“Jesus, Ry. I’m not going to last long.”
I pull myself away from her so I don’t blow my wad like an adolescent on prom night. I work my way down her body again, taking extra time to outline her tattoo with my tongue. Then I spread her folds and put my mouth on her. She moans and arches her body into me. Her hands grab my head and she threads her fingers through my hair.
My fingers work inside her, searching for the spot that will drive her insane. When I find it, she yells, “Brady, oh God!” Then she tugs on my hair, pulling me away from her. “I need you inside me. Now.”
“Now?” I look up at her. She’s so close. Just another few seconds.
“Please. It’s been so long,” she begs.
How long? I wonder. But now is not the time to ask. And it’s too personal.
I hastily crawl over to the nightstand and fish around until I grab a condom from the box. I roll it on and situate myself over her, putting all my weight on my right arm. I enter her slowly, letting her small body adjust to me. But she grabs my ass and pulls me hard against her. She’s as hungry for this as I am.
She’s so tight. Her walls wrap around me and squeeze me as her arms explore my shoulders, my back, the crack above my ass.
“Jesus, Ry.”
I’m so close I’m afraid I might go before she does. I reach my left hand between us and rub circles on her clit until her insides pulsate around me as she calls out my name.
Fuck. My name has never sounded so good. That’s all I needed. My name coming off her lips like that sends me spiraling down into my own powerful orgasm as I add to her vocal exaltations.
I bury my head in her shoulder as I find recovery. Her arms fall away from me and onto the bed as if she’s lost all her strength.
My body starts shaking as I laugh silently. Hers does the same, and as I roll off her and lie on my back, we dissolve into a fit of laughter, each feeding off the other. We’re unable to stop.
“Stop it,” she says, swatting me. “I can’t stop unless you stop. And my abs are killing me.”
“You’re welcome,” I say.
That makes her laugh harder.
We finally stop and catch our breath. “So that was …” I search for the right word, because there are so many to describe what I just experienced. I settle on the safest one. “… fun.”
“It was.” Then she throws her arm over her head. “Oh, my God, did we really just do that?”
I run a finger along her thigh. “Does it feel like we just did that?”
She quivers at my touch.
“So, how did I score?”
“Score?” she asks.
“Down at the restaurant, you said you were going to grade me on my moves. Well now that you’ve seen them, what’s my score?”
She bites her lip in contemplation. “I’m thinking B-minus.”
“What?” I ask, incredulously. “Why not an A?”
She smiles deviously. “Because I only had one orgasm.”
I lift up onto my elbow. “Woman, you told me to stop. You were right there.”
She’s laughing again.
I roll over and shut her up with my lips. Then I spend the next hour earning an A-fucking-plus.
~ ~ ~
Rylee getting out of bed wakes me. I must have dozed off for a minute after our marathon session.
I get up myself and throw on a pair of sweats.
She walks silently into the bathroom to clean up and then I watch her walk out to the living room to get dressed. This Rylee is different from the one I had in my bed five minutes ago.
She sits down and slips on her shoes. Then she looks up at me. “That shouldn’t have happened, Brady.”
I take the seat across from her. “You don’t have to worry,” I say. “I promise nobody will know and your job will be safe. You have my word.”
She nods. “I believe you mean that. But with who you are, there is always a chance you’re being watched.”
“Going to the zoo with my physical therapist isn’t breaking any rules, Rylee.” I motion to the bedroom. “Nobody has to know about what we do behind closed doors.”
“Still, it’s unprofessional. This can’t happen again. You’re good with that, right? I mean, you are used to one-night-stands.”
“Of course I’m good with it, Ry. If that’s what you want, but it doesn’t have to be a one-time thing, you know.”
“As in you’ll make me your Tampa girl?” She raises an accusing brow.
In all the years I’ve been doing this. I’ve never felt bad about it. So why does that one statement make me feel about an inch tall? “It’s all I’m capable of offering, Rylee. I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry, Brady. I know you. I knew what this was. And like you, I’m not looking for a relationship. But I’m not looking for a good-time guy either. I have responsibilities. I can’t have distractions. I need to toe the line so I can get back to New York.” She stands up and grabs her purse. “You can understand that, right?”
“Yeah.” I pull out my phone to summon Lenny for her.
“So … are we good?” she asks.
“We’re good,” I say opening the door for her. “And Rylee?”
She turns around to look at me.
“That was a lot of fun. Thanks.”
The edges of her mouth raise into a small smile. “I thought so too. So, see you Monday?”
“See you Monday.”
I close the door and go pour myself a strong drink. I stare at myself in the mirror behind the mini-bar as I try to think if that has ever happened before. We had more fun than I can remember having since … well, in a long time. And she walked out. Done. Over. She’s the one who doesn’t want a repeat.
I look at my reflection thinking it looks like a guy who just got dumped. And is sad about it.
“Fuck you, you pussy,” I say to him, right before I down the rest of my drink and head to bed.
