Chapter Twenty-Four

Sawyer

Dylan is following behind us as we make our way through the streets of DC and toward the ballpark. He’ll be heading directly home after the game to see his wife, Amber. Even though he’s been a pain in my ass all weekend, I’ll admit it’s been great having him around. I knew that AJ had nothing to worry about where my goofball brother was concerned, and after seeing their easy interaction these past two days, there’s no doubt in my mind that the rest of my family will love her too.

As much as I do.

That’s what I was about to say, but I’m trying not to put the cart before the horse here. I know my feelings for her are rounding third and heading toward home, but I’m not sure I’m ready to say it. I just need a little more time, even though that doesn’t quite feel right either. I mean, if I’m falling for her, I should tell her, right?

The fact that I already know where this is headed, just a few short weeks of really being together, is telling. I dated Carrie for almost six months before I said those words. I chalked it up to the distance, but looking back now, I know it was because something was missing. Like love.

It’s not that I didn’t love her, because I did, but it was just different than how I feel right now with AJ. I don’t know if that makes me an asshole or what, but whatever. And I bet if you’d ask Carrie, she’d say the same thing. I think feelings were involved, but I don’t think it was that all-consuming love you see in the big climax of romance movies. If it were, then would she have cheated?

“You’re awfully quiet over there,” AJ says, reaching over and setting her hand on top of mine on the shifter.

“Sorry, just thinking,” I tell her as I bring her hand up to my mouth and kiss the tender skin at her knuckles. She gives me a look like she might want to ask for details, but she doesn’t push. “I was thinking about how relaxed and comfortable this weekend was. With you in it.”

I’m rewarded with a bright smile that does things to my heart and my cock. “It was pretty great, wasn’t it? Your brother is hilarious. I can’t wait to meet Amber.”

“She’s awesome and doesn’t put up with Dyl’s shit. He talks a big game, but he’s pretty much whipped and knows it.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” she says, a single eyebrow rising

“I agree. When the right woman comes along, a man doesn’t mind at all,” I tell her, making sure to hold her eyes for a few extra seconds before returning them to the road.

We pull into a private lot around the back of the stadium and park. I can’t help but smile as AJ gets out of the car. Her tan legs look a fucking mile long in her sexy little jean shorts that have frayed edges, but that’s not what holds my attention right now. My girl is wearing my number. Apparently she found a jersey online Thursday and had it overnighted. She completely surprised me when she stepped out of my bathroom this morning sporting number fifteen.

My fucking number.

It’s fitted in all the right places and makes her tits look fucking amazing. We almost didn’t make it out of the damned bedroom.

“Do you have any idea how hot you look today?” I ask her when I reach the passenger side of the car.

“I believe the word you said earlier is scorching,” she coos, batting her eyelashes.

“Fucking dynamite. I’ve been hard since you walked into the room wearing it.”

“Boys are so silly,” she says with a laugh. “Why aren’t you wearing an old jersey?” she asks more seriously.

I give her a shoulder shrug. I’m wearing a team shirt, but not one of the many jerseys hanging in the closet in my workout room. “I’m not part of the team anymore.”

She wraps her arms around my shoulders and presses herself against me. “You’ll always be a part of the team, even if you’re no longer on the roster.” Her words strike a chord with me for some reason. She gets it. My love for this game, and this team, runs deep.

I need to kiss her. Now. My mouth sweeps down and claims her lips in a slow, savoring kiss. This may be my only chance to have her lips on mine for the next few hours, so I might as well take advantage of the opportunity while I can, right?

“Enough PDA,” Dylan hollers. “You’re going to scare the children.”

AJ pulls away just as a man and his two boys walk by, both kids giggling and pointing. Then, they just stop in their tracks. “Dad! That’s Sawyer Randall!” the older of the two boys yells.

The trio approaches us, big smiles on their faces. “Holy cow, it is! You’re my brother’s favorite player!” the youngest boy exclaims with a toothless grin, pointing to his brother’s shirt. I smile widely when I see my old number.

“What’s your name?” I ask the boy wearing my jersey.

