The Grumpy Player Next Door: Copper Valley Fireballs #3

by Grant, Pippa

  And I should probably examine what it means that I feel like I’m lying to myself about something here, but I don’t want to.

  Cooper suddenly sucks in a breath and charges back into the bathroom. “Fuck,” he gasps.

  “What?” I gape at him.

  “You’re pranking me.”

  I freeze.

  I’m not, but if he’ll lay off, I would absolutely let him think this is another phase in our winter prank war.

  In fact, that’s a brilliant idea.

  Let him think it’s a prank until either I can prove to him that this was a good idea, or until it’s over and Max and I go our separate ways.

  I don’t even know if it’s a good idea yet. But I know that if Cooper gets it in his head to interfere, even after our talk here, that everything with Max will be over regardless of what it could’ve been otherwise.

  I smile at my brother. Surefire way to make him believe he has nothing to worry about. “Am I?”

  “And we’re done here.” Grady appears in the doorway long enough to grab Cooper by the arm and haul him away. “Enjoy your bath, Tillie Jean.”

  “Thank you, favorite brother,” I call back.

  Yes, fine, I shouldn’t bait Cooper even more right now.

  But he’ll snap out of it.

  Max and I will do whatever it is we do.

  The Fireballs will rock this season.

  Cooper won’t freak out about Max and me, which would make Max freak out too.

  And everything will be fine.

  The door clicks shut again. I drift lower in the tub. Think about Max.

  Think about Max sitting on my bedroom floor asking me to coffee.

  Think about Max adjusting himself at Muted Parrot when he thought I wasn’t noticing what was happening south of the belt.

  And then I decide I might’ve had enough of bath time, except I still need to sit in this water for at least thirty more minutes to make sure Cooper’s not coming right back.

  Okay.

  Plotting time.

  I’m distracting myself from thinking about Max naked by plotting more pranks on Cooper.

  Or trying to, at least, when a knock at my bathroom window startles me.

  I shriek, slip, and grab the sides of the tub. “Hello?”

  And then a sexy, smooth, rich-as-chocolate voice sneaks into the room. “Room in there for one more?”

  27

  Max

  I am the worst kind of perv.

  But in my defense, I’ve resisted wanting to have sex with Tillie Jean for years. So I’m a perv with self-control.

  Until now.

  Now, I’m a perv who’s run out of self-control and who just listened in while she told her brother to trust us.

  Pretty sure that wasn’t just to piss him off either, no matter how he interpreted it.

  “There is no way you’ll fit in this tub,” Tillie Jean whispers. She’s peering at me from her bathtub, her skin wet, her breasts hanging heavy and disappearing behind the side of the tub before I can see those gorgeous nipples again, her eyes dark and intrigued and hungry like she’s trying to imagine me naked. “Or through that window. The back door’s unlocked. I’ll meet you—”

  “Stay.”

  She starts to grin, and oh, fuck me, is that a promising grin. “I’m not getting dressed if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  “You use a bath bomb?” The wrapper’s still on her sink.

  “Max Cole, are you addicted to Kangapoo bath bombs too?” When she drops her voice low and throaty like that, it doesn’t matter what she says. My brain short-circuits and I want her.

  I want her.

  But I need to focus. Focus, Cole. Focus.

  Bath bombs. We’re talking about bath bombs. “No, I hate those things. They have glitter in the middle. Shudder.”

  She squeaks, looks down, and then her gaze flies to me again.

  I grin.

  Yeah, I’m quoting her brother, so she should figure out pretty quick I listened in on everything. Also, if that bath bomb had glitter in it, she’d be all sparkly now, and she’s not.

  God, she’s sexy.

  “You are seriously hot when you tease me.” She crooks a finger and makes me wish I could fit through this tiny window over her toilet, and she sits straighter in the tub, but not straight enough for me to see her nipples. “Back door. Quick. Someone’s probably already spotted you, so flip the lock and shove a chair under it before Grady sends his goat over just for fun.”

  “Stay,” I tell her again.

