by McKayla Box
And then I see a familiar face behind the dugout.
Lila’s face.
She’s looking right at me.
I’m not sure why it surprises me to see her. I know she’s here to cover the game. I knew before I got to the field that she would be there.
But it jars me for a second to see her sitting there in the crowd, looking at me.
I look down at the ground and toe the dirt.
I don’t have space for this shit in my head.
Tunnel vision. That’s what I need.
I take another deep breath.
I’ll figure Lila out later.
I step up on the hill and look toward home plate.
The Clearwater batter is in the box. Beck is behind him, standing up. The ump is behind him.
I nod.
Beck points at me, then squats down.
The ump points a finger at me.
It’s go time.
Chapter 38
LILA
Houston Cade is, as they say, dealing.
It’s the top of the ninth inning and he’s given up two hits. Baymont leads 3-0 and I’m kind of surprised to see him come out for the last inning. It’s not that he’s thrown a lot of pitches, but you don’t see many pitchers finishing games they start anymore. Their coaches like to keep them fresh and get them rest. Baymont has this game under control and they have other guys who can close the game.
But here is, striding out to the mound to try and get the last three outs.
I’ve seen him pitch the previous three years, but he’s different now. He’s dominating the Clearwater hitters. They have no idea what he’s going to throw them and he’s made them look far worse than they actually are.
I look down at the notepad in my lap.
He’s struck out eleven guys. That’s an astonishingly good number for the first game of the series. He’s incredibly sharp. He hasn’t walked a batter, and one of the two hits barely made it through the infield.
Clearwater is overmatched. They know it and he knows it.
I watch him as he digs in for the first batter. His cap is sweat-soaked around the edges and I can barely see his face because he’s got the brim pulled down so low. He looks enormous on the mound, like he’s seven feet tall. I can’t imagine what it must look like to those batters as he stares down at them. As intimidating as it was the night I got the bunt hit off of him, I can’t imagine what it’s like to see him bring it with full force.
He rears back and fires the first pitch. A strike right down the middle. The crowd cheers.
He moves so easily, like everything he’s doing is second nature. He never smiles, never gives anything away on his face. He catches the ball from Beck, tugs on his belt buckle, and sets himself again on the mound. This time, he throws some sort of breaking ball that dips hard to the left. The Clearwater batter waves at it, not coming close. The crowd cheers.
Gets the ball back. Tugs on the buckle. Stares in at Beck.
He’s like a robot.
A really fantastic-looking, amazingly talented, robot.
He fires again. The ball pops when it hits Beck’s glove and the Clearwater batter again swings and misses. The crowd roars as Houston stalks off the mound, circling it, waiting for the ball to finish getting tossed around the infield and back to him. Like a lion, waiting to attack.
I watch him work against the second hitter in the inning. He’s just in a different class and I can’t help but think that he’s already ready to move on to the pros. Clearwater is a good team, but he’s overpowering them.
I think about my story and his suspension and everything he told me. I don’t want to be the reason that anything gets in his way. I believe what I told him, that it shouldn’t be a black mark on his record. But I guess there’s always a chance, and I don’t want to be the cause of anything that might cause anyone to think differently about him. He deserves a shot. If he gets hurt or he ends up not being good enough, that’s on him.
I don’t want anything to be on me.
The second hitter finally makes contact with a shot but grounds it lightly right back to the mound. Houston gathers it up and fires it to first for the second out.
The crowd gets to its feet, ready for Houston to put the game away. I stand with them, clutching my notebook to my chest. The cheers are deafening. If Houston hears them, he doesn’t show it. He digs in at the top of the mound again and stares in at Beck, holding his glove and pitching hand close to his chest. He nods, steps back, and fires.
Strike one.
The crowd cheers.
He lifts his glove to catch the ball from Beck, finds his footing and stares in again. He gives another nod, steps back, and fires again.
Strike two.
The crowd cheers and the volume level rises. People are stomping their feet and screaming. There’s an electricity buzzing through everyone and it’s impossible not to feel it.
If Houston notices, he doesn’t show it. He takes the ball back from Beck and steps behind the rubber for a second. He tugs on his belt, takes a deep breath, pulls his cap down, and steps back into place. Hands in the same place and he gives the same nod. Then he steps back and fires the ball toward Beck.
The crowd explodes at exactly the same time the umpire signals strike three. Houston gives a quick fist pump and Beck jogs out to the mound. Beck hands him the ball and slaps his chest. The bench is already at the mound, jumping around as the rest of the team jogs toward the mob from their positions in the field. The Clearwater guys hang around their dugout for a moment before disappearing into the visitor’s clubhouse.
“Your Baymont Bombers win 3-0 this afternoon,” the public addresser shouts over the speakers. “And your winning pitcher is Houston Caaaaaaaaade!”
The crowd roars again.
