I, of course, chose the dress.
Because who wouldn’t want to wear a wedding dress at a baseball game?
Not me.
Which turned out to be good…and bad.
Chapter 5
Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. But are we talking about baseball diamonds or diamonds that go on rings?
-George to the Elvis impersonator
George
“I swear to God,” I said the moment Wrigley came into view. “On my heart, cross my eyes, and stick a thousand needles in my thigh…that I did not do that on purpose.”
I didn’t have that good of aim.
Even though I’d seen the beer guy looking straight down her shirt.
I would never purposefully foul a ball that close to her again.
It did seem rather suspicious, though, that I made a comment to the umpire that the beer guy was staring at my woman’s tits, and the next thing I know I’m busting his hand with a baseball.
“He’s lying. That’s his lying face,” my grandmother informed Wrigley.
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t listen to her. She’s probably been drinking the free beer all night.”
“You get free beer?” Wrigley’s head whipped around to stare at my grandmother. “Why did I have to pay for mine and you didn’t?”
I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for my grandmother to explain.
“Because,” Grandma replied. “I own half the damn baseball team, thanks to my deplorable ex.”
Wrigley’s mouth dropped open. “You own half the team and you made me pay for my own beers? I knew those were mean thoughts you were having earlier when I asked about him!”
Now that was interesting. My grandmother never talked about my biological grandfather.
“I made you pay for your own beers because I don’t give anything away for free to anyone. How do you think places like this make their money? I’ll tell you how. Not by giving free stuff away when someone can pay for it instead,” my grandmother countered.
I started to chuckle as the age-old argument came into effect.
My sister loved to argue this all the time, too.
However, the difference between Wrigley and my sister was glaring.
Where my sister would’ve harped, and harped, and not quit until my grandmother was well and truly pissed off, Wrigley only laughed.
She laughed.
And then agreed.
“I like you a lot, Grandma Beverly,” Wrigley semi-slurred.
Grandma turned to me with a wink. “You’ll have to keep this one.”
Then she turned and walked away, leaving me with Wrigley in a wedding dress, slightly inebriated.
“Come on, darlin’,” I said. “You’re about ten beers ahead of me and that makes me feel left out.”
Wrigley took my hand and started to swing it like a six-year-old. “Yay!”
I snorted. “You want to catch a cab, or do you want to walk? It’s only about a mile and a half to our hotel.”
She squinted her eyes and then nodded once.
“Was that a decision you just made but forgot to voice?” I questioned teasingly.
She tilted her head slightly. “It was.”
“Well, what did you decide?” I grinned, loving this playful side of her.
It wasn’t that Wrigley wasn’t playful and fun to be around when she was sober, but she was less in control this way. More open about what she was feeling.
I liked it.
A lot.
“So…why are you in that wedding dress?” I questioned.
I obviously knew why she was in a wedding dress. I’d been the one to nail her with multiple beers, after all, but I still wanted her to answer me.
She turned her head toward me in an Exorcist fashion and bared her teeth. “It was either wear this or wear my beer clothes. You should be grateful that your grandmother let me borrow it. Otherwise, you would’ve had one pissy girl on your hands.”
I didn’t mention the fact that my grandmother could’ve literally walked up to the counter in the gift shop and gotten her a pair of pants and a new t-shirt. She could’ve also gotten her one of everything, and it not cost her a dime.
Yet, I withheld that particular comment.
I also withheld the next one that sprung to mind: You look beautiful and I’d love to see you walking down the aisle toward me in that very dress.
Instead, I went with the other thing that was on my mind.
“Who was that guy that was sitting behind you at the game?” I questioned. “He seemed like he knew you.”
She shook her head so fast and hard that she started to stumble. I caught her before she could so much as tilt sideways.
“That man was not my friend,” she assured me. “He purposefully rammed his knees into my back just before your first at bat so I’d move and give him more leg room…” She grinned. “You’re impressed that I called it your first at bat, aren’t you? Your grandmother taught that to me today. I should get an A+ in Baseball for Dummies. Then he touched my ass when I bent over to try to pick up the ball that nailed the beer guy.”
I bit my lip to hold my chuckle in. The way her thoughts were so scattered made me feel like I could barely keep up.
Damn, the girl was fucking adorable when she was drunk!
“Definitely A+ material,” I agreed. “And that guy touched your ass?”
She nodded. “I sat next to your grandmother, though. Each time he started to get into my business, she’d threaten him with her cane.”
I frowned. “My grandmother doesn’t have a cane.”
Wrigley’s brows rose in surprise. “Yes, she does.”
“No,” I disagreed. “She doesn’t.”
“Then what’s in that long black stick like thing that she was carrying around?” she questioned.
I tried to think back to her at the field earlier, and couldn’t come up with anything that was long and black that belonged to her. But, now that I thought about it, I had seen another elderly lady sitting next to her. Maybe she’d stolen her cane?
