing and my bat cracks in a heavenly sound while the ball sails into the atmosphere. I toss the bat to the side and watch it fly over the back wall. A walk off grand fucking slam. I start to first base and realize what this means—we fucking won! Chicago takes the World Series in four games. I raise my fists into the air and pump them. The cheers and chants carry me around the bases as a high like I’ve never had in my life takes hold. It’s almost like an out of body experience, but with each pounding step I take, I know it’s all real.

  Our dugout has emptied and fireworks go off in the distance, lighting up the sky like the Fourth of July. The entire team waits for me as I round third to home and I fight a tear trying to escape. Whoever said there’s no crying in baseball has never brought home a World Series for their team.

  I land on the home plate with a two-footed jump, then Lance and Shaun lift me onto their shoulders and carry me to a big huddle on the field. The next ten minutes are a blur of men shouting—some crying tears of joy, others jumping up and down.

  Security officers usher the team to the makeshift stage where the baseball commissioner stands next to the official World Series trophy.

  “Luck,” Coach says to me, “you’re up on stage.”

  “I am?” I knit my brows.

  “You’re the MVP,” he says with the biggest smile on his face.

  “No fuck?” I ask.

  “No fuck,” he replies with a laugh.

  “What?” I can’t believe it. I’m just two years in from the minors. This is beyond my wildest dreams.

  “Who the fuck deserves it more than you?” I want to say Lance does, he pitched a near perfect game, but I guess my walk off grand slam took the cake.

  “Shit,” I say, smiling. “I need to find Cali and celebrate. Do you think she knows?”

  “I’m sure she knows. The entire fucking world does,” Coach says, smiling and shaking his head.

  The crowd cheers as the baseball commissioner announces Chicago as the winner, then hands the trophy to Frank Kern, the team’s owner.

  “It’s been over one-hundred years and the curse is finally broken,” Mr. Kern says with a shaky voice. He continues to thank the diehard Chicago fans.

  “I’d like to pass this off to Jimmy and his team,” Kern announces while handing the golden trophy to Jimmy.

  “Thanks, Frank. Finally, Chicago has won the World Series and broken the Curse of the Goat. Thanks to the fans and the guys on this team. I’ve never known a better group of players in all my years.” Coach turns to face me with a big smile on his face. “And, Brady Luck, your performance shows the world what I’ve known. You’re the best damn player in the league. Congrats on being the Series MVP.”

  The crowd goes wild and I say thank you into the mic. I glance around the crowd in front of me to see if they’ve let the wives and girlfriends onto the field yet, but I don’t even see Eve. Shit.

  The team exits the stage and some MLB staff congratulates us. Mr. Kern tells the guys to head back to the locker room where they’ve set up a big celebration for us.

  I enter the locker room to find streamers and champagne corks flying, but all I can think about is Cali. I want to celebrate this moment with the woman I love. The players are all passing around official World Series hats with the team emblem on them and I grab one for Cali and me.

  Heather, my ever faithful and solemn PA, walks over to me with a serious look on her face. She’s in game mode. “Congratulations, Luck.”

  “Wow, thanks,” I say, surprised she can’t even muster up a little excitement in this moment.

  “The press has set up an interview for you outside.” She scans over my half-dressed body. “Get some clothes on and follow me.”

  I throw on a dress shirt and change into jeans, but I leave the hat on. I fucking earned it.

  Heather leads me to a group of reporters gathered around a podium with a mic and I realize they’re waiting for me.

  “The stage is yours, Luck,” she says, gesturing toward the podium. I walk up and stand in front of it.

  “Great game, Luck,” a reporter for Fox says. “How did it feel?”

  “How did you think it felt?” I laugh. “Like my whole life’s dream was realized in one damn swing of the bat.”

  “What was up with Davis and you? Was it about Cali Jones?” I give the ESPN reporter a death stare. How dare he bring up Davis and his asshole behavior. I just won the Series.

