Jock Blocked

by Pippa Grant

  Fiery looks damn cool stretched out over my cup.

  I smile at our batting coach. “I’m channeling my inner slugger.”

  She stops in front of me and looks directly at my crotch. “That cutting off circulation to your legs?”

  “Only in the good tingly kind of way.”

  No reaction. “Great. Get in the box and take a few swings. Let’s see if we need you wearing that under your uniform for the rest of the season.”

  Addie’s a few years younger than me, with about the same number of older brothers that I have, and it shows in the way she handles all of us.

  Basically, she doesn’t let any of us get away with anything.

  “And if you get your bat caught up on that cape and hurt your shoulders or strangle yourself, you get to explain to management where your head is this morning.” She claps her hands. “Lopez, you’re done. Let Super Stud here see what his panties can do for him.”

  “Three more, coach?” Lopez calls from the batter's box.

  She jerks her thumb in a get out motion.

  He steps back from the plate. “So if I wear a cape and mask tomorrow, do I get to finish my swings?”

  “You strike out every at-bat today, and we’ll get you Fiery on your crotch too.”

  Santiago’s shaking his head, but there’s a gleam in his eye. The skipper’s been around the league long enough that this is undoubtedly not the weirdest thing he’s ever seen.

  Makes me want to try harder next time.

  “Leave him time to talk to the media before the game, Bloom,” he says as she marches me past.

  “Understood, Skipper.” She lowers her voice. “Smart, not doing it at home. You’d get pulled from the game so you could stand in as the fourth mascot option.”

  I grab my crotch again. “Fiery forever.”

  She smirks.

  So do all of my teammates.

  They know what’s going on, and I don’t care.

  Jacking off while watching Mackenzie work her pussy until she couldn’t stand?

  I want more of that. A lot more. And that means I need to be able to hit a fucking ball today.

  So that’s what I’m going to do.

  Whatever it takes to prove to her that we can kiss.

  We can touch.

  We can have sex.

  I’m done letting my personal life negatively influence my professional life. Superstitions can suck it.

  And Brooks Elliott, professional baseball player, kid at heart, is going to win the fuck out of this game today.

  27

  Mackenzie

  I head to Brooks’s apartment after work on Monday, hoping he’s not going to kill me.

  He can’t today—he’s not even there—but this plan is either sheer brilliance, or it’s going to completely destroy any chance that he’ll ever hit a ball for the Fireballs again.

  Possibly on purpose.

  When I get to his floor, I can hear the banging and cussing and squealing around the corner, which makes me wonder if the crew is that loud, or if some insulation improvements might be in order.

  Queen Bijou swings the door open as I approach, and when I say Queen Bijou, I mean Queen Bijou in a mood. I can tell she’s in a mood because she’s in four-inch rhinestone heels under her red velvet pantsuit, with her favorite rhinestone choker on, and her lips are purple.

  It’s her I’m in a mood outfit.

  And it’s basically my favorite, because Queen Bijou in a mood gets shit done.

  She’s holding Coco Puff in one hand and the dog’s collar in the other. “This is bad for his aura. I’m having it replaced, and whoever gave it to him can suck my balls.” She lifts the collar closer to her mouth. “Did you hear that, person listening in through the recording device that might be in here if this is a gift from who I think it is? You can suck my balls.”

  “QB, he likes it.”

  “I don’t care. You asked us to straighten him out. That’s exactly what we’re doing, starting with his self-esteem.”

  Coco Puff yips. The collar gives a long, drawn-out “Ffuuuuuuuccccckkkk yooooouuuuuu,” in a broken mechanical voice, and I eyeball my dad again. “Did you hit that with a hammer?”

  “Of course not. I made Chocolate Éclair do it.”

  Periwinkles’ bouncer lifts a crowbar from the kitchen and grunts at me.

  The cameraman covering the drag queens making over Brooks’s apartment turns the lens on me. “Say hi to your fans, Mackenzie.”

  “Not until she’s in costume, darling.”