I had no clue, but I wouldn’t put it past her. I couldn’t take her anywhere without her getting into trouble. And, apparently, she was now roping my woman into her fun.
“If my grandmother ever asks you to do anything with her after y’all have been drinking, don’t do it.”
Too bad I didn’t take my own advice.
***
Four hours later, I was buzzed, and answering my cell phone.
“Helllloooo, Grandma!”
I looked over to Wrigley and mouthed, “It’s my grandma!”
Wrigley’s eyes were so wide and adorable I just wanted to lick them.
“George…are you high?”
“Not high, drunk. Yo, Grandma. What’s up?” My thoughts were bouncing around like crazy, and I couldn’t remember what it was that I was trying to accomplish.
I wasn’t totally drunk off my ass, but I was pretty damn close.
If I had one more beer, I’d be there.
“George, darling,” Grandma called through the line, trying to focus me. “Can you come down here and help me out for a few minutes?”
I frowned. “Where are you?”
“The chapel next to Beau’s Place.”
Beau Bryon was her husband, and Beau’s Place was the strip club that he owned.
It was classy…for a strip joint.
It was also smack dab in the middle of about three chapels—you know, just in case you wanted to get married to a stripper.
“Okay.” I frowned, trying to squint at the clock. “When?”
“Now.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes over to the woman next to me.
She was still dressed in my grandmother’s wedding dress, and her eyes were glued to the beer bottle in front of her.
There was a game that the bartender had given her that she was now fixated on.
It
was a circle, foam ring that she was trying to get around the neck of a beer bottle across the bar from her. She got five shots. If she missed all five, she had to take a shot of Patron. If she made it, she got to have a drink of her choice free.
So far, she’d missed four, two of which shots I’d done for her.
We’d just finished up a plate of nachos and hot wings, and were working on our shared dessert when my grandmother had called.
“I can be there in like fifteen minutes,” I hedged. “We’re eating chocolate cake.”
Well, I was trying to eat it. Wrigley was eating it so fast that it might not be there for much longer if I didn’t hang up soon.
“Finish that up, tell her not to spill any of it on the dress,” she ordered. “Then get the hell down here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, then shoved the phone into my pocket.
“If your grandmother owns half the team, why does she sit in the peon seats and not in a skybox or something?” Wrigley asked around a mouthful of half-melted ice cream.
Before I answered, I reached forward and picked the bowl up, drinking the rest of the melted ice cream/caramel/chocolate cake concoction at the bottom of the bowl.
Then groaned.
It was so good.
After practically licking my lips and the bowl, I stood up. “Because you can’t smell the peanuts, and drink the beer, and hear the crowd as well in the skybox…” I paused. “At least that’s what she says, anyway. Secretly, I think it’s because she doesn’t want to be a hoity-toity team owner that doesn’t interact with the fans.” I leaned over. “Grandma wants us to come see her. Let’s go.”
Wrigley tossed the final foam ring, then threw her hands up in the air as she finally made it.
“Score!”
My eyes went down to the bodice of the dress as it slipped down even lower on her chest. Her boobs looked marvelous in it, the lace looks like it was goddamn made to sit against her skin.
“Come on, woman.” I held out my hand for her to take. “Let’s go.”
Wrigley took it and then threw herself into my arms. “Take me to bed or lose me forever!”
I stared at her intently. “Top Gun?”
“Top Gun!” she declared.
Twenty-one minutes later, we ended up at a chapel helping my grandmother officiate a wedding.
Well, she officiated it. Wrigley and I acted as witnesses. At least, I think we acted as witnesses.
***
Two hours later, we crashed into my hotel room.
Both of us were drunk off our asses, but that didn’t change the way we felt about each other.
She was all over me, and I was all over her.
Her hands were down the back of my pants, and my eyes were only for her.
We fumbled and lurched, jumped and shifted, until moments later we were both naked and on my bed.
Distantly I was aware of a crash as our bags hit the floor—followed by us moments later as we rolled off the bed in our exuberance to feel each other up.
A little circle dispenser hit my chin, and I picked it up and chucked it across the room, then returned to my surveying of her body—with my mouth and hands.
She growled into my mouth when I found a particularly sensitive part of her anatomy with my fingers.
“George, please,” she breathed. “Pleassse.”
She hissed out the ‘S,’ and I started to move down her body.
I came to a stop right above her pubic bone and pressed a single kiss there before continuing my jaunt down her body.
“George,” she breathed. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I chuckled darkly against her clit and then leaned forward to suck it between my lips.
She was wet, and I could feel it all over my lips and beard.
She was squirming, too, making me work to keep it between my lips as I sucked.
Then she grabbed hold of my hair, and I started to laugh.
“Stop laughing at me and suck,” she ordered.
I circled her entrance with my tongue instead and then plunged it deep inside.