Chapter Twelve
I stumble across my bedroom, out to the living room to try to get my phone before the incoming call rolls to voicemail. I miss it but look to see it was Murphy calling. I check the time. It’s almost noon. I grab the remote control and turn on the game. She probably wanted to talk to me before it started.
We talk a lot lately when the Hawks are traveling. She probably likes having someone else to talk to when Caden is away. And Murphy is great for keeping my mind off my issues. I look down at my left hand and reach over to grab the stress ball on the coffee table. I knead it obsessively – something I’ve been doing for the past few weeks. I’ve been told this won’t necessarily change my prognosis, but it’s something to do while I wait to see if I will ever play ball again.
Murphy must be especially lonely this week. Caden has been gone since last weekend and because they come to Tampa tomorrow, they won’t be back in New York until Thursday. It’s not often we have away stretches that long, where we bounce from city to city for three or four days each, but it happens once or twice a season.
I tap her number to return the call.
“Who is she, Brady? Spill.”
“Well, hello to you too, Murphy. And what do you mean?”
“The girl you were eating dinner with in the photo. It’s all over the internet.”
“Hold on.”
I pull out my iPad and Google my name, worried that someone took a compromising picture of us at dinner last night. My mind flashes back to all the flirting we did and I realize there were probably a lot of opportunities for someone to get such a photo. It takes me a minute to weed through the recent pictures on the tabloid sites. “I’m not seeing anything yet. How in the hell did you see something from last night? Are you stalking me?” I tease.
“I follow you and Caden and Sawyer so I get notifications whenever your names pop up in a story.”
“Kind of dangerous, don’t you think?” I ask. “I know how people can misconstrue things. I don’t want you to get hurt unnecessarily when a photo of Caden and som
e girl shows up.”
She laughs. “That happens so often, it doesn’t even bother me anymore. I know Caden is committed to me.”
“You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, Murphy. I’ve never met anyone who has to worry about cheating less than you. Oh, wait, here it is.”
I stare at the picture of Rylee and me at dinner. The picture of her is blurry because she has her head thrown back and is laughing. It makes me smile, because this picture is the epitome of what our night was like. And before I realize what I’m doing, I screenshot the photo and save it to my phone.
“Who is she?” Murphy asks again. “Who’s the bimbo?”
“She’s not a bimbo,” I bite back at her.
There is a pause. “Oh my God, Brady. You like her. I mean, you like her, like her.”
“I do not.”
“You do too.”
“You don’t know anything,” I say petulantly.
“Humph,” she pouts. “I’ve never seen you look at a woman like that before. What did you say to have her laughing like that?”
“We were playing a game,” I tell her.
“Oh, reeeeally,” she says, curiously. “What kind of game?”
“She wanted to see my moves.”
“You were on a date with her,” she says. “Why would she even have to ask?”
“Because it wasn’t a date. We’re just friends. And she couldn’t believe women throw themselves at me so she said I must have moves. Then she told me my moves sucked and we made it a competition to see who was better at it.”
Murphy laughs. “Sounds like a risky game if you ask me.”
“You have no idea.”
“Just friends, huh? Even after last night?”
I sigh. “I think so. But I’m not sure. I guess I’ll find out at my PT appointment on Monday.”
She snorts loudly into the phone. “You slept with your physical therapist?”
I lower my head. “I didn’t intend to. I mean, I wanted to, but I never thought she would because she’s so smart and responsible and then things just got out of hand with the flirting and the falling and the laughing.”
“Wait. What falling? You didn’t hurt your arm again, did you?”
“Thanks to Rylee, I didn’t. But I fell twice and then I dropped her on the floor.”
“Were you drunk?”
“No. Slightly buzzed maybe, but not drunk.”
“Sounds horrible,” she says. “Maybe she won’t care if you don’t want a repeat.”
“It wasn’t horrible, Murphy. It was fun. Like, really fun. And I don’t have to worry about a repeat. She told me it’s not happening again.”
Laughter dances through the other end of the phone. “Oh, Brady. Maybe you’ve finally met your match.”
“Mmm,” I mumble.
“Oh, I see.”
I roll my eyes. “What is it you think you see?”
“You do like her. And what you thought would be a roll in the hay has turned into something else. It’s okay to have feelings for someone, Brady. It’s good even. You can’t go your whole life without opening yourself up to someone else.”
“Quit shrinking me, Murphy. You don’t know a thing about it.”
“That’s right, I don’t. But someone should. You can’t keep it all bottled up inside. It’s not going to help you.”
“I don’t need help. Listen, is there another point to this phone call?”
“No. Not really. I just wanted to say hi and tell you to go easy on Caden and the boys. They’ve been on the road for a while.”
I nod, remembering how taxing it could be on long trips. But I miss the hell out of it. I’d go on long trips every damn week if I could just play again.
The game is about to start and the camera pans the visitors’ dugout. I think I see something and use the remote to rewind it so I can look again. “Oh, man,” I say.
“What is it?” Murphy asks.
“They just showed the dugout. All the players were there, but nobody was sitting in the seat I always sit in.”