  “No comment,” I say with as little emotion as I can, but it’s hard to suppress my anger.

  “So, the curse is broken. Why do you think this team had the magic?” What a dumb ass question. Like I would know about magic. Ask me about voodoo though, and I’d have a few things to say.

  “It was just our year. The stars aligned.” I scan the crowd and spot a brown head bouncing in the back. I smile when I move to the side and see who the head belongs to. Cali’s waving at me with joy in her eyes. I give her a wink and all the reporters turn to see who’s getting my attention.

  “So, Brady, have you and Cali set a date yet?” a woman from Sporting News asks.

  The joy disappears out of Cali’s eyes at the question. She thinks it’s over between us, and why wouldn’t she? I’ve given her no reason to think otherwise.

  “As a matter of fact, I need to say something, if you’ll allow me a minute.” The reporters all nod their heads. “Cali, would you please come up here?” Cali brings a hand to her chest, her eyes wide in surprise.

  I step away from the podium as she walks toward me. Her brow knits and she looks around. I give her a grin to ease her worries.

  When she stands in front of me, I fall to one knee and take her hands in mine.

  “What are you doing?” she whispers.

  “Repeating something I’ve asked you before.” Tears begin to flow from her baby blue eyes. “Cali, I love you. Will you marry me for real?” I nearly shout the last word.

  “Yes,” she utters. “I love you, too, Brady.”

  I stand up and take her in my arms. Jumping up, she wraps her legs around me and my hands go to her sweet ass to support her. I take her lips with mine, like I’ve done so many times before, but strangely, this kiss is different for me.

  My brain finally understands what my heart has known from the start—I’m kissing the woman who’s made for me. I deepen our kiss and we’re all tongues and moans, forgetting the reporters and the rest of our audience. Well, I didn’t really forget, I just don’t give any fucks.

  Cameras click around us, flashes taking in our display. I break away after a couple moments and swing her around to where she’s sitting piggyback behind me. I love carrying her. In my arms, on my back—anyway she’ll let me.

  Her laughter fills the air around me as I bounce her into place. “Ladies and gentleman, the interview is over. I need to go celebrate with the love of my life.”

  I walk away with her clinging to me, the joy of winning the Series coming in second to winning her heart.

  EPILOGUE

  Cali

  “See you after the president’s speech, baby,” Brady says while lifting me up to meet his lips. After a quick kiss, he lowers me back to the ground. I swear he barely let’s my feet touch the earth.

  “I’m so proud of you.” I smile up at him with bright eyes. He taps me on the nose before heading up toward the stage.

  A content sigh leaves my lips as he walks away in his custom-made Armani suit. I don’t miss the heads of everyone turning as he passes them by. Forget charisma, the man has magnetism—everyone is drawn to him.

  “Cali, up here,” Eve calls out from the front row, motioning me toward her.

  I wave back and work my way through the crowded East Room. Today is a pinnacle event for Chicago baseball. The President of the United States is ab
out to honor their World Series victory.

  Finally, I break through the crowd and make it to the front. “Hello, Eve,” I say while giving her a big hug.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” she says, returning my embrace.

  “It’s been two weeks, but it seems like forever.” Brady and I traveled to Europe for a vacation and came straight to Washington DC this morning from Paris.

  “I saw the latest proposal,” Eve says with a sly smile. “How many is that now?”

  “Oh my God, I’ve lost count,” I say, looking to ceiling then back at Eve. “Let’s see. Not counting the first one, of course, I think it’s three. Wait, four. At his MVP press conference, on Michigan Avenue in front of Nordstrom, at The Wit where we first met, and then yesterday at the Eiffel Tower.”

  “Ah, Paris. That’s the most romantic one of all. Though announcing his love for you on TV was something out of a movie. What’s the latest bling?”

  Each time Brady proposes to me, he gives me a new piece of jewelry. I keep telling him he’s more than made up for the fake proposal and all the tears I’d shed, but he’s an athlete and has turned proposing into a sport.

