Over the Fence Box Set

by Carrie Aarons

  “I just … it was an accident.” I can feel the sheepish grin on my face and the blush that surfaces on my cheeks. I turn to walk back to my room, aware that this little encounter may cause Clint to question my absence.

  Except Minka only follows me. “So you’re sleeping over now too? What’s going on with you, Kels?”

  I can hear the questions in her voice. She knows me better than anyone. And right now, she knows this isn’t my typical MO.

  “I told you, Minks, I just fell asleep. It was an accident.”

  “Why were you leaving with all of your clothes on?”

  Shit, busted again. “We just talked last night and I got tired. We’re still best friends, you know. Sex doesn’t change that.”

  She shakes her head. “Jesus, Kels, really? It changes everything. It already has. You know he bought that kitten for you, right? That ‘for the house’ bullshit was just a cover. I know you’re not this naïve. And I also know that if I’m not mistaken, you’re catching feelings for him too.”

  I scoff. “Come on, Minks. I don’t do boyfriends, you know that.”

  “I do. But I think somewhere over the last month, you’ve started to break your own rules. You realize you haven’t brought anyone else home? Haven’t even looked at anyone else who doesn’t have a full black beard and piercing blue eyes?”

  Her waggling eyebrows piss me off. “Are you saying this to try and scare me off? I know you never wanted me to go after him in the first place.”

  Minka reaches out to hold the hand that the kitten doesn’t currently occupy. “I’m telling you this because I want you to be happy. You have a real shot of finding love here. True, decent love with an honest person. I’m telling you this because I want you to stop running. To stop hiding. Let someone love you, Kelsey.”

  I don’t respond. I just pretend to stroke Marnie and wait for her to leave.

  “Just … think about it. Okay?” And then she’s gone. Leaving me with these thoughts and ideas that I didn’t ask for.

  Everyone leaves the house in a whirlwind fashion, cleats and bats and lucky socks flying everywhere. Then they’re gone, headed to the airport in an overly stuffed cab, screaming out the windows. Clint and I don’t talk about me falling asleep in his room last night. He does ask one more time if I want to come, and I decline like I have the other six times he’s begged me to come.

  Marnie and I are left in a quiet, empty house with no one to talk to and nothing to do. I try to start a Netflix marathon, but it’s just not the same without Clint’s running commentary on the stupidest of characters. I walk around aimlessly, touching random things as I go.

  Minka’s words echo in my brain as I lie on my bed hours later, bored and petting Marnie who curled up and fell asleep on my stomach.

  Something inside me has changed. I’m usually fine on my own. Better than fine, I’m usually great. I take care of myself, do what I please, no questions asked, no one to report to.

  But as I’ve lived in this house these couple of short months, I’ve come to rely on the company of Owen, Minka, and even Parker. And I’ve come to crave spending time with Clint. I miss them now that they’re not here. I miss the chaos and the bickering.

  And I miss Clint. Thinking about not seeing him for a whole week makes me feel like there is a piece of my heart that’s detached and hopped on the 747 with him. So much so that I’m contemplating jumping on a plane and going out to join them.

  What am I doing? I don’t think thoughts like this. I am a nomad, a gypsy. I make my rules, and then I break them. Damn, Minka. Putting these shitty romantic comedy thoughts in my head.

  Except the loneliness sets in more as the week goes on. And I can’t seem to stem the ache in my chest each time I walk into the deserted house.

  12

  Clint

  The past few weekdays have been a total whirlwind. Between press conferences, media days, signings, team bonding, practice and all the travel … I’ve barely had time to think.

  We’ve won three games straight so far against the other finalist, a college team from Arkansas who’s rated number one. Everyone is freaking out—the media, our fans, even the team—no one expected us to sweep this team. Now, we are one game away from being the best college team in the country, and I can hardly believe it.

  On the field, I just feel so on. There is nothing that can distract me, it’s like I can read every player on the field before they even react. I have some sixth baseball sense and nothing is going to come in between me and this trophy.