“Adam. And my brother’s name is Andrew. And my dad’s name is Jason, but we call him Dad,” Adam says very matter-of-factly, which makes me laugh.

Crouching down so that we’re a little closer in size, I ask, “How old are you, Adam?”

“Nine last week.”

“Nine, huh? And you like baseball?” I ask, giving all of my attention to this dad and his two boys.

“Love it. I played third base in little league this summer, like you!”

“You must have quite an arm then,” I say to Adam, ruffling the hair on his head.

“I have to ask, but would you mind taking a quick picture with the boys?” the dad asks, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

“I’d love to,” I tell him, handing my keys to AJ. She takes them quickly, and goes to put them in her purse. “Trunk,” I add quickly, nodding at my car. AJ doesn’t ask, but steps around the back of my car. Dylan’s there, and I’m sure they can figure out what I’m talking about.

I pose for a picture with each boy individually, and then both of them together. Even though I’ve taken a few dozen selfies with students at school, it’s been a while since I did the full photo and autograph session with a couple of young fans.

“How old are you, Andrew?” I ask the toothless brother.

“Seven. But my favorite player is Joel Cougar! He throws like a rocket!” the young fan proclaims, referring to Joel’s cannon of an arm. The man is the best centerfielder in the league and can accurately throw a missile from deep center to home plate–usually without it bouncing.

“He sure does,” I confirm to the little guy wearing Joel’s number twenty-nine.

Glancing up, I see AJ standing off to the side, a wide smile on her face and her hands full of the items I was hoping she’d get. “Hey, I’ve got some stuff for you,” I tell the boys, walking over and grabbing the hats and shirts. AJ smiles warmly at me as she hands me a Sharpie marker.

“How about a hat?” I ask the boys, placing one of the new Rangers hats on each of their heads.

“Really?! This is so cool, huh, Dad?”

“Awesome,” Jason responds to his oldest son, snapping pictures of the exchange.

“How about I sign those hats for you?” I ask, extending my hand to see if they’re interested. I never just assume someone wants my signature on an item of clothing. When both boys practically throw the hats back at me, I sign my name on the bill of each one. Then, I do the same for their dad and hand it to him.

“Thank you so much,” he says as he takes the hat. “I’ve been a Rangers fan since I was born.”

“Well, we appreciate the support,” I tell him before reaching for the photos AJ has in her other hand. They’re last year’s team photo and have my old sponsor logos in the corners, but I don’t think anyone will care. “Thanks,” I say softly to the woman who’s standing off to the side, smiling proudly.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Adam asks when I turn back to them.

“It has to be his girlfriend. They were kissing,” Andrew replies, giggling in a way that only little kids can do.

“She is my girlfriend.” There’s no fighting the wide smile on my own face as I gaze over my shoulder at AJ.

After a few more minutes of interacting with the young fans, their dad finally drags them off to the entrance. Both boys were practically floating as they recounted the last ten minutes with their dad–both talking on top of each other.

“You were very good with them,” AJ says, sliding her arm around my waist and stepping into my embrace.

“Besides actually playing ball, that was always my favorite part. The exchanges with young fans. The adults I could live without sometimes, but the kids? They made all the drama and bullshit worth it.” And that’s true. I’d take a young fan with stars in their eyes and baseball dreams in their head over a drunk, rowdy, know-it-all adult any day of the week.

“Can we go in now? I’ve been dying for a foot long hotdog since we pulled into the lot,” Dylan says, starting to walk to the stadium.

Keeping my arm wrapped around AJ’s shoulder, we follow behind my brother and head toward the gates. I noticed how she preferred to be just off to the side when I was with the fans. Back when I was married to Carrie, she’d insert herself directly into the middle of any conversation or photo, even those with young kids.

But AJ didn’t need to be front and center. She let me do my thing and didn’t balk at the interruption or insist she be included in the photos. It wasn’t all about her, which is a welcoming change.

And not that I need it to be all about me, but in my line (albeit former) of work, I’m used to fans. I’m used to photos. I’m used to autographs and handshakes and hugs. I’ve always had to maintain a public persona, and my goal was always to make sure I was as professional as could be.