“Yeah. Caden told me that’s how it’s been. They love you, Brady. They miss you. You hold that team together like glue and everyone knows it.”
“But what if I—”
“You’ll be back. I know it and they know it.”
I look down at my hand, endlessly squeezing the stress ball. “I hope you’re right.”
“How much longer do you have there?” she asks.
“Five or six weeks.”
“Are you getting out at all? I mean, with the exception of last night?”
“Not really. I tried hanging out with a few guys from the A-team, but it’s just not the same.”
“Well, your friends will be able to entertain you for the next few nights, so that’s something. And you never know what else could happen.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Just that you never know. Hey, the game’s starting. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay, thanks for calling.”
“I’m here for you anytime you need to talk. About anything, Brady, I mean that.”
“Bye, Murphy.”
I order room service then put down my phone and turn up the volume on the TV. Then I retrieve a bottle from the mini-bar and proceed to drain it while I watch my friends play the only game I’ve ever loved.
Three hours and a half-bottle of Jack later, I stumble my way back to my bedroom and into the shower. Then I walk to my closet and look for a t-shirt to wear when I eye something on the shelf.
I’m not even sure why I brought it with me. It’s not like I ever wear it when I’m not pitching. It’s my lucky shirt from Bumbershoot. The one I’ve worn under my jersey in every game since I was eighteen years old. It’s old and faded and has been sewn up more times than I can count.
I take it with me to the bed and lay it on the pillow next to mine. Then I lie down beside it, wet towel and all, and I pass out.
“Best senior trip ever!” someone shouts over the crowd while a group of us are watching a band on one of the smaller stages.
Nat grabs my hand. “It really has been,” she says. “I still can’t believe my parents let me come. Four whole days away from them with only a few chaperones for the entire senior class. Who’d have thought?”
“Well they better get used to it, because when we go to Nebraska next year, they won’t be able to tell you what to do any longer.”
She looks up at me with that wrinkle in her nose that tells me she knows something I don’t.
“What is it, Nat? You are still going to Nebraska with me, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am. It’s just that my dad said that if I get into UNL and move there with you, he might open up an office in Lincoln or Omaha.”
I step back from her to gauge her seriousness. “You have to be fucking kidding me.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not kidding, you know how protective he is.”
“Shit. I’m not sure I could take four more years of Dennis Maddux. No offense.”
“It’ll be fine. He loves SoCal. He’s been happier the past two years that we’ve been there than I’ve ever seen him. So he’d probably only show up in Nebraska occasionally to check on things.”
“By check on things, I assume you mean check on me, and how I’m treating his daughter.”
She wraps her arms around my neck. “You treat his daughter better than she deserves.”
“Not even close,” I say, picking her up so she can wrap her legs around me. “You deserve more than this. More than me. You deserve the world, Nat.”
“You are my world, babe. I love you.”
“I’m going to marry you one day, Natalie Maddux. You know that, don’t you?”
“Know that?” she asks. “I’m counting on it. I’m going to be the wife of the best major league pitcher who ever lived. We’re going to have a perfect life.”
A guy walks by selling t-shirts. I whistle at him to get his attention then I point to
myself. He looks through his shirts, finding one large enough to fit me and then he holds it up. It reads ‘Bumbershoot 2009.’ I dig a twenty out of my wallet and exchange it for the shirt. “You want one, too?” I ask Nat.
She shakes her head. “I’d rather just wear yours from time to time.”
I thank the guy and throw the shirt over my shoulder. Natalie pats it and says, “Now you’ll always remember this day, being part of the greatest arts festival in Seattle.”
“With the greatest girl in the universe,” I add. “Maybe it’ll be my lucky shirt.”
She smiles. “As if you need any luck. But I’ll bet you’d look damn sexy if you wore it under your jersey.”
“How would I look sexy if you couldn’t even see it?”
“You’re always sexy, babe. But knowing you’re wearing it would be like a tribute to me, us, our love. And you’d be sure to score – with me anyway.”
I laugh as she reaches around my neck and pulls me into a kiss.
“I’ll never wear anything else under my jersey,” I tell her when we break apart.
Chapter Thirteen
I smile from ear-to-ear when I hear a knock on my door. I hop off the couch and stride across my hotel room in three seconds flat. When I open the door, I see the hall is jammed with my teammates. Everyone yells their greetings. It’s a boisterous hello resulting in a few doors opening down the way to see what the ruckus is all about.
I invite everyone inside, but most of my teammates shake my hand, offer a few quick words, and then retreat to their own rooms. All but Caden and Sawyer.
“They are a bunch of pussies,” Sawyer says, coming in and making a bee-line to my mini-bar.
“It’s been a long week,” Caden offers. “You can’t blame them.”
“You don’t have to babysit me, you know. We have three more nights to hang out.”
Caden pats me on the back. “We’re happy to be here, man. I know it must be hard being away from your family.”
He doesn’t mean Nat and Keeton. He doesn’t mean my parents. He means him – them – my team. They are my family.
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