Houston tips his cap to the crowd quickly as he walks toward the dugout with his teammates. Young kids and a few girls are jockeying for position near the fence, hoping to get the attention of the players.
I watch him as he comes off the field. I can’t tell how he feels. There’s a glimmer of a smile, but no real jubilation or relief. I can see it on the faces of his teammates, but not his. His is unreadable.
Then he looks toward the stands and we lock eyes.
I should look away, but I can’t.
Those blue eyes get me every single time.
The corner of his mouth flickers, but I can’t tell if it’s a smile or what.
Then he disappears into the dugout and he’s gone.
Chapter 39
HOUSTON
It is going off.
It’s Saturday night and our house might be as packed as I’ve ever seen it. I think the entire campus and then some has rolled up to celebrate the win. There’s barely any room to stand, the music is rattling the walls, and I think I’m the only one without a red cup in my hand.
Cash throws his arm around me. “Brother, that was something else today.” He holds up his cup. “We are going all the way and you’re driving the bus.”
I touch his cup with my water bottle. “Long way to go, man. We’ll see.”
“Nah, we’re locked in, baby,” he shouts into my ear. “Locked in!” He stumbles off into the sea of people.
I laugh and shake my head.
It’s been a good day.
A really good day.
I was loose on the mound. Everything went according to plan, we scored early, and Beck called a perfect game. I had great command and never got tired. It’s the way you want it to go every time you play.
But I know it won’t. I know there will be days where I’ll struggle or the other guys will struggle and it’ll be a battle to the end.
But, for today, it was a great way to start the season.
I watch the other guys making the rounds through the party. Some are just looking to get laid and they won’t have a problem. Some are just looking to have a few drinks and let people congratulate them. It’s good to start the season like this.
I see girls
eyeing me from across the room, but I don’t want any part of them. Not tonight. I don’t need the bullshit. The focus I’ve been looking for was there today and I don’t want to lose it, especially over some chick who’s just looking to hook up for a single night and then pretend we’re getting married next week.
No thanks.
I take a drink from the water bottle, emptying it, and toss it into the garbage can next to the counter. It’s hot and I need some space. I move out of the kitchen toward the living room, but it’s just as crowded in here. There’s no place to sit and there’s barely any place to stand.
I’m contemplating walking outside when I see her by the front door.
Lila.
Fuck.
I saw her at the very end of the game. She was still there as we were walking off. I hated that I looked for her, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I didn’t think about her at all during the game, but as soon as it was over, I couldn’t help but check and see if she was there.
And she was.
And now she’s here.
She’s wearing a black top, tight jeans, and sandals. Her hair is swept back, like she got caught in the wind. Even if I didn’t know who she was, she would’ve caught my eye.
But I definitely know who she is.
Her eyes sweep the room until they settle on me.
For half a second, I think about turning and walking away. I don’t need any bullshit and no one seems to bring as much bullshit my way as Lila Oakley does.
But then I stop.
Because fuck it.
This is my night.
I killed it today.
Killed it.
And this is my house.
I’m not running from anyone.
I spread my arms wide. “Need me to pose for a picture?”
She squints at me from across the room, then closes the distance between us. “What?”
“You want me to pose for a picture,” I say. “For your fucking article?”
She frowns at me. “What? No.”
“Then why the fuck are you here?”
She looks around again and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Can we…go somewhere? To talk?”
I laugh. “Talk about what?”
“Don’t be like this.”
“Be like what?” I ask. “You came here to my house. Look around. These people are all here having a good time because we won today.” I lean in close to her. “Because I pitched the fuck out of that game.”
“I know you did,” she says. “I was there.”
“You weren’t there afterward.”
Her cheeks flush pink. “I…didn’t think I should.”
I laugh. “You didn’t think you should what? Do your job? Isn’t that what you’re always telling me? It’s your job. Nothing personal.”
She purses her lips and looks away for a second.
“So, what?” I say, feeling like I’m on a roll. “You came here tonight to interview me? Ask me about the game?” I shake my head. “Sorry, honey. You missed your window.”
Her face screws up with irritation. “No. That’s not why I’m here.”
“You must be here for your fucking article,” I say. “And let me just tell you, you are wasting your time. I’m done.”
The irritation just grows. Her jaw locks and she looks like she wants to hit me.
Good.
I’m fine with that.
Fuck her and her article.
She grabs me by the wrist and pulls me from the room. I’m laughing the whole way. She leads us through the crowd and down the hallway. She pushes open the first door she gets to and yanks me into the room.
She hits the light and slams the door behind us. She wheels to face me. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem,” I tell her. “You’re the one who just grabbed me away from my party.”
“You know what I mean,” she snaps. “Why are you being like this?”
“For a reporter, you aren’t very good at asking questions.”