  In all of my spare time, the only things I’ve done are sleep and eat. Which is why, when I finally flop down on my bed Saturday night, I have eleven unanswered texts from Kelsey.

  “Fuck …” I hadn’t even remembered to keep checking my phone.

  Kelsey: Did you land all right?

  Kelsey: Hope Omaha doesn’t suck as much balls as I suspect it does. Marnie and I are just chillin’ like villains. But really, she’s an actual villain. She may have peed on the couch …

  Kelsey: Why are peanut butter and chocolate so good together? You ever wonder that? Like if they could make a baby, fuck that would be heavenly

  Kelsey: Hey, haven’t heard from you in like a day and a half, hope you didn’t die of baseball overload

  The rest of the texts are much of the same, until I come to the last one.

  Kelsey: Where is the fire extinguisher in the house?

  This last one is from a couple of hours ago, and my heart plummets straight into my feet. I dial her before I realize I’m even doing it. She picks up on the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Please tell me you didn’t burn the house down. I left my favorite pair of sneakers there.”

  I hear her throaty laugh. “Nice to know your best friend and cat don’t mean one thing to you. Fine, let us burn. We don’t care about your stupid bats and balls either.”

  God, her voice warms my chest up. I’ve been going full throttle, hitting, catching, throwing, and watching film every damn second of the last four days. I hadn’t realized just how much I missed her.

  I leaned back on my king-size hotel bed and wish she was cradled into the nook of my shoulder. “Seriously, why did you need the fire extinguisher?”

  “Oh, I didn’t. I just wanted to get a response. I was starting to feel like you’d found some other hot redheaded best friend with a great ass out in bumfuck, Omaha. Either that or you took a bounce up pitch to the head and were bleeding in some two-bit ER in a cornfield.”

  Shit, I missed her humor. I stick my hand under my head, stretching my sore body out. I stripped down to nothing but my boxers after sweating my ass off in my uniform this afternoon. My dick is already beginning to form a tent in the material, just from her raspy voice.

  “I’m sorry, I haven’t really been by my phone. It has been so crazy out here. You know, you had the option to come out.”

  “I know. But then who would have taken care of this damn cat. Did you know that when you live with an animal full time, you have to take care of it full time? Who knew a little orange fluff ball needed to be fed so many times a day? And have you ever smelled a litter box? Gross.”

  “This coming from the girl who stuck her hands up a zebra’s ass as it was in labor.”

  “That’s different. That’s a medical miracle. Science. This? I never knew a tiny kitten could shit so much.”

  I hear Marnie in the background. “Well, I wish I was there to help. I miss you.”

  There is a beat of silence. “I miss you guys too, it’s too damn quiet here. I have to blast my music just to feel sane. You’ve all domesticated me. Christ.”

  I know she’s avoiding saying she misses only me. That she can’t let herself openly admit it.

  “So, are you nervous about the big game tomorrow?” She’s changing the topic. But any reason to stay on the phone with her to hear that sexy voice, I’ll take it.

  “To be honest, a little. It’s the closest Grover has ever been. I don’t want
to let anyone down.”

  “That’s just so Clint of you.” I hear the warmth in her voice. “You say nothing about winning or being the best. Doesn’t a small part of you want to be a champion? To bring home the trophy?”

  I thought about what she asked and didn’t miss the fact that she knows exactly why it doesn’t matter whether I win a trophy or not. “You already know that answer. You know baseball has never been about winning or losing for me. I love to play the game. And if that means winning and my teammates being happy, then great. But I’m going out on that field tomorrow to give the game I love my all. Maybe for one last time. The outcome doesn’t matter.”

  I hear her contented sigh through the phone. “So, have you made up your mind then? No majors like we talked about?”

  We’ve had this conversation a couple of times before when she was in Africa. She was so all over the place that she could never predict what she’d be doing the next day, so we always ended talking about my future.

