Batter Up: Up Series Book 2

by Robin Leaf

  “So does this mean you will get back together with Etta now that she knows the truth?” he asked hopefully, like a little kid. He acted so much older, that sometimes I forgot how young he really was.

  “I don’t want to lie to you, Miles. Probably not.” He looked dejected and angry. “Look, this really has nothing to do with you at all. Please don’t let what happened affect your relationship with either one of your sisters. Both Emily and Etta have always been great sisters to you. And I will be around for you whenever you need me.”

  “Yeah, but if she had…”

  “Don’t.” I pulled up to his house. “I appreciate what you were about to say, but your sister really doesn’t need you mad at her, too.”

  He nodded and got out of the car. I grabbed the food and followed him inside the house.

  “Nathaniel Slaughter, you get over here and give me a hug,” Mrs. Sullivan called. Before I could respond, she stood on her tiptoes and hugged my neck quickly and patted my face. “How are you? How’s the knee injury? And how come you go away for so long without so much as a hello?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Sullivan, it’s good to see…”

  “You look good. What can I get you?” She turned toward Miles. “Where’re your sisters? You boys didn’t eat at the restaurant? Well that’s good, because now I get to catch up with my favorite baseball player.” She squeezed my arms. “You know, Collin and I always watched your games when we could get them on the TV. You remember how much that man loves his baseball. How’s your mom? I hear about Jake all the time, and the last time I asked about you… Oh my goodness. You know I should call Annie. You remember her, don’t you? She’s my neighbor. Her daughter is in town for Christmas and always had a little crush on you. I bet she’d be thrilled to know you are here. Let me just call her. Oh, I’m so happy to see you. I’ll be right back.”

  I smiled and faced Miles. “It’s nice to see that your mom’s the same.”

  “Yeah, let’s eat fast. By the time we finish, she’ll be planning your wedding to Annie’s ugly daughter.”

  I laughed. Mrs. Sullivan always made my head spin. She was a whirlwind of activity; she was always talking, and she always tried to set me up with one of her friends’ daughters. I think she did it to subtly push Etta and me together, but it obviously didn’t work. It was just how she was, and it was comforting to know that she hadn’t changed.

  While we ate, Miles filled me in on his family dynamic. Emily and her fiancé were staying at the house for Christmas and planning the final touches of their wedding. They decided to get married in Houston in January since most of Emily’s family and friends lived here. I got the feeling Miles didn’t think too highly of Emily’s choice for a husband.

  “Hey, Dude,” a familiar voice interrupted, causing Miles to roll his eyes. “I thought you went out to dinner with Emily. Is she here?” I locked eyes with Tater, my tattoo artist, standing over the table. “Whoa, Nate? What are you doing here?”

  Miles looked back and forth between me and Tater. “You two know each other?” Miles asked.

  “Yeah,” Tater answered. “He’s one of my favorite customers.”

  Miles eyes got big. “Nate? You have a tattoo?”

  “Yeah,” I looked down, knowing what he’d ask next. “I do.”

  He bounced in his chair. “That’s so cool. Can I see it?”

  I felt my face flame. “It’s not…”

  “Nate, I saw you in that video…” Tater thankfully interrupted. It was one thing for the kid to know about the tattoo, but to show it to him? I could kiss Tater for allowing me to dodge that bullet, that is until I focused on what he was saying now. “… is my client and he’s actually the one who showed it to me. He was royally impressed by your talent, Man.”

  “Nate, you sing?” Miles asked.

  “Yeah, he does.” Tater dug his phone out of his pocket. “I never would have guessed he would be that good.” Tater smiled and pulled up the video for Miles to see. They sat shoulder to shoulder while I finished my meal, trying to pretend that I was not completely annoyed by the fact that a night I’d rather forget was replaying right next to me.

  I was saved when Emily entered the house and slammed the door. Etta followed right behind. “You did NOT just slam the door in my face!” Etta yelled. “I just need you to understand…”

  “I’m not in the mood to hear it, Etta!” Emily yelled.