“I’m not here as a reporter,” she says. “Jesus, would you shut the fuck up and just listen?”
“Why should I?” I ask. “Why fucking should I? You’ve been crystal clear what you’re after. Your story. It’s the only thing you care about. And, hey, I gave you the good stuff, right? I told you about the suspension and my mom. I gave it all to you. You didn’t even have to work that hard to get it. So you’re fucking welcome.”
“It’s not the only thing I care about,” she says. “Jesus. You don’t ever—”
“Yes, it is,” I say, cutting her off. “It sure as fuck is. We nearly had sex in my truck the other night and the first thing out of your mouth after we leave that cop is the suspension. So don’t give me your bullshit, Lila. I don’t need it and I don’t fucking want it.”
She squeezes her eyes shut. “Would you just shut up for once? Just shut your fucking mouth and listen?”
I love seeing her frustrated and pissed off. It feels like I have the upper hand.
I lean toward her. “Make me.”
She opens her eyes. They’re blazing with anger, like she wants to throttle me.
Good.
And then she steps into me.
And kisses me.
Hard.
Chapter 40
LILA
He won’t stop running his mouth and I know he’s just egging me on and I know if I yell at him, he’ll just yell back.
So I do the only thing I can think of to get him to shut up.
I kiss him.
And if whatever happened in his truck was explosive, this is like an eruption.
So maybe I’m doing it for reasons other than trying to just get him to shut up.
But now I’m kissing him and he’s kissing me back and neither one of us is holding back. All of the anger I was feeling about ten seconds ago is gone. All I can think about now is how badly I want him.
He grabs me around the waist and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around him and hold onto him like my life depends on it. He spins us around and I hear him fiddle with the door until a lock clicks into place. He smacks at the wall and the room goes dark.
Jesus, can he kiss. Not too hard, not too soft, and his tongue isn’t like a snake. He takes his time, exploring my mouth, biting gently on my lips. My hands find his hair and I lace my fingers through it, grabbing onto it. His mouth moves to my neck and my heart races inside my chest. He walks us toward the bed and lays me down. I have no idea whose room we’re in and I don’t care. I just wanted to get him out of the noise and chaos of the party and we ended up in here.
But I don’t care.
The only thing I care about is getting his shirt off. I pull it over his shoulder and head and run my hands over his smooth chest. Even in the dark, I can see his taut muscles, his tan, perfect skin. He hovers over me, breathing into my mouth, then lays down on top of me. I can feel him through his shorts and my hands move around his chest to his back and I pull him down tighter against me, pushing my hips into his. I want him to know I want him.
He works my shirt and bra off and his skin is like fire against mine. He bites my ear and lowers his mouth to my neck again. I shiver and groan. His mouth slides down my neck and throat and his tongue teases my nipple for a moment before he takes the entire thing in his mouth.
I gasp and arch underneath him.
He takes his time working his way across my breasts, down my stomach, nipping at my skin. His hands cover my breasts and I cover his hands with mine. My entire body is on fire.
His hands slide down to my waist and he unbuttons my jeans. He’s going slow, but I’m impatient. I push my jeans and underwear down over my hips to my thighs and he pulls them all the way off.
I should feel vulnerable lying there, naked, beneath him. But I don’t.
I just don’t want him to stop.
And he doesn’t.
He kisses my hips, then the insides of my thighs, pushing my legs open. He’s teasing m
e, taking his time, and I’m aching for him. His hands slide under my ass and when his tongue finally finds me, I gasp again, my entire body shivering.
“This okay?” he murmurs.
I answer by grabbing the back of his head and pushing it back down between my legs.
His tongue explores every centimeter of me, kissing and sucking at just the right times. The heat builds in my stomach and I wrap my legs around his back, holding his head in place.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Fuck yes.”
His tongue works side to side, then up and down, and the rhythm just makes me tingle. One of his hands slips out from under my ass and when he slides a finger inside of me, I know I’m close. I’m rocking my hips against his mouth and I’m breathing fast.
“Fuck,” I whisper again. “Houston.”
“Go ahead,” he says. “Come.”
His finger curls inside of me and when his tongue hits my clit, I explode. I cry out, my whole body shaking as the heat rushes through me. I hold his head in place, never wanting him to stop, and he obliges, his tongue and finger still working until I can’t take it anymore and have to push his head to the side.
He kisses my thighs softly as I catch my breath.
Holy. Shit.
My entire body is throbbing in the best kind of way. I didn’t know I was capable of feeling like this. I’m hyperaware of everything in the room, like all of my senses have been switched into another gear.
I put my hands on his shoulders and try to pull him up to me, but he stays there, kissing my stomach with the softest kisses on my skin.
“Come here,” I whisper.
He pushes his way up until he’s hovering over me again. I run my hands over his shoulders, his biceps, then his chest. He doesn’t say anything, just looks down at me.