  Papa, in full Lady Lucille attire, which today means a sparkly red jumpsuit and his favorite blond wig, emerges from the hallway to the bedroom and bathroom. “I don’t know who hates him enough to have rented this place for him. I hope he knows how lucky he is to have us here. Also, that chandelier is fabulous, and it’s staying.”

  There’s olive green tile all over the kitchen floor. The carpet’s been ripped up, exposing the subfloor. Someone’s taken paint to the ceiling and written who cares if you have four heads if you’re not at least eight inches long? in pink paint pen around the artistic echidna dick.

  “Oh, don’t fret, Mackenzie. We’re painting the ceiling too,” Queen Bijou tells me.

  Coco Puff barks.

  His collar moans out a pathetically mechanical mooooottheeeerrr fuuuuuu…

  Then it dies.

  “Can we get this all done before he gets back from this road trip?”

  Queen Bijou tosses her hair. “Did I go through your phone and find the phone numbers for all those hockey players who wanted to know what they could do to support the Fireballs?”

  “Please tell me the answer to that is no.”

  “Darling. Of course I did. They pull so many pranks, I knew they’d know the best construction crews in the business, since pranks require repairs, and they’re pitching in cash if we agree to put their framed photos all over his bedroom.”

  “Renovation ain’t cheap, but the landlords here are,” Chocolate Éclair offers.

  Lady Lucille hands me a crowbar and orders me to pose under the unicorn chandelier in the bedroom. “I can’t believe you’re all grown up and dating a baseball player and standing in his bedroom under the world’s most wrong chandelier.”

  “You know that amazing lady billionaire I adore has a chandelier shaped like a dick at her mansion in Miami,” Queen Bijou calls.

  “When Brooks is a lady billionaire, he can get one too. Until then, he’s damn lucky he has friends with taste who give him gifts like this.”

  “And you two usually have such good taste,” I murmur.

  Lady Lucille steals my crowbar before I can use it on the chandelier. “We called Sarah too, of course. Her boyfriend’s family does all of those fancy eco-friendly renovations, and she asked him to ask them if they could donate some materials to the cause. It’s all arriving tomorrow.”

  Queen Bijou bursts into the room. “Mackenzie. Look.”

  She shoves her phone at us.

  It’s open to the baseball app, playing a video of one of the normal pre-game interviews that all of the teams post.

  Except this one features the man whose apartment we’re in, wearing a mask, a cape, and the thong.

  He’s nodding at the reporter, who asks him the standard How are you feeling about the game tonight? question.

  “Oh, yeah, I’m feeling really good about the game tonight.” He flexes an arm and flashes a grin. “Full superhero mode. I’m gonna knock one so far out of the park, it’ll land in Chicago.”

  Coco Puff goes nuts at hearing Brooks’s voice, and I can’t deny the impact it’s having on me too.

  Nipples alert. Peering closer at the phone like that can bring him physically closer to being here in the room with us. Vagina fanning itself at the memory of watching him stroke his erection yesterday morning while he devoured my body with his eyes and ordered me to touch myself.

  “He wore the thong.” Lady Lucille’s touching her lips in utter joy. “Lord have m
ercy, that man can fill it out, can’t he?”

  “It was an extra-small. We’re lucky it could stretch that far.”

  Queen Bijou gives me a look. “After all these years, you’d doubt us now?”

  I shush them and tune back into the interview. “You’re feeling good about the Fireballs organization?” the reporter asks Brooks.

  He nods. “They’ve got great ownership, solid management, an amazing coaching staff—there’s nothing not to like here. Add in the fans, and I’m the luckiest guy in the world to be playing ball for Copper Valley.”

  “And your puppy?”

  He smiles, and I swear it’s a full-body smile. His entire aura is glowing under that super suit over his uniform. “Coco Puff’s the best puppy in the world.”

  There’s a distinct snap, and he winces and jumps while the reporter looks down at his crotch, where the elastic strap on the thong has given up on life.

  Brooks shifts uncomfortably and looks down too.