  “This was his gift,” I say, showing her the diamond heart necklace resting below my throat. “It matches my engagement ring.”

  “Beautiful, Cali,” Eve says, admiring my new gift. “My theory stands. The cockier they are, the harder they fall. And Brady has fallen hard.”

  “So have I.” Eve nods her head, giving me a knowing grin.

  We talk for a couple more minutes while the team finds its place on the stage. Brady is standing directly behind the podium with Jimmy next to him.

  A man dressed in a black suit wearing a serious expression walks to the podium.

  “Please welcome the President of the United States.” Everyone sitting down stands to their feet and claps as the president walks on stage.

  He shakes some hands and claps a few players on the back before taking the podium.

  “I’d like to welcome the entire Chicago team standing up here with me today.” Loud applause breaks out as the president turns to acknowledge the men behind him.

  “I see the esteemed owner, Frank Kern.” Mr. Kern nods his head with a smile so wide, it might split his face in two. “Also with us is manager and coach, Jimmy McDermott, a man who’s winning his way to a spot at Cooperstown.”

  Eve squeezes my hand. I look her way and there’s a tear running down her cheek. “Oh, Eve,” I say, and she smiles at me through her proud tears.

  The president continues. “We are here today to honor a team that didn’t just win a World Series, they also broke a curse. As a former resident of Chicago, I can speak to this legendary curse and say the team won two victories instead of just one.” Laughter and more clapping follow his words.

  “But one man amazed me and the world this year. Brady Luck.” The president turns toward Brady and shakes his hand.

  “At twenty-five years old, he’s already proven to be one of the best players in his generation. He set the record this year for most grand slams in a season. But his finest performance was his walk off grand slam to give Chicago the elusive Word Series win.” Now Eve is squeezing my hand as tears flow down my cheeks.

  “But winning a World Series doesn’t fall on one man’s shoulders. It takes a team, a mighty and tenacious group of players. Congratulations to Chicago. And may the team never fall under a curse again.”

  The crowd rises to its feet and gives Chicago a standing ovation. Brady looks directly at me and winks. I blow him a kiss and he tries to catch it.

  ***

  “Jimmy secured a special tour of the West Wing for the team. We get to bring a plus one.” Brady takes my hand and we follow the team through a door off the stage.

  “But I’ve heard that section of the White House is closed to the general public.”

  “Special visitors get special exceptions.” Brady brags with his smug smile.

  “What he said about you is true,” I say, and Brady rolls his eyes.

  “Wait, you’re acting like me. Take a compliment. You won the MVP trophy for a reason.”

  “Enough about me,” he says, bending and tapping me on the ass, “we need to catch up with everyone else.”

  The tour guide leads us down a long hallway with portraits of past presidents on the wall. He stops at an open door and we gather around him.

  “This is the Lincoln Bedroom. Oddly, Lincoln never slept here. He used it as an office and library. Over the years, many famous people have stayed here. Some claim the room’s haunted.”

  The room’s centerpiece is a large wooden bed with a crown canopy fixed to a wall. The décor is a regal gold with classic lines. It looks too stuffy for a simple man like Lincoln.

  The guide fields a few questions before the tour crowd starts to walk away. I begin to follow, but Brady pulls on my hand.

  “Wait,” he whispers. I wrinkle my brow at him.

  “What’s up?” I ask in a hushed tone.

  “Follow me,” he says, leading me into the middle of the Lincoln Bedroom. He then moves to shut the door.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I whisper-scream.

  “Hopefully you,” he says, locking the door with a skeleton key.

  “You’re crazy,” I declare, marching toward the door. I try to get the key from his hand, but he holds it up over my head. No amount of jumping will let me grab it either. He places it on top of the door jam, totally out of my reach.

  I cross my arms over my chest and tap a foot. There might even be steam coming out of my ears.