She swore and clamped her legs around my head, but I didn’t stop. Not until she was coming. Not until her pussy tightened around my tongue.
Her wetness increased as she came, and I realized rather quickly that if I didn’t get inside of her soon, I might surely die.
I shouldered my way in between her thighs and settled my hips so my cock was at her entrance.
My eyes met hers as I slowly started to push inside.
When her mouth fell open in a silent moan, I could no longer control myself.
I forced the rest of my length inside and nearly came as I did.
“Holy cow, you’re big,” she breathed. “So, so big. It’s true.”
I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t trying to calm myself down. Coming was definitely imminent.
“What’s true?” I squeezed out through clenched teeth.
God, it should be illegal how freakin’ tight she was.
“That tall guys have big dicks,” she answered.
I bent down until I was nose to nose with her.
Her eyes widened, and she blinked lazily as she curled both her arms and legs around my frame, bringing herself as close as she could.
“I don’t know about other tall guys,” I growled. “And hopefully you won’t ever be able to compare them, either. If I have my way, you’ll be mine for the foreseeable future.”
Her grin was wide when I finished.
“We’ll see.”
I winked.
Then I fucked her.
And, according to her, she’d never had better.
By the time I was coming inside of her long moments later, I made a mental note to inform her that she never would again, either.
If I kept hammering that point home, maybe she’d eventually believe it.
Bringing her hand up to my lips, something shiny caught my eye.
Unfortunately, I was too exhausted and drunk to ask questions.
And I should have.
Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have woken up to the scream the next morning.
***
The next morning.
“We’re married?”
My eyes blinked open so fast that I was momentarily confused as to where I was.
I also had a goddamn headache.
A bad one.
“What?” I groaned as I sat up and immediately regretted it.
Why did I regret it, you ask? Because the movement caused whatever calm I had left to dissipate.
“Holy fuck,” I gasped, my hand going to my forehead as I tried to gain control of my urge to vomit. “I feel like a Mack Truck ran over me.”
I haven’t felt quite this shitty since high school, I thought morosely.
“I said,” Wrigley repeated, a little calmer this time. “We’re married?”
I frowned and pulled my hand away from my face, my headache as well as my belly flipping and flopping momentarily forgotten.
“Excuse me?” I hesitated.
My brain still wasn’t firing on all cylinders, so it took me a moment to figure out that the hand that Wrigley was holding out wasn’t just a fucking hand. But a hand with a goddamn ring on it.
One I’d seen before.
I frowned and reached for her hand, seeing the ring that I knew without a shadow of a doubt had once been on my grandmother’s finger.
She yanked her hand back before I could so much as touch my fingers to hers, and then started to pace across the room.
“And don’t even get me started about what’s going on between my legs,” she hissed, turning her accusing eyes toward me.
I opened my mouth and then closed it, unsure what to say to that.
“Nothing to say to that, Mr. Baseball?” She stopped and turned, planting both fisted hands on either hip.
I blinked and then shrugged. “I’m unsure what it is y
ou speak of, to be honest.”
She bared her teeth. “What I speak of is your inability to use a condom!”
I looked down at where the short robe was barely covering her thighs.
“How do you know that I didn’t?”
She frowned. “You’re kidding, right?”
I was unsure whether I should play it off like I was, or tell her the truth that I truly had no fuckin’ clue what she was talking about.
In the end, I decided to go with honesty. A, because I didn’t want her to lose her shit on me when I tried to figure out what was going on, and B, because I truly wanted to know without beating around the bush.
She laughed at whatever she read on my face and then stalked over to the bed.
Once she was beside it, she lifted one leg, placed it on the edge of the bed to the left of my feet, and threw the robe open.
“That’s how I know.”
I looked at her pussy—or what was exposed of it. At her pretty little clit that looked like it was just begging for me to touch it.
And as suddenly as it appeared in my line of sight—causing me a major erection I might add—it was gone.
“Now, do you see?” She raised her arms in the air.
I must’ve looked as confused as I felt because she threw her arms up in the air again.
“Useless. You’re pretty to look at, but you don’t have a brain in that big ol’ head of yours.”
Before she could take another step in the opposite direction, I caught her by the wrist, tumbled her into the bed beside me, and rolled as I settled my hips between hers.
Then I pressed my body into hers, telling her without words that she couldn’t go anywhere.
“A, I don’t know what you’re talking about because my brain function is still trying to play catch up with the night before,” I informed her. “B, even if I was firing on all cylinders, you can’t put your pussy in my line of sight and expect me to have coherent thoughts.”
She opened her mouth to retort something, but I pressed my hand over her mouth before she could speak.
“And C, I don’t really fucking care right now,” I growled.
Then I pressed my aching cock into her core and ground down.
She shivered as she widened her legs even farther.
Quit Your Pitchin' Page 4