Even when the rag mags were trashing my reputation.

AJ pulls something from her purse and places it on her head. I stop and stare down at the simply irresistible woman who’s wearing my fucking jersey and now my hat. Smiling, I grab the bill of her hat and push it down just a bit more, turning it until it’s positioned just right on her head.

There. Fucking adorable.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Ready,” she confirms as we turn and head to the gate.

This day is turning out to be pretty fucking great.

* * *

“Are you blind?! What kinda call was that?” AJ hollers at the ump behind home plate while the crowd around us boos and screams their frustration at the horrible call.

“Dude, your girl is vicious. Remind me not to get on her bad side,” Dylan mumbles to me as we watch AJ rant at the umpire.

“No shit,” I reply, shocked that such harsh words just came from my sweet little schoolteacher’s mouth. “It’s kinda hot, though.”

“Definitely,” my brother replies quietly. “Did you see how many hotdogs she ate?”

“More than you.”

“More than you and me combined, bro. A woman who looks like that, talks like a sailor, and can hold her own in a hotdog eating contest? Marry her, dude.”

I snort in reply, merely because I’m afraid if I open up my mouth right now, I might actually propose. If I was falling in love with this woman before today, well, seeing her in my element, trash talking, and burping warm beer has pretty much sealed the deal for me. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ve fallen head over heels in love with AJ Summer.

“Can you believe that call? What kinda horseshit is that? A blind monkey humping a football could have seen the tag! He was out by a mile,” she seethes, her eyes burning with fire and passion.

“I saw,” I tell her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her into my side. “Horrible call.”

“The worst,” she grumbles.

“You’re scaring the big burly guys behind us, honey,” I tease.

She glances over her shoulder at my words. “You mean Bill and Tom? Shit, who do you think taught me those bad words?” she asks, making me laugh. “They really appreciated the autographs, though,” she adds. As soon as the Rangers fans sat down behind us before the game started, they recognized me and started chatting. I signed a few autographs for them and a handful for others in the vicinity.

“Want anything to drink?” I ask, needing to stretch my legs. Watching the game is making me twitchy.

“Sprite. Oh, and nachos.” Her eyes light up like the Fourth of July.

“How could you still be hungry?” I ask, astonished.

“Well, I do recall a certain baseball player helping me work up an appetite this morning,” she whispers against my ear, making my cock jump.

“Ahhh, yes, the workout,” I recall happily, thinking back to how she surprised me in my home gym this morning while I was working out. I don’t think that weight bench has ever seen so much action.

“I can hear you,” Dylan grumbles. “And I could hear you this morning too. Next time, don’t put your gym right next to the guest room, dick.”

AJ blushes a beautiful shade of pink, very close to the same color of her ass this morning after I spanked it, in fact. I pull her into my chest and press a hard kiss on her lips. “You want anything?” I ask my nuisance of a brother.

“Coke.”

“Be right back,” I tell them before slipping out of the row and heading up the stairs.

Since it’s in the middle of the sixth, the lines aren’t too long at the concession stands. After a quick detour to the head, I hop in line at the closest food vendor. My mind wanders back to the moment we entered the stadium this afternoon. AJ could sense my anxiety, could probably feel the tension radiating from my body. But as I rounded the corner and walked out into the seating area, it didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would.

Yeah, I wanted to be out there playing ball with my team, but it felt different being here this time. Like I could sense that it was really over. And more importantly, that I was okay with it.

The guys were warming up on the field as I made my way down to our seats, just to the left of the dugout. My favorite batting coach saw me first, and quickly drew the attention of the rest of the team. Even the douchebag who replaced me at third base (and in my bed by screwing my wife) came over to say hello. He’s lucky I didn’t punch him in the fucking throat when he tried to extend a hand (which I pretended not to see).

I introduced everyone to AJ and reintroduced them to Dylan, whom most of them have met over the years. A few of the guys asked me about teaching and coaching, wondering if I was ready to make a return to the game like Michael Jordan. I just gave them a smile, not confirming or denying anything. I’ve gotten pretty damn good at deflection over the years.