  “Wait, you’re the Etta!” Tater exclaimed, turning toward me. “Oh my God, your Etta is… Emily’s sister Etta? Holy shit, Dude! My mind is completely blown.”

  Etta looked back and forth between Tater and me, seeming thoroughly confused. Then her attention fell to her brother who was finishing up the video. Her eyes narrowed at her brother; then the stormy grey fell on me.

  “Nate,” Miles said, ignoring the drama unfolding around him. “That. Was. Awesome. I need to see that again.” The video played again, louder than before.

  “Nathaniel,” Mrs. Sullivan crooned from the living room. “Unfortunately Annie’s daughter wasn’t… Oh, Etta! Good, you’re here. We need to schedule your final fitting for your dress…” She started rambling again.

  “You two know each other?” Emily asked Tater quietly, nodding to me and ignoring the chaos erupting around us.

  Tater moved in to kiss Emily’s cheek. “Yeah, Nate here is the baseball dude I designed that tattoo for last year, remember?”

  Etta’s eyes landed on Tater, and she moved around her mother to listen to the conversation.

  “Famous romantic baseball guy was you?” Emily asked me. I blinked once. She faced Etta. “Wow, you really are stupid.” She turned and left the room, pulling Tater behind her.

  “Emily, wait,” Mrs. Sullivan called after them. “We have some details we need to discuss…” and she followed them down the hallway.

  Etta looked at me completely dumbfounded. I stared at her for a minute before I dropped my eyes. Finally, I stood up and moved to the kitchen to clean up my mess. “Miles, I better go. Tell your mom bye for me.” I held up my fist, which he promptly bumped in return. “I’ll see you later.” I turned and left without a backward glance.

  Twenty Two

  December 19, eight years ago

  Finals were over. Christmas break was in full swing, and all I could do was think of ways to spend time with Etta. I lived for our time together hanging out on our couch. Since August, we had grown closer despite our hectic schedules during the semester. We seemed to always make time for each other. Etta still worked in the training room during the break, but when she wasn’t there, she was usually with me.

  Beth and Chris went on their first trip together. Beth’s family always spent the holidays skiing in Colorado at their cabin near Veil, and she and Chris went up there early. So besides the times Miles stayed at our apartment, it was just Etta and me.

  We seemed to get increasingly more comfortable with each other. She became more open and free about her past and her childhood with Emily. We talked about everything, the way friends should. What really got to me was how she always found ways to touch me. I tried not to read too much into it, and her touches were always platonic – a touch on the arm here, a brush of the leg there, her feet in my lap while watching TV. However, the fire they left behind was no less prevalent than before; it was even more intense. The hugs were more frequent as well, usually before we left each other or before bed, that is if she didn’t fall asleep on the couch.

  Since the weather turned chillier, I took full advantage the fact that she was always cold. It meant I would have to keep her warm; therefore, she usually wound up right next to me, cuddled up close. Many times she fell asleep on me. Those were the nights I slept the best – on our lumpy couch with her close to me. It’s the way we fell asleep last night.

  I had given up going out with the guys just so I could stay in with Etta. And what’s funny was I actually preferred it. I was whipped, and I no longer felt like a pussy about it. I could admit it to myself now – I loved her. So
many times I wanted to tell her, but I feared if I did, I would lose what we had. I liked our relationship a lot, but I often had to bite back the urge to take things further. Sometimes I felt myself pushing the envelope, like leaving my hand on her thigh or kissing her head, usually inhaling her Dreamsicle scent, while she was close to me on the couch, but she never said anything or protested in any way. I didn’t push further than that, again fearing the loss of this, whatever this was.

  Tonight, we were watching Monday Night Football, and the Packers, my second favorite team in the NFL, were getting their asses handed to them by the Ravens. Etta and I usually bet on football games, unless the Texans were playing, and the loser had to do some task determined by the winner.