  “I don’t know. Do I dream about it? Sure. But it’s a lot of work. A lot of hard, challenging, time-consuming work. My body is worn down. I feel like an eighty-year-old trapped in a twenty-two-year-old’s body. And when I think about doing it, I just don’t feel happy. I don’t need huge sums of money. I just want to do something that will help someone. Give someone the chances I got.”

  “Well, that, Mr. Bellows, is definitely something I can relate to. It will come to you, what you want to do.”

  “I guess.” I roll over onto my side, imagining her lying on her box spring set on the floor with Marnie milling around her. “So what are you doing?”

  “Oh, trying not to blow my brains out because I’m so bored. I used to be fun. What the hell is happening to me?”

  I don’t want to attribute her change to me, but I can’t help feel the ego jump in my body that she isn’t out partying right now.

  “Let’s play.”

  “Oh my God, yes!” I can hear her shuffling on the bed, getting comfortable. “Would you rather have to shave off your eyebrows for a whole year, or live your entire life with nose hair down to your upper lip?”

  Of course, she knows I’m not talking about phone sex. We played “Would You Rather” when she was in Africa and couldn’t sleep.

  “Um, eyebrows. I would look surprised as shit for three hundred and sixty-five days, but no one would come near me with epic nose hairs. Your turn. Would you rather sit in the DMV with Parker for five hours, or have to sit with the WAGS at one of my games without Minka as your buffer?”

  “Fuck, that is a tough one,” I hear her grumble. “All right, all right … the WAGS. Because I would make fun of them in my head. I think Parker and I, and the entire DMV staff, would end up murdered by the end of that visit.”

  I let out a boom of a laugh, thinking about the two of them spending even five minutes together at the DMV.

  “Would you rather be forced to eat seven cockroaches, or drink a glass full of someone else’s sweat?”

  “Ew, Roo. I think I’m going to puke. I can’t even answer that.”

  “Ha! If you don’t answer, I win. And then you have to do something for me.”

  “Oh, I’ll do whatever you want.” My tone is raw and sexual.

  I hear her sharp intake of breath. “Not fair. Distracting me with phone sex will not get you out of answering.” Her throaty voice is barely above a whisper.

  “Fine. The cockroaches.” I shudder audibly and Kelsey laughs. “I wish you were here to watch us tomorrow.”

  She’s silent again. I wait her out, wanting a proper acknowledgment this time. “Me too.”

  Those two words make my heart beat so loudly I can hear it in my ears.

  “I think I’m going to get to bed, Marnie is falling asleep as we speak.”

  I let her off the hook, just happier than anything that she even admitted that. Because it’s more than just wishing she were here with our friends. I know, just from her quiet confession, that she wishes she was here in this bed with me.

  “Well, sweet dreams. I’ll see you in two days, Roo.”

  “Night, Clint.”

  I hang up and hug the phone to my chest like some lovesick puppy. The only reason I know I am still all man is because my cock is now begging for attention from my hand. With just our phone conversation, just hearing Kelsey’s voice, I know I’m ready for tomorrow.

  13

  Kelsey

  Three outs away. Three damn outs.

  I think I’ve bitten off my all my nails this week, the chipped black polish jagged and missing on portions of the enamel. My feet and legs are jiggling so hard that I think I scared Marnie off. She’s been hiding under the couch since the sixth inning.

  My eyes have been glued to the TV for three excruciating hours, where Grover is duking it out on ESPN for the College World Series title. Every time the camera pans to Clint, I half-swoon, half-shout. He looks so damn edible in the brand new uniforms the college shelled out money for.

  Those white pants are practically painted onto his bulging thighs and ass and remind me just what I’ve been missing this week while he’s been gone. I am a complete walking boner looking to get off.

  Not that I couldn’t have this week. I have my trusty left hand, which I used once or twice. But it just isn’t the same. Orgasms are so much better with another person, and when their junk is involved. All the sweaty, heavy breathing just adds to how sweet it is when you reach that final awesome peak.