And I got to see Joel again. He made sure to hit on AJ and invited her back to his hotel room after the game. Cocksucker. He also pulled me into a hug and told me he was glad to see me smile again. Leave it to Joel to not pull any punches.

“I see you brought the flavor of the week.” The voice is all too familiar and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Turning to face the woman who legally shared my name (though she never took it publicly because of her image), I let out a long sigh. “Carrie. What brings you down to the bowels of the stadium?” I ask, moving forward a few steps in line.

“I was just passing through and saw you standing here,” she says, checking her reflection in a small mirror she pulled from her bag.

“I bet you were. Oh, and how did you know I had someone with me?” I ask, giving her my back as I turn to check out the menu options.

“Are you kidding? You’ve been flaunting her all over the big screen, Sawyer. The cameras have followed your every move.” Figures. I noticed I was on the monitors a few times between innings, but didn’t pay too much attention.

“It’s hardly flaunting her when I didn’t even know you would be here.”

“Where else would I be? Shawn is here,” she says, referring to the third base replacing douchebag nearly ten years my junior.

I do my best to ignore her, taking a few more steps forward until I’m next in line. I feel her step up beside me, her body close and her perfume assaulting my nostrils. “What do you want?” I ask, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice.

“I miss you.” Her words are almost as startling as her hand, which is sliding up my arm and wrapping around my bicep. That earns a humorless laugh.

“Miss me? You have a damn funny way of showing it, sweetheart. You’re here cheering on your little boy toy. Why don’t you head back up to the WAG suite and watch him play.” I turn to the young guy behind the counter and give him my attention. “Nachos with cheese, two Sprites, and a Coke, please.”

“It’s not like that with us,” she says. “We’re very casual.”

“Good for you,” I tell her as I pay the sixteen dollar bill with a twenty and tell the kid to keep the change. “If you’ll excuse me,” I say, turning and heading toward my seat.

“I’ll be back in town in October to wrap up the photo shoot. I want to see you again too, Sawyer,” she says behind me, not even bothering to keep her voice low. I can feel the eyes of those around me, but I keep walking. I don’t even acknowledge her ‘too,’ since that probably makes it sound like I wanted to see her first.

Well, I don’t.

“Not happening, Carrie,” I holler over my shoulder as I take the stairs two at a time down to our seats.

As soon as I see AJ, my body relaxes. She’s standing there with her hands thrust high in the air, cheering with the rest of the crowd as Joel rounds second base in a stand-up double.

“Hey, long lines?” she asks, taking the nachos and shoving the first one into her mouth. She chews happily, not even caring that there’s a tiny drop of cheese on her bottom lip.

Instead of answering her question, I grab the back of her head and pull her into a deep kiss. She tastes like cheese and every bit the sexy woman she is. My tongue slips into her mouth as the kiss quickly elevates from PG-13 to R-rated.

“Think fast, you’re on television.” Dylan’s words permeate my sex-craved brain.

I turn to see AJ and myself, front and center on the Jumbotron at centerfield. She looks dazed at the camera, appearing very thoroughly kissed, if I do say so myself, before turning and burying her face in my arm. The crowd around us cheers wildly, and I can barely hear the announcers talking about me over the noise.

“Former Rangers third baseman Sawyer Randall is in the crowd, cheering on his former team in today’s showdown with the Nationals.”

“That’s right, Bud. Sawyer played ten years for the Rangers before that devastating play that resulted in torn ligaments and severely injuring his right shoulder.”

“And what an injury that was, Davis. Two surgeries were able to repair much of the injury, but the damage was already done. He was cut from the Rangers three months after the initial on-field incident.”

“You hate to see any player go out like that, Bud. Especially one who was at the top of his game like Sawyer Randall.”

“That he was, Davis. But it seems Randall is doing well,” he says with a chuckle. “He has a guest with him for today’s big game, and he appears quite smitten with the young lady.”

Davis laughs. “I do believe you’re right, Bud. Sawyer Randall seems to be enjoying his early retirement very much.”

I throw the camera a little wave and a smile, then pull AJ into my side as if making a statement.

Damn straight I am.

A big one.

She’s mine.