Chapter Eight

Rhett

By the top of the third inning, I knew I was toast. I’d thrown a decent pitch to start the game – a curveball – but the opposing team, the Marlins, had managed to knock it right out of the park. Any game starting with the opposing team scoring a seamless home run was never good for morale, and unfortunately, things went from the ditch straight into the septic system.

Don called a short meeting at the end of the fifth inning. Sweating and nervous, I huddled with Ernie and the other players.

“Bradshaw, where the fuck is your head?” Don snapped, leaning in close and cuffing me on the ear just hard enough to hurt. “What the fuck are you doing? Are you out there mentally counting your money?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I know. I know. I’m not on my game, but it’ll get better. I promise, Don, I’m not gonna let you down.”

Ernie clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe you outta tell Don your shoulder’s hurting and let Leighton take over,” he said, gesturing toward the bullpen. “He’s got a good save percentage this year. Think about your numbers, bro. They’re going to plummet.”

“I know what to do,” I snapped. “If you’d just trust me, things would be fine.”

“The Marlins are up seven to one,” Don said. “We can’t fucking hand the game over to them on a silver platter to soothe your ego. The papers and fans are going to rip us a new ass.”

By the time I jogged back to the pitching mound on the wings of Don’s dressing down, I was such a nervous wreck I didn’t even recognize myself. I didn’t want to get pulled out of this game like a loser in front of her. Rhett Bradshaw was cool, calculated, a winner. He wasn’t the kind of guy who worried too much about anything. Or the kind of guy who talked about himself in the third person. But something had seriously shaken my confidence, and I didn’t even want to think about what I’d have to do in order to get it back.

During my lowest moment of self-censure, the booing started. Yankees fans aren’t exactly known for their magnanimous attitude during a rout. With my heart racing, I managed to throw three foul balls in a row, and my reward was an assault from the crowd. Peanuts, candy wrappers, and beer cans all flew from the stands, littering the lush grass in a cacophony of vibrant colors.

Maybe something will hit me, and I’ll get a concussion. That only seems fair. Maybe I’ll lose my memory, and Brenna and I can go off together and live in a home for old amnesiacs.

I rolled my eyes. “Enough!” I yelled, throwing my arms in the air. The chorus of negativity just got louder because they knew they had me by the short hairs when I reacted to their bullshit. “Y’all can fucking stop this whenever you want! Where’s your fucking loyalty!”

The crowd groaned in unison, and I wiped the sweat from my brow, determined to pitch a killer ball at least once during the game. But when I went to throw, the ball slipped from my sweaty hand and flew in the opposite direction, toward the outfield.

You stupid piece of shit, Bradshaw. You haven’t done that since little league.

I watched the ball dribble away with a warped sense of fascination as if I were driving by a fatality. Yeah, of my MVP career. Before even looking Don’s way, I knew he’d motioned to the bullpen to send my worthless ass to the showers.

I didn’t blame him.

I stayed in the locker room, hanging my head until Ernie found me wallowing. He cuffed me in the back of the head, then jabbed me in the ribs, glancing up at me with obvious concern.

“Yo, boy, what the hell happened?” Ernie asked as he slid onto the wooden bench beside me. “You okay, man?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what’s fucking me up so much,” I said, readjusting the ice pack on my shoulder. “This is killing me.”

“Aye, it’s killing me too,” Ernie agreed and shook his head. “Although my arm is remarkably rested since most of your pitches didn’t hit my glove. This is just like that movie where Austin Powers lost his mojo. You gotta get your mojo back, man. Maybe that’s what all of this is about. Should I call Elizabeth Hurley?”

Brenna’s pale, beautiful face popped into my mind. I frowned, shaking my head, trying to get her to disappear the way a dog shakes to rid himself of pond water.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

As Ernie left me to strip down and get into the showers, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She’d really crawled under my skin. I’d just pitched the worst game of my life, rendering me incompetent and worried about my future in the MLB. I’d signed a huge contract this year. What if Don threatened me with a trade? What if he cast me off to some bumfuck team in Middle America, away from New York City and everything I loved?

But if that happened, I’d deserve it.

“You played like a real pussy today,” Andy called, his voice dripping anger as he walked by me wearing a white towel. “You gonna pull your head out of your ass, Bradshaw? First, you make me smack that woman and now this. The front office don’t pay you the big bucks to fuck up our winning record.”

Spinning around, I balled my hand into a fist. “You want to tell me that again?”

Andy sauntered forward. He shook his head, spraying me with droplets of water from his wet hair.

“What if I do?” He gave a cocky, sarcastic grin. “Not like you’d be able to land a punch anywhere close.” Andy burst out laughing, and after a second, the other guys joined in.

“Fuck you,” I muttered, turning around to grab my bag.

“Man, he’s being a real dick,” Ernie said quietly as we walked out of the locker room. “He’s really pissed.”

“I know,” I said, running a hand through my hair in exasperation. “I deserve it, though. I lost the game for everyone.”

Ernie clapped me on the back. “You’ll do better next time. Wait until the next series, you’ll be fine, Rhettinator. I know you.”

I rolled my eyes. Sometimes, Ernie’s tireless optimism really grated on my nerves.