  It looks like Fiery is trying to desperately cling to his cup, but is losing the battle as the dragon shrinks back to its normal size, which I know for a fact is closer to an inch and a half high, as opposed to how large it looked fully stretched out.

  “You, ah…” the reporter starts.

  “Gotta finish getting ready for the game,” Brooks replies.

  The camera pans to Cooper, Luca, and half the rest of the team rolling with laughter, and the reporter’s snort comes through the app loud and clear before the video abruptly ends.

  “If I were twenty years younger,” Queen Bijou starts.

  I cut her off with a shushing motion. “Back off. Mine. I mean, not mine-mine, but you can’t have him, because he needs to hit a ball.”

  My dads share a look and both giggle.

  I sigh. “And Coco Puff needs to go for a walk.”

  Queen Bijou hands him over. “Don’t be too long. We need the meatball to do a walk-through to survey and approve the damage.”

  Coco Puff barks. His collar whines, which makes him give me sad puppy dog eyes.

  “You really like cussing?” I ask him.

  He yips and wriggles in my arms until I lift him to my face so he can lick my nose.

  “We’ll be back,” I tell my dads. I hug them both. “And thank you. I really hope this helps the whole team.”

  “We do too, baby girl. We do too.”

  28

  Brooks

  Sunday night, we land back in Copper Valley, and for the first time in seven years, the Fireballs have won more games than they’ve lost in the first month of the season.

  For the first time in my life, I get a warm glow in my chest as we fly over rural areas, blue-tinged rolling mountains at sunset, and land in a place that isn’t New York City but still fits the definition of home for me.

  I go straight to Mackenzie’s place when I get off the plane, riding the high that comes with knowing I made a big fucking difference in these past two series.

  She swings open the door and blinks at me like she doesn’t know me. “What are you doing here?”

  Kissing her.

  That’s what I’m doing here.

  I’m kissing the hell out of the woman who’s occupied every waking thought that wasn’t distracted by playing a damn good baseball game, because I know I don’t get to kiss these lips and thrust my fingers through her hair and press my body against all these curves if I don’t deliver on the ball field.

  She squeaks, but then melts into me, looping her arms around my waist and kissing me back, and fuck, yes, this is what I want to come home to every time.

  Coco Puff erupts in excited puppy barks and charges from wherever he was hiding. “You’re here! I love you! You’re the biggest winner!” his collar crows, which startles me enough that I pull out of kissing Mackenzie to stare at my puppy.

  Swear he’s doubled in size since I left. And when he leaps at my legs, he can reach the bottom of my knees now.

  He’s still barking, and his collar’s still translating. “You give the best hugs! The world needs your smile! I love you!”

  Mackenzie smooths her hair and steps back while I pick up my puppy. He licks my face as I hold his wriggling body at eye-level for inspection. “Who’s the best boy in the world?”

  He barks. “You make me happy!”

  “Did Aunt Eloise remotely fix your collar? Did she get mad that I wasn’t mad that you had a potty mouth?”

  “Um, that’s my fault.” Mackenzie rubs him behind his ears. “We thought some positive reinforcement might be better for your overall happiness.”

  “We?”

  She’s turning bright pink, and I want to kiss her again, but she’s angling away like she knows it and doesn’t want to risk what it might do to my game. “Coco Puff and me.”

  That’s her I’m lying voice. “Your dads did this, didn’t they?”

  “No.”

  I lift a brow.

  “Fine. Yes. It was my dad. But he’s not wrong. Spreading happiness is always better than spreading name-calling. For both you and Coco Puff. But don’t worry. We got all the video we needed of Meaty walking your foul-mouthed dog through Reynolds Park and horrifying half the residents of Copper Valley before the, um, incident that required the collar to be upgraded.”

  I can’t decide which part of her story is making me smile bigger. “Video for after you lead Meaty to victory? To prove he was a lying, cheating, profane bastard of a mascot who can’t be allowed to continue?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I talked Lila into ordering Fireballs pajamas for the whole team to wear on the plane ride for our next away series. With Fiery on them.”