  She slides a hand down her breast and smiles at me. “Like this?”

  And if I don’t get in her house right now, the neighbors calling Cousin Chester to report a peeper will be reporting an engorged pecker too.

  It takes me longer than it should to reach her bathroom, but I’m making sure no one gets in through any doors. Human, goat, or bird.

  I’m also kicking off my shoes and dancing out of my socks as I go so that when I hit her bedroom, all I have left are my T-shirt and jeans and underwear.

  The shirt’s gone before I skid to the corner to get into her private bath, where she’s pulled the shower curtain back and is positioned perfectly in the tub to demonstrate exactly how naked she is while still hiding her nipples and her pussy from view.

  “Who’s the tease now?” I murmur as my cock surges.

  Need to get out of these pants.

  Need to get out of them now.

  She crooks a finger again, and I am powerless to resist.

  I trip over to the tub, fumbling with my button as I drop to the floor next to her. “You told Cooper to mind his own business and trust us.”

  “I did.” She leans in and bites my lip, and fuck again. Why am I still wearing jeans? “I don’t think it totally worked, but I don’t care. Did it turn you on?”

  “You turn me on.”

  “We need rules, Max.” Her wet hand slides over my chest. “I don’t want to break your game.”

  “Rule number one: I won’t let you break my game. Happy?”

  She laughs, and fuck, how did I ever think I hated that laugh?

  “I don’t think it’s that simple, Mr. Growly Bear.”

  “It’s okay for you to be wrong on this one, Trouble Jean.” I don’t know what she put in that bathwater, but it smells like heaven in here.

  Or maybe that’s her.

  I lean over and press a kiss to her jaw, loving the way her breath hitches, and also the view I get of that deep rosy nipple. “You said I’d strike out batters even if I fucked up with you and your two best girlfriends.”

  “You will. You’d probably even hit a home run if you wanted to.”

  I shove my pants down, belatedly remember I have a strip of condoms in my back pocket, retrieve them, and shuck the pants again. “Move over. I’m climbing into this tub and fucking your brains out.”

  Her hungry eyes rake over my raging cock, and she reaches for it like it’s instinct, stroking me and squeezing and licking her lips. “Oh my god, you’re—wait. Rules.”

  She drops my hard-on, which isn’t a strong enough word for what I’m sporting.

  I whimper.

  She starts to reach for my dick again, but grabs the side of the tub instead and leans into my face. “My life’s here, Max. When you leave for spring training, that’s it. Which is all the more reason to not tell Cooper. Just in case. Because I plan for us to stay friends, but if we can’t…”

  “Mm-hmm.” Touch my cock. Let me in the bathtub. Ride me like you’ll never get dick again after I leave tonight.

  She grips my cheeks instead of my furious boner. “And there’s no acting weird because we’ve seen each other naked.”

  “Everyone’s seen me naked.”

  “Oh, god, that should not turn me on like it does.” Her cheeks are flushed and her chest is rising and falling rapidly, and I don’t know how she’s staying in that tub if she’s half as turned on as I am right now.

  She believes in me.
“I’ve been hard as a rock since—”

  Her fingers land on my lips. “Steel. Don’t use rock.”

  That shouldn’t be funny, but it is.

  And fuck.

  I feel light as a damn feather. Not my cock, but my body. My spirit.

  My damn soul. “I’ve been hard as steel since I walked in your front door this morning.”

  Her finger trails down my chin, my neck, leaving a cool, wet path in its wake. “Whatever am I going to do about that?”

  “Fuck first. Talk later.” I kick the rest of the way out of my jeans and swing a leg over into the tub.

  Water sloshes everywhere, but yes.

  Yes.

  Naked Tillie Jean. Her breasts. Her belly. Her legs.

  That sweet, sweet pussy that I would drown to devour right now.

  “Oh my god, Max, we don’t fit,” she gasps on a laugh.

  “Want. You. Now.”

  “Okay, Growly Bear.” She pushes my chest to reverse my direction, and it doesn’t matter that she uses no more force than a snowflake would.

