Chapter Twenty

Cody

Holy shit, what is this girl doing to me? I couldn’t stop staring at her as the morning light lit up her face. I was wrapped up like a cocoon in the soft blankets and it made it hard to get out of bed. Under the covers it was warm and cozy. Besides, Chelsea was under the covers, naked, warm, and perfect. So naturally that’s where I wanted to stay.

Except that didn’t make any sense.

I wasn’t boyfriend material. Not anymore. I didn’t do sleepovers. The idea of breakfast, small talk, and morning breath all made me want to run for my life no later than midnight. Last night I’d broken all of my own rules.

And it had been incredible.

A triple play. Steam, heat, pleasure. Clothes flying, skin slapping together, hot, lingering kisses.

But as I traced a finger down the side of Chelsea’s face, while she slept, I knew the rabid fucking wasn’t the only reason it would remain locked in my mind as one of the best nights of my life. Nope. That part started when I showed up on her doorstep. The exchanged glances over pizza. The traded barbs. The laughs. And damn, what about that deep conversation? That was another no-no on the list.

I grinned to myself, even with the warning bells chiming in the back of my mind. I didn’t give two shits that I broke all the rules. Chelsea was worth it. And if I had it my way, we’d have many more rule breaking nights to look forward to.

Chelsea stirred and rolled away from my fingertips. The sheet tugged down as she moved and revealed miles of soft skin. The back of her neck, down her spine, and right to the curve at the top of her ass. Damn, she was perfect. And to think, I normally went for blondes. I snorted quietly at the notion and moved to get up. I hated to pull away but nature was calling.

I crept into the adjoined bathroom, softly shut the door, and took care of my business. When I opened the door again, Chelsea was up, standing at the side of the bed, and tucking herself back into the robe that I’d all but torn off of her really early this morning in her office. I grinned at the memory and let my eyes linger on her legs, wishing they were wrapped around me again.

“Morning, gorgeous girl,” I called, striding buck naked back into the room.

Chelsea spun around and blushed when her eyes zeroed right on the morning wood I was sporting. No shame in my game, mama. She quickly reverted her eyes to mine and smiled softly. “Looks like you are having a good morning.”

“Hoping for one. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Coffee.”

“Aha.” It did sound good. I could always get her back up to bed. “What time is it anyway?”

Chelsea glanced over her shoulder at the bedside clock. It was analog and I couldn’t make out the hands from across the room. “Ten thirty.”

“Shit!” I scrambled across the room and dove to grab my pants and shirt from the floor.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, the alarm audible in her voice.

“I have to be at the practice facility in thirty fuckin’ minutes.” I shucked on my pants, not caring to dig around for wherever my shorts had gotten too. “Damn it!”

“I’m sorry. I sleep late so I don’t set an alarm…”

I held up a hand before pulling on my shirt. “Don’t worry about it. Not your fault. But I gotta jet, baby girl!”

She nodded, and I pressed a kiss to her lips, wishing to hell I could linger on her sweet pout, and then flew out of the room. Chelsea followed me down the stairs and to the entry way of her townhome.

I stopped short, my hand resting on the door handle. I craned back to glance at Chelsea. “Hey! Do you wanna come to the game tonight?”

She smiled. “Sure!”

Something about the way she was staring at me, smiling at me, hit me hard in the gut. “All right, baby girl. I’ll set aside a couple of tickets at Will Call.”

“Paris can get me in. Don’t worry about it. Just scoot!”

I winked at her and then bolted out of the house and down to my truck before I said fuck it and hauled her over my shoulder and back up the stairs to her bed.

* * * *

“Wright! Focus!” Coach Robinson bellowed at me from the dugout. I snapped to attention. “Get your ass to the mound!” He waved his hands like an air traffic control tech on speed.

Damn it. My imagination needed guard rails today. All I could do was think about Chelsea.

I jogged out to the mound, careful to keep my temper in check. I’d already been flying on Coach’s radar since I arrived ten minutes late to practice. My shoulder was feeling the drills he’d already put me through and I was about to remind him that if he wanted a superstar performance tonight, he needed to let me rest a little.

Mike, the catcher, got into position and I wound up. Pitch after pitch after pitch. Each one picture fuckin’ perfect, landing in Mike’s glove with a satisfying punch. Mike rose up to his feet after I’d made it through ten pitches. I turned to check Coach’s reaction. He didn’t even crack a smile. “Again!”

“Mother fuck—”

“Hey, take it as a compliment. He’s only riding your ass ‘cause he likes you,” Mike called over to me before I could go full ape-shit.

I glared across the field. “Well tonight when my arm feels like a noodle and I can’t get the pitch to the plate, I’ll hold onto that little soft and fuzzy sentiment.”

“Damn, dude. Just trying to help…” he growled to himself. He gathered up the balls and brought them over to me. “Here you go, Your Highness.”

I grimaced. “Listen, man, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be an asshole. I’m just fuckin’ wiped out.”

“Well that’s not an option on this team. We’re not a pack of princesses skating by this season. We’re out here fighting for our lives—our reputations.”

The intensity of his words hit me hard and I nodded, suddenly ashamed for losing my temper with my teammate. “You’re right. I’ll quit bitchin’.”

Mike grinned. “Good, cause look who just got here…”

I turned to follow his stare. “Son of a bitch.”

Summer Pratt and a posse of what looked like reporters, were coming onto the field. I couldn’t catch a break from this girl.

“Smile for the camera, Wright.”

“Afternoon gents,” Summer cooed, taking careful steps. Who fucking wears stilettos onto the ball field? It’s a sacrilege.

I turned up my lip and locked my stare on her. “What do you want, Ms. Pratt?”

Her bright eyes clouded with a stormy look. A silent warning. Then her smile popped back into place and she revealed her perfect, movie star white teeth. “These folks are here to talk to you and do a story after your recent streak of success.” She waved at the four people behind her. They all glanced up from their set up process and met my eyes in turn, offering polite smiles.

“Does Coach know about this? We’re in the middle of practice and we have a—”

“Coach knows the chain of command,” Summer said, cutting me off with another wide smile. She was acting like we were old friends, not ex-lovers. It was unnerving. “This will only take a few minutes. You might want to floss though…looks like a little spinach or something.”

She flashed another smile as I worked my tongue over my teeth. She let out a trill of a laugh and strut off the field.

“Sweet mother, she’s bangin’” Mike breathed beside me, his voice low so the reporters wouldn’t hear him.

I snorted. “You ever heard of Medusa?”

“The lady with the snakes in her hair?”

“Uh-huh. Look it up sometime and you’ll see my point.” I turned toward the reporters and flashed a—hopefully spinach free—smile. Time to turn on the charm. If I couldn’t perform for the cameras and act the part of a big time baseball star, then my name wasn’t Cody fuckin’ Wright.

“Let’s get this party started!”