Rather than dwell on my failure, I thought it would be a better idea to try to forget about how poorly I’d played and move on. I’d always been the type of guy who enjoyed the present – especially when hot women were involved. But now, I realized that maybe it would help me if I learned to look to the future instead. Baseball wouldn’t last forever.

“Hey,” Riley chirped. She and Brenna stood right outside the entrance to the locker room. “God, you took forever. I thought once the manager pulled you, we wouldn’t have that long to wait.”

I grinned in the face of her pout. “Had to shower,” I said, trying to appear unaffected. Behind Brenna’s back, Riley held up her camera and mimed taking a picture.

I got the hint. “Hey, Brenna,” I said, jerking my head to the side. “Come over here for a second.”

Brenna glanced over at Riley. “We should go.” She blushed when I winked at her. “I need to go into the office tomorrow. But I guess if it’s just for a minute…”

“Yeah, but you should talk to me first,” I replied, giving her my best grin. “This way.”

I led Brenna over to a little alcove where some of the grounds crew smoked before a game. She looked as delectable as ever – her cheeks were flushed from the sun, and some tendrils of thick hair had sprung loose from the knot at the top of her head. In the sunlight, her hair took on golden hints, and amber, and a thousand different colors all at once. A rainbow of silky perfection.

“So,” Brenna said, casting her eyes downward as if it hurt them to look at me. “Riley tells me you didn’t play very well.”

I shrugged. “It’s hard to play well when there’s a gorgeous woman in the stands, watching me.” It was the truth – Brenna was to blame for my distracted pitching. But I’d also used that line on women in the past, and based on Brenna’s fierce blush, I knew the statement had hit home. This is too easy, I thought, putting an arm around Brenna’s shoulders and pulling her closer. I was used to seeing her face in the stands but usually wearing a grimace instead of a smile. I liked the smile much better. In fact, I could easily become addicted.

“Did watching the game trigger any memories for you?” I shielded the sun from my eyes. “Did anything help?”

Brenna shook her head. She didn’t look happy anymore – she looked forlorn, and her eyes moistened. Frustration bubbled up inside me. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said anything, I thought. I gotta keep her smiling and happy if this is gonna work. I knew the clock was ticking on my time with Brenna. I needed to fuck her soon and get her out of my system, or else I’d be stuck playing like a rookie for the rest of the season.

“No,” Brenna said in a soft tone. “I wish it had, but unfortunately…” She trailed off, biting her lip. Watching her creamy white teeth bite down on the appetizing pink flesh stirred something in me. Pulling her close, I leaned down and pressed my mouth to hers. At first, Brenna didn’t react. But after a second, the kiss grew warmer, and Brenna parted her lips to let my tongue slip inside her mouth. Kissing her proved both erotic and somehow familiar, like I’d known her my entire life. My cock twitched and sprang to life inside of my slacks as Brenna moaned into my mouth and pressed her hot little body against mine.

When we pulled away, I grinned. “Sorry,” I said. “I just had to do that. You’re gorgeous, you know? Couldn’t stop myself.”

Brenna blushed to the roots of her hair. “I’m not, but you don’t have to apologize, Rhett. I liked it.” She stepped closer and put her arms around my shoulders, pressing against me and becoming the aggressor. This time, I sucked on her lower lip and let my hands wander down her back, squeezing her ass. Brenna moaned and wriggled. Her breasts pushed against my chest, and desire and lust exploded in my belly. I wanted to rip her clothes off and screw her right then and there, but I knew I had to take it slow.

Come hell or high water, I was getting in sweet little Brenna Sinclair’s panties. After a few orgasms while she screamed my name, all thoughts of castigating the old and rash Rhett would fade into oblivion along with her good judgment.

The city was full of girls like her – bright-eyed, ambitious girls who swooned at the handsome grin of a baseball player. And this baseball player was going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble come next season if I didn’t manage to fuck the little minx right out of my system.

It was one thing to have a crush. But this wasn’t a crush, it was turning into some weird kind of obsession. And if I didn’t take care of it soon, it would become a huge problem.

When we pulled away, Brenna’s cheeks had that just kissed glow. Her lips were slightly parted and swollen from the strength of my passion, and my cock gave a lustful throb as I imagined how that lush mouth would look sucking it down the back of her throat.

I grinned at her. “There’s an after-party. I know you said you had to go, but I’d really love it if you and Riley came with me.”

Brenna’s teeth sank into her bottom lip. “I don’t know. I really should go. I have some things to do at home.”

I pouted. “That’s too bad. Oh well, maybe next time.”

Turning on my heel, I started trotting back toward Ernie and Riley. One, two, three, I counted in my head.

Before I hit five, Brenna appeared at my side, breathless from having jogged to keep up with me.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll come. But just for a little while, okay?”

I grinned. They say all it takes is fifteen minutes, honey, I thought. “Sure. Great. Glad you can come.”

Brenna’s smile faltered, but she didn’t say anything else as she accompanied me back to the group. I knew that playing hot and cold was cruel, but I had to make her believe that she didn’t mean anything to me. That way, when I went in for the kill, she’d be caught off guard, and it would be easier than ever to worm my straining cock into her tight, wet pussy.

“Riley, we should go to this party,” Brenna said with an authoritative air. “Rhett invited us.”

Riley winked at me. “Whatever you say,” she replied, turning toward Brenna. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”