  “Come on, Cali, baby.” Oh great, here comes the sweet talk. “Just a quickie. No one will notice.”

  He places a finger under my chin and I look up at him. Blue eyes twinkling, blond hair a sexy mess, a deadly smirk on a killer jawline—yeah, I’m shit at saying no to that.

  “Okay,” I agree, but hold up three fingers. “You have three minutes.”

  “Two,” he starts to undo his belt and the bulge at his crotch tells me two minutes might be enough. “Take off your panties, but leave everything else on.”

  “I can’t believe we are doing this. Fucking in the Lincoln Bedroom is probably against the law or something.” I pull down my panties and Brady stuffs them in his pocket.

  “I’ll give them back later. Now, get on the bed,” he says while whipping out his nine inches, and I grin knowing they are all mine.

  I edge toward the bed, but it doesn’t feel right. “Brady, I can’t do this here.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks while standing there, his cock pointing at me. It’s a distractingly beautiful sight, but it can’t overcome one thing: Lincoln worked in here.

  “Maybe the president decided to go to war in this room. It’s sacred or something. I just can’t.”

  “Okay, forget the bed. Lean against the door.” He takes my hand and walks me to the door. I press myself against it and he drops to his knees.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Lubing you up with my tongue,” he says, pushing my dress up and bringing one of my legs over his shoulder.

  His tongue meets me and I close my eyes. Shit, this is going to happen. He takes my other leg and props it over his other shoulder. He’s only done this position one other time, but the sensation of him solely supporting and devouring me drives me to a climax faster than anything else.

  “Oh, Brady, please,” I cry out as he licks and sucks.

  “Hush, baby,” he mumbles, but it’s no use. I’m coming and moaning before I can stop it. Maybe it’s the forbidden, but my orgasm hits me deliciously hard.

  “This is going to be fast,” Brady groans as he stands up while still holding me against the wall.

  “You’re so wet and swollen.” He places his cock at my entrance and thrusts up.

  “Shit,” I moan as he fully seats himself inside me. He grabs on tight to my ass and moves in and out at a frantic pace.

  “Damn,” he exhales the word a
gainst my neck, pushing toward his release until all motion stops; the only sounds in the room are our heavy breathing.

  What is it about wall sex with him that sends me to the stars and back? He says it helps strengthen his forearms, which is great for batting, and it’s by far my favorite way for him to fuck me.

  “How long has it been since the last time?” he asks.

  “About two hours,” I laugh as he brushes kisses across my jaw. “Remember that mile high on our chartered flight?”

  “Well, it feels like it’s been forever.” He looks at me with deadpanned eyes. “Seriously.”

  “The forbidden makes it hotter.”

  “Fuck, we’ve been in here five minutes,” Brady says after looking down at his watch.

  “Oh my God, they’ll be looking for us. This was a wild and really stupid idea.” I find a mirror and glance at my hair, appalled. I look freshly fucked and then some. Freaked out, I start to hyperventilate.

  “Take a deep breath, Cali. You’re killing the afterglow.” He kisses me on the lips and I forget for about two seconds where we are and that the president of the United States lives a few doors down from this room.

  “How do I look?” I run my hands over my dress a couple more times.

  “Beautiful,” he says, wrapping me in his arms. “No one is the wiser, sweetheart. Let’s find the group. We can tell them we were looking for the bowling alley if anyone asks.”

  “Okay,” I say on an exhale.

  Brady brings the key down from atop the door and unlocks it. “Just think, we can tell our children about the time I locked their mother in the Lincoln Bedroom.”

  “Children?” He’s never said a word about kids, at least not in relation to us having them.

  “Hell yes.” He opens the door and we look outside to see Jimmy leaning against the opposite wall right next to a portrait of Kennedy. Fitting, I suppose.

  “Holy shit,” I murmur.

  “You two are in some kind of trouble,” Jimmy laughs and the sound does something to erase the feeling of dread hovering over me.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Brady asks, a touch of worry in his voice.