  Or I could have gone out and found a very willing participant. There are more than enough hanging around Sammy’s. But I rationalized with myself that Clint and I have just started being amazing at sex. I’ve trained him, and he’s become a star student. He could read my body, we know each other’s flow during sex. To try to start over with someone else, I would probably be disappointed.

  It has nothing to do with an emotional attachment. Or the fact that just Clint’s intense blue stare could sometimes send my climax over the edge. That’s just the latent silly female buried deep inside of me being dramatic. And I never let her dictate what I think or feel.

  I slipped when I told him I wished I was there. I shouldn’t have told him that, because immediately I knew he knew I really meant I wished I was there for him. Not to see and hang out with everyone else, but that I actually really missed him.

  Because I do miss him. When I hadn’t heard from him much in those first four days, I was distraught. I acted like one of those needy, clingy stereotypical chicks who texted their man about thirty-nine times if he didn’t respond. But I couldn’t help it. I was alone at home, and even before we were getting it on like rabbits, he was always the person I talked to. He knows my favorite movies, what I sound like when I laugh so hard I wheeze, and the way I like to eat my eggs. I don’t know when he made the transition to the most important person in my life, but he has.

  Grover is up by six to Arkansas’ four runs, and the game has been back and forth to the point of insanity. Parker drove in a two run double in the second inning, only for Arkansas to come back in the fourth with their best hitter whacking a grand slam off of Owen.

  Owen was so mad after that inning that he threw an entire Gatorade cooler on the ground and was almost thrown out by the umpire. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Owen so mad, he’s usually the picture of golden boy grace. The commentators made small talk as the cameras followed Clint pulling Owen aside. I know he was whispering calming sentences to his pitcher, trying to cool his best friend off. That’s Clint, always cool in the midst of the storm. You could put the guy in the middle of a hostage situation and he’d walk out whistling; promising the criminal a cup of coffee.

  In the sixth, Arkansas’ catcher took a pitch to the stomach and was temporarily on his back. My heart completely stopped. Not for that poor schmuck, but because in my mind, that was Clint lying in the dirt. I don’t know what I would do if he ever got hurt and I wasn’t there. It’s then I start to realize I am in over my head.

  Now our offensiv
e part of the game is over. The only thing standing between Grover and the championship trophy is three measly outs.

  I shove a handful of popcorn in my face trying to calm my nerves. Glancing around the house, I see I have to go into full maid mode after the game is over. The gang arrives home tomorrow, and let’s just say my style of a clean house and theirs definitely do not match up. I can practically smell the sugary milk in the four dirty bowls in the sink. There are two empty pizza boxes sitting on the stove and my various items of clothing are strewn across the living room. Whoops.

  Marnie jumps up onto the back of the couch and curls into my neck like she’s some mink stole. She’s such a goofy cat and I can’t imagine Clint picking one out that better fit my personality more than her. It makes me smile, but then I remember Minka’s words. I hate to accept it, but he surely bought this cat for me. And then I smile again. I am allowed, no one is around to see it.

  The camera pans to Owen, who is still somehow in the game. Here I thought they would have taken him out, Minka explained to me a while ago about the closing pitcher when I accidentally booed at a game when the coach took Owen out.

  Then the shot moves to the batter, with Clint behind him. Even through the screen and his mask I can see those magnificent turquoise pools, so homed in on the goal. He shoots his left finger down between his legs, and I can’t help but stare at the spot his hand rests on. I miss what lies just between those really hot pants in between his legs. I should dress up in those at some point, see if Clint thinks they’re as hot on me as I think they are on him.

  Owen winds up, rocketing a speeding curveball at home plate. The batter swings for the fences, only to be duped when the ball connects with a loud smack in Clint’s glove. Clint takes it out and tosses it back to Owen, all the muscles in his arm tensing and contracting. Who knew baseball was such great foreplay? I am ready for marathon sex right about now.