  I’d let her do whatever she wants.

  Except when I resist to capture her mouth, she doesn’t resist.

  She surrenders.

  I surrender.

  God, her mouth. Her tongue. She’s my one salted caramel hot chocolate of the year. A cinnamon vanilla latte made with real cream. Bacon dipped in Nutella.

  And those noises coming from the back of her throat—those desperate, needy whimpers and aroused moans that get deeper and faster when she tugs me to my feet, pulling me into the tub with her, the warm water coming up to my calves while I push her against the shower wall.

  “Don’t slip,” she gasps.

  “I got you.” I fumble one hand to the faucet and crank the bathwater on. Her skin’s pebbling in the cool air.

  And then I’m kissing her again, stroking up her thighs, over her belly and breasts, back down again while she hooks one leg behind my hips.

  “Protection,” she gasps.

  I could tell her I’m clean—and I am—but the subtle reminder that I do this all the fucking time makes me wince.

  Why?

  Why do I do this all the fucking time when it doesn’t mean anything?

  She ducks out of my reach, grabs the strip of condoms on the edge of the tub, and flips the knob to switch the water flow to the showerhead.

  Scalding water flies out on us, but then she’s kissing me again, reaching between us, rolling a condom over my length, and fuck me, if all she ever did was stroke my cock, I’d die a happy man.

  “I should take you to a bed,” I try to say against her lips as I stroke between her legs, completely helpless to keep my hands to myself when it comes to her body.

  “You should fuck me hard against this wall.” She tilts her pelvis into my hand, and her eyes roll back in her head. “Oh, god, Max, more. Right there. Right. There.”

  Is this why I’ve resisted?

  Because I didn’t want to know she was uninhibited and hungry and liked sex?

  Does it matter?

  She grips my ass and squeezes while she wraps her other leg around my hips again, riding my hand while I stroke her pussy and slip two fingers up inside her, and nothing else matters.

  Just this.

  Tillie Jean.

  Hot water.

  Hot pussy.

  Hot kisses.

  Desperate noises.

  Eager body.

  And then she’s coming all over my hand, squeezing my fingers with her inner walls, head back, lids heavy, one lip caught in her teeth, her body flushed, her nipples so pert and tight and gorgeous. “Fuck, Max,” she gasps.

  More.

  I want more Tillie Jean. I want all of Tillie Jean.

  I pull my hand away, reposition her, and I thrust into her tight pussy.

  “Oh my god.”

  “Want. You. So bad,” I grunt.

  I know I should slow down. Take it easy. Make this last.

  But she fists my hair, pulling my face back to hers, and thrusts her tongue into my mouth while her hips buck against mine.

  She’s so tight. So wet.

  So mine.

  I pump in and out, and she squeezes me harder with those glorious thighs, riding me, meeting me halfway, even pressed against a wall, and holy fuck.

  Holy fuck and a half.

  She’s coming again, a groan ripping out of her throat while she fucks my mouth with her tongue, or maybe she never stopped coming, but she’s squeezing my cock with her pussy and fuck fuck fuuuuuck.

  Tillie Jean Rock’s pussy is a drug, and I’m high on it.

  No control.

  No smooth moves.

  Just my hips jerking erratically as I come so hard my vision blurs and lightning streaks through my chest and my head floats away off my neck. “Oh, fuck, no,” I groan while I shoot my load.

  “Oh, god, oh, god, yes,” she gasps in my mouth. “Yes. No? Yes?”

  Her pelvis grinds hard against mine, holding me inside her while she squeezes and pumps me with her inner muscles, her thighs a steel vise locked around my hips, my orgasm ripping through me like I’ll never have another in my life.

  “Want—to last,” I grunt.

  “Oh my god, I see stars.”

  “More, TJ. More.”

  “Growly Bear. Magic Max. Oh my god.”

  I don’t want this to end.

  I want to die still having this orgasm fifty years from now, with scalding water pounding down on me and Tillie Jean’s pussy coaxing my dick and my feet buried in lukewarm water and a slight chilly breeze drifting in to cut through the steam.