  “It surprises me that so many of the players have tattoos,” Etta began. “It seems as though a lot of people are getting them.”

  “Why is it so surprising?” I asked around my mouthful of pizza.

  “Well, my father always said tattoos are something trashy people get.” She rolled her eyes. “I think that’s the belief of his generation. I see it getting more and more acceptable, but I think if I ever got one, I’d probably be disowned.”

  “Your dad, who is cool enough to name his kids after musicians, is against tattoos? Weird.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, despite his taste in music, my dad isn’t completely up with the times.”

  I was curious. “But if you did get one, what would it be and where would you get it?”

  She thought for a minute. “I don’t know what I’d get; I’ve never really thought about it. But it would have to be some place my father would never see it, maybe on my hip or something, so no one but those close to me know it’s there. And it would be something with meaning to me.” She took a drink. “I’ll have to think about what it would be. What about you?”

  “I’ve thought about getting one.” I took another bite of pizza and glanced her direction and smiled. “I just can’t think of anything important enough to make me want to mark up this perfect body.”

  She laughed. “You’re so cocky.”

  “What?” I sat up and flexed my arms, which caused Etta to roll her eyes. “I work hard to make it look this good.” I sat back. “Plus, tattoos are so permanent. If I ever chose to get one, it would have to be something I wanted for a long time. It’d be unwise to get one just because it’s the thing to do right now.”

  “But tattoos on the right guy can be sexy,” she stated.

  “Yes,” I added. “But they can also look really stupid.” I turned to face her. “You have to find an artist who is good, and good ones are usually expensive.” I lowered my eyes. “I do have to admit that a girl with a tattoo that is feminine and pretty is kinda hot.” I paused. “Especially if it’s hidden, like on her hip or something, and only I know it’s there.”

  She sunk back on the couch and sneered. “Speaking from experience, Lover Boy?”

  I leaned in toward her, looking directly into her smoky green eyes. “Not yet,” I said in my sexiest tone.

  Etta’s mouth dropped open and her eyes smoldered. “Uh…” Then she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, smirking at me. “Are you seriously using a line on me, Nathaniel James Slaughter?” She swatted my arm. “Wow, I think it’s time you go out and find someone to flirt with if you are resorting to using all your lady-killer charm on me.”

  I smiled. “I like flirting with you, Etta Fontella Sullivan. It’s fun watching you get all flustered.”

  “Just for that,” she sat back on the couch and crossed her feet. “I know what my payment for the bet on this game will be.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “The game’s not over yet, Eddie.”

  “Right, less than two minutes left in the game, and your Packers are down by 45 points. I can see how you think a comeback is possible.”

  “Great. What punishment have you thought up?”

  “I’m going to tattoo you,” she said.

  I stood. “No way. You’re friggin crazy if you think…”

  “Relax, Captain Overreaction. It’s not going to be real.” She lifted the container of markers she kept under the coffee table for Miles. “I’m going to draw it on you. And you have to let me. You lost fair and square.” She started picking through the markers. “So go take your shower. One of my stipulations of the bet is that you have to keep it on for at least twenty four hours.” She smiled. “And don’t bother putting your shirt on after your shower. It’s going on your back.”

  Great. She was going to draw on me. While I was shirtless. How the hell would I get through this? It sounded like torture. Beautiful, Etta-touching-me-shirtless torture. Shit. Is it weird that I was a little excited about it? Apparently I’d grown a little masochistic since Etta came in the picture.

  I took my time in the shower, not sure if I was delaying the inevitable or hoping she would fall asleep before I got out there. Of course it could have been that I needed time to get my body under control. I had a bad feeling about how this would end, yet I debated back and forth on whether I was going to go through with it.

  I dried off and went in my room to get dressed. In the end, I didn’t listen to her and put on a shirt, deciding I would decline to pay up for the bet and take the consequences.

  I opened my door to her still sitting on the couch, working intently on something on her lap. She covered it whenever she heard me approach.