  “Oh my god, stop talking or I’m going to strip out of my clothes and seduce you right back.”

  I follow her deeper into her apartment. It’s not like we have far to go—the place isn’t big. “I hit a triple yesterday.”

  She licks her lips and her gaze dips to my mouth. “I saw.”

  “And a double today.”

  “Two doubles.”

  “Plus that diving grab at third in the fifth that robbed Atlanta of two runs…”

  Coco Puff barks. “You’re the bestest human in the history of humans!”

  “Don’t forget his ego, Coco Puff.” Mackenzie’s still backpedaling, but she’s smiling, and I’m having visions of stripping her out of that Fiery Forever T-shirt. “It’s huge too.”

  “I earned this ego.”

  “Have you?”

  “You know I have. And doesn’t good play deserve a reward?”

  She stumbles against the edge of her couch, which is lined with Fireballs throw pillows and a plush Fiery the Dragon. “I was going to meet you at your place so you didn’t have to come all the way over here.”

  “I like it here better.”

  Her eyes crinkle weird, but she quickly straightens and dodges the couch while Coco Puff and I trail her. “Here’s awful. The neighbors upstairs like to dance Irish jigs. And it makes my bobbleheads all click together. I’ll get my keys, and then I can follow you to make sure you get home okay. We can’t risk doing anything else that’ll mess with your hitting streak.”

  My dick gives a long-suffering sigh, but the rest of me—the rest of me likes the thrill of the chase.

  And then there’s the part of me ready to fully acknowledge that it could be sexual frustration fueling the power I put behind my bat, and she could be doing the best thing possible for my career.

  I’ve started getting addicted to the idea of being a leader on a team that goes from zero to hero within a year.

  I’ve also discovered that all of my favorite pranks that no longer worked in New York are fresh and new here. It’s like being given a second chance at life after forgetting all of the things you used to love.

  “I like Irish jigs,” I tell Mackenzie.

  Coco Puff barks in agreement, and his collar does its job, this time belting out a song lyric about sunshine and cloudy da
ys.

  The smile Mackenzie aims at my puppy is so sweet and pure, I can’t help laughing for the sheer pleasure of being happy.

  Her eyes fly to mine. “Your sister-in-law won’t retaliate by sending you even worse puppy toys, will she?”

  “Nah. I can handle her.”

  There are roughly two dozen dog toys scattered around the room—mostly because Coco Puff is lunging out of my arms to get to them—and as I set my puppy down, something she said a long time ago comes back to me. “Why don’t you foster dogs anymore?”

  “You really want to push my buttons tonight, don’t you?”

  No, but now I want to take her out for a Nutella bacon milk shake, because watching her go from happy to sad and knowing it’s my fault is making me feel like an ass. “That painful?”

  She stops with her bobblehead collection framed behind her, and she fingers the fringe on the woven Fireballs blanket on the back of her chair. “No. I mean, yes, it was painful, but also…well, stupid. I don’t always know my limits. And sometimes I ignore other limits. Like how many dogs I’m allowed in my apartment…and how many I can handle on a leash at once…”

  I was waiting for her to tell me she had to say goodbye to a favorite, or too many of her favorites got adopted. But no—this is a pure Mackenzie answer.

  The woman is incapable of half-assing anything.

  She scowls at me. “It’s not funny.”

  “I’m not smiling.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Took a ball to the head in warm-ups. My face keeps twitching. I can’t help it.”

  “Liar.”

  “You’re fucking adorable.”

  Those big blue eyes blink slowly at me, like she’s trying to decide if I’m serious or not. “I shouldn’t be your new good luck charm. It’s a bad idea.”

  “I’m not here because of luck, Mackenzie. I’m here because I like you.”

  “That makes me really worried about your mental state.”

  She says it like she’s trying to make a joke, but the way she’s holding her shoulders and clutching the fringe on that blanket tells me she honestly doesn’t think it’s possible for a sane person to like her.