  “Max,” she sighs as her body sags and she suddenly becomes dead weight.

  “Fuck,” I mutter again.

  My own body’s about to give up the ghost.

  I’m wound so tight but utterly relaxed and free and shit shit shit.

  Don’t drop the girl.

  Don’t drop Tillie Jean.

  I turn, and somehow I manage to sit, right there in the cooling bathwater, the hot water still pouring down on us, TJ’s hair wet and plastered to her face, her legs splaying oddly because this bathtub is fucking small and suddenly my dick’s flopping out of her as we try to fit in a space built for a parakeet.

  But she doesn’t seem to mind.

  Not if the way she’s collapsing onto my chest is any indication, taking the brunt of the hot water on her back. “Oh my god,” she whispers.

  I kiss her temple, and that’s when I feel it.

  Peace.

  I’m squished into a bathtub with Tillie Jean splayed across me, one of her knees pressing down on my thigh since there’s not enough room for us in here, her other leg twisted in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable, one arm around my back, making me arch funny so I don’t squish it, and I’m completely one hundred percent at peace.

  No counting.

  No worries.

  No need to move.

  Baseball doesn’t exist. People don’t exist. Stress doesn’t exist.

  I can breathe.

  Tillie Jean settles a hand on my chest. “Have you ever had cinnamon oranges?”

  I shake my head.

  “When we can move again, I’ll make you some.”

  Home, a little voice whispers deep inside my chest.

  I don’t fight it.

  Not now.

  Maybe later.

  But not right now.

  28

  Tillie Jean

  It’s three AM, and I have to be at the senior center for aerobics in five hours, but all I want to do is lie here and watch Max sleep.

  Unfortunately, that’s not going to work.

  I poke him gently. “Max. Wake up.”

  He groans. “I want to, Tillie Jean, but you broke my dick. Five more minutes, okay?”

  It was not like this the last time I hooked up with a guy. He got his, I got mine, everything about the situation felt weird, and we went our separate ways afterward.

&nbs
p; It’s not that there’s anything wrong with casual sex.

  It’s more that I haven’t figured out how to make it work for me.

  But Max has been here since my bath, and he’s demonstrated exactly how strong and flexible professional baseball pitchers can be at least three times since, to the benefit of my lady parts every time, and I don’t want him to go.

  It’s in both our best interests if he does, though. “I know. You broke my vagina too. You need to go home before it’s too late.”

  One brown eye slides open in the dim light. “Can’t. Legs go poof.”

  If he gets any more adorable, my ovaries might go poof. “Max. C’mon. Aunt Bea’s up at like, four in the morning half the time, and if she sees you leaving my house, she’ll tell Cooper, and I know my brother. He needs to come to grips with this on his own time.”

  He grunts like he knows I’m right.

  I grunt back.

  And then I giggle, and I grunt again. “This is fun. I should grunt more often.”

  His lips twitch.

  That’s all it takes.

  One little lip twitch of unabashed amusement at me being a dork face, and everything inside me puddles like candle wax under a flame.

  I have it so bad.

  And maybe that’s why I resisted him for so long. Because I knew this would happen.

  I knew I would fall for Max Cole. It’s like every time I’ve tried to annoy him for the past four years, I’ve been quietly whispering see me. See me for who I am and like me.

  But is falling for him really a bad thing?

  Considering he lives in the city and you live here…

  Stupid voice.

  What does it know?

  “Max.” I skim my fingers over his shoulder, pretending my only goal is waking him up and not also shamelessly enjoying touching all that hot flesh over firm muscle. “For real. You need to go.”

  He grunts again, but he follows it with a big, loud, noisy inhale through his nose that reminds me of my dad waking himself–and half the house—with a snore in the middle of the night in my teenage years before he got his C-PAP machine. “Okay. I’m going.”

  He doesn’t.

  Instead, he flings an arm across my midsection and settles his head into the crook of my neck.