  “Nuh uh,” Etta said as I rounded the couch. “You are not welching on this bet, Nathaniel.” She motioned with her hand. “Take it off.”

  “Look, Eddie, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Why not?”

  “I’m tired,” I lied. “Can’t I just agree to clean the bathroom for a month and go to bed?”

  “A whole month, huh?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Yes, or I can wash dishes and cook.”

  “What? Spaghetti or hot dogs every night? No thanks.”

  “Well, then, I can fold both our laundry for a month. Whatever you want.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Wow, you really don’t want this to happen, do you?” She leaned back from whatever she was working on and stared at me for a few moments. “Why?”

  I felt my face get hot. “I’m just… tired.”

  “No, that’s not it.” She placed the papers in her lap on the coffee table. “What’s the real reason, Slaughter? Afraid?”

  Yes. “No.” I ran my hands over my face. “What if I told you I was ticklish? Would you let it go then?”

  “I know for a fact that you aren’t the least bit ticklish.” She tucked her feet under her, rested her head in her hand and turned toward me. “So are you going to tell me what is going on?”

  I looked at what she placed on the table – several drawings of what I assumed were ideas for the tattoo she planned to draw on my back. I sat forward and grabbed the top one off the table.

  “What’s this?”

  “I was just playing around with the markers.”

  I studied the drawing. It was actually kind of cool. It was an intricate design, almost tribal.

  “It’s incredible.”

  “Thanks,” she blushed. “Can you tell what it is?”

  I studied it closer. I saw some shapes that could be letters. “I see what I think is an N.”

  “It’s your initials. N. J. S.” She looked down, and I could tell she was trying to mask her disappointment that I turned her down.

  “Do it.” I heard the words come out of my mouth, and they surprised me. Apparently, they surprised her, too.

  “Really?” She gushed. She looked so friggin cute, like I just gave her a puppy or something. She bounced on the couch. “Yay!” She clapped her hands. “Can I still do it on your back?”

  “Yeah.” I stood. She followed me with her eyes as I removed my shirt slowly. She stared at my chest, dragging her bottom lip through her teeth, and her eyes dilated. She was affected by me.

  This was a bad idea.

  “How
do you want me?” I asked.

  Her eyes widened slightly and became darker.

  This was a really bad idea.

  “Etta!” She looked up at my face and shook her head slightly. “How do you want to do this?”

  “Oh.” She stood up and motioned for me to help her move the coffee table out of the way. “Sit here on the floor.”

  I moved cautiously over to the spot of the floor in front of her side of the couch and sat. She climbed over the couch to sit behind me, each leg on either side of me. I felt them brush against me and shuddered slightly. My breath hitched as her fingers felt across my shoulders, igniting their inferno as they traveled down between my shoulder blades.

  This was a colossally bad idea.

  I moved away from her touch, but I couldn’t look at her, fearing that if I did, I would see the same look on her face I was sure I had on mine. “What are you doing?”

  She paused. “Feeling to see if there are any rough areas or dry patches.” She took a deep breath. “It is winter, you know. I don’t want this to look weird.”

  “Find anything?”

  “No.” She sighed. “Your skin is perfect,” she said a little huskier than normal.

  Shit.

  I grabbed the TV remote from the couch next to her and un-muted it. “Then just start drawing. It’s getting late.”

  I searched the channels desperately for something, anything to distract me while she tortured me. Turns out she had to touch me when she drew to “pull the skin tight” so the marker didn’t drag. Ugh. Her fingers pressing into my skin was worse than the light touches she tormented me with earlier. I had to concentrate on keeping my breathing even.

  Every time I would get distracted by what was on TV, she would move, reminding me how close she was to my bare skin. At times, she would lean in from above me on the couch, and I could sense her breath on my back and feel her hair caress me, which made me think about how those same scenarios would play out if I pulled her on top of me. When she leaned closer and smoothed her hand across my back, I felt her thighs tighten against my sides, and that caused me to imagine them tightening around me as I entered her.