Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
And that’s not where my head should be going.
For one particular reason.
Yes, we’re in our uniforms, except for one minor difference that makes a huge difference. No protective cups. Any effect he has on me will be obvious. And immortalized on a photographer’s camera. I’m already halfway to broadcasting my lust to the three of us.
My hand shakes, shifting my glove slightly to tap it against Chris’s ass.
“That tickles,” he says.
“Sorry.” I withdraw my hand.
“I don’t mind,” he says as if butter wouldn’t melt on his tongue.
Distantly, my brain registers the click of the camera’s shutter. It might as well be in outer space, the two of us in a bubble.
I don’t think too much in this bubble. Just for once with him, maybe because I need to get something out of my system, I go for the stark truth. “I don’t mind either,” I say, low, just for Chris.
His bright blue eyes flicker with surprise, like they’re saying I didn’t know you had that in you.
The assistant steps in and says she needs Sadie for just a sec, and of course Chris takes advantage of the distraction. “Ohhh. Did you decide to be nice to me?” he asks.
“No,” I say to Chris when Sadie leaves. Though it’s hard to keep up a glare when I can feel the vibration of his laughter—when he knows I’m lying. Most of all, when it’s just the two of us now.
“Too bad,” Chris says. “Thought you might have reconsidered.”
“Playing nice?”
“That. Maybe my other suggestions as well.”
Lean into the rivalry. Get it out of my system. It’ll be good to see Chris in controlled circumstances.
All that advice echoes in my mind.
In the end though, I listen to my gut.
It’s now or never.
“Maybe I did.” My throat goes dry. I considered that offer repeatedly and at great length over the past three and a half months. What he’d be like, out of his clothes and in my bed. If he'd still be as cocky. Some part of me wants to see him panting, wrung out, pleading. Another part wants to see him the next morning, drinking coffee with his hair sticking up in every direction.
I want all those things.
I don’t say anything, but up close, my face doesn’t keep any secrets.
Chris smirks. “You were thinking about me.”
I give him my best bluff. “Only because the press won’t stop asking me about you.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure that’s it.”
And I’m sure I’m done with games. Done with rules. And done with flirting. “Maybe I don’t want to play nice,” I say, then go for it. “Maybe I want you to show me how to play dirty after all.”
His eyes are flames.
The door squeaks. Sadie is back and she clears her throat. “Sorry, guys, I need to take a call real quick. Should be less than ten minutes. Are you good keeping yourselves entertained?”
“We’ll be fine,” Chris says, in his best nice guy voice. “Take all the time you need.”
6
Chris
Sadie closes the door on her way out, leaving Josh, me, and no room for any more excuses.
This is the opportunity I’ve been angling for.
This is what I want with Josh Spencer. Him wanting me with the same intensity. Him bending closer to me.
They’ve partitioned the room into various sets, two backdrops on either side of us, walling us from the rest of the room. I’m still stretched out, foot tagging a simulated base.
Even without a jock, the shorts I have on—the same kind we wear during games—are confining. Especially when I’ve been fighting getting a hard-on for the past ten minutes. Or really, since Josh walked in and scowled at me.
Maybe I have a fetish for derisive second basemen. Or one very specific second baseman. It helps that he’s clearly been trying to keep himself under that famous Spencer control for the entire photoshoot. But the signs were there all along today, and yes, I have catalogued them. The slight shake in his hands. The sheen of sweat on his top lip that I want to lick off. His asking to play dirty.
I roll up slowly, like Josh might spook, before rising to my knees. I cup my dick like I would if I were adjusting myself during a game. Except of course, Josh is watching me.
I don’t ask him if he likes what he sees. It’s clear he does and whatever issues he’s been hung up on for months don’t have anything to do with the heat between us. For now, that’s enough.
I give him a blink, an obvious tilt of my mouth, a second to tell me to stop. Then I wrap Josh’s hand on the back of my neck and lean forward.
There’s something to be said for being direct.
It takes me one second to get his belt buckle open, one more to undo the fly of his pants. He’s in the same kind of shorts, visibly hard, straining. They’re dark but I imagine the beginning of a wet patch on the fabric. I breathe on his stomach to watch the faint flutter of muscles and hair, and get rewarded with a gasp.