Chapter Two

Justin

“Calloway, you gonna hit up the pussy parade?” Nate Bailey, a second-year pitcher, called across the locker room.

Jarrod Erickson chimed in first. “Count me in! Fuck, I still jerk off to the video of the blonde I scored last year.”

Bailey grinned at him. “She let you take video?”

“Fuck yeah! These college girls are fuckin’ crazy.” Erickson glanced at me. “What about you, Calloway?”

I shook my head and finished lacing up my sneakers. “Nah. Not my thing.”

Both of them stared at me, slack-jawed. “Not your thing?” Bailey said. “What part of buck-naked, hot as fuck co-eds doesn’t appeal to you?”

I straightened and leveled both of them with a hard stare. “I like women. Not frisky college girls trying to get in my pants. Besides, if you ask me, that whole pussy parade out there is playing with fire. Two words. Turkey. Baster.”

Bailey and Erikson smirked. “Turkey baster babies are an urban legend, Calloway,” Bailey said.

I shrugged. “All I’m sayin’, you better suit up and take the fucking evidence with you when you leave.” I slapped Bailey on the shoulder. “Enjoy, gents.”

I could feel their eyes on me as I sauntered from the locker room. Let them think I was crazy and outta my damn mind. I didn’t care. I hadn’t reached my lofty perch by giving a shit what other people thought of me. If I’d let opinions weigh on me, I’d be flipping burgers at some dive bar. No one thought I was supposed to become anything special. God knows, I hadn’t been groomed for the life I found myself in.

Besides, I didn’t need the long line of barely-legal girls lined up outside the stadium, desperate to score a night with a pro ball player.

I already knew what I wanted.

The brunette from the stats booth with the booty. Beautiful, full, tan legs and the cutoff shorts that had me watching her hard when she bent over to grab that Coke bottle. I had no idea who she was. Not even a first name. It didn’t really matter. I’d find out and then I’d make her mine for the night.

***

Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long before my next encounter with the brunette. The following day at practice, she was sitting in the same place, when I took the field with my trainer. She’d pulled her shoulder-length hair back into a ponytail. My fingers flexed, knowing exactly what it would feel like to grab ahold and tug her head back and forth while she knelt before me, working my cock between those pretty little rosebud lips.

Fuck. She’d be sweet. One of those eager to please types.

My favorite. It made breaking them in so much easier.

I threw a few warm-up pitches and then craned around to make sure she was watching me. She visibly jolted and fumbled with her laptop. I grinned. It was gonna be so damn easy.

The game of cat and mouse continued for a few hours under the hot Florida sun. She tried to ignore me, but I’d catch her staring. Sure, it was her job to pay attention to me. But from the way she darted her eyes anywhere else as soon as I glanced her way, I knew she wasn’t as concerned with my pitching. No. She was thinking what I’d look like without my uniform on. Hell, maybe she’d seen my spread in ESPN and already knew. Or, was wondering what that strategically placed baseball glove had been hiding.

I’d love to show her.

When I was drenched with sweat and my shoulder was screaming for relief, I called off my practice session and hit the showers. I couldn’t get the sweet brunette out of my mind. My cock went hard under the stream of water and I jerked one off, thinking about the peek of ass cheek I’d gotten the day before. Damn those cutoffs were sweet. Especially in my mind, where she wasn’t wearing a stitch underneath.

I toweled off and dressed just as Bailey and Erickson came in, grinning ear-to-ear and chattering like a couple of high school seniors about all the ass they’d scored the night before. I rolled my eyes as they bragged it up. Guys like that just didn’t get it. They had no idea what it was really like to be with a woman. To have the power and control. All they cared about was getting their rocks off as many times as they could, with as many women as they could. They’d never understand there was more to life than pussy.

And no, I wasn’t concerned about love, real feelings, or some bullshit soulmate theory.

No, I wasn’t after that either. That much we had in common.

I tugged a clean, white t-shirt over my head and stalked from the locker room before they could attempt to tangle me up in conversation. A wide smile cracked across my face as soon as I wound around the corridor and saw a familiar backside bending over at the Coke machine.

A creature of habit, I thought with a grin.

I approached the machine while her back was still turned. She spun around, Coke bottle in her hand, and came within inches of crashing into my chest. The way she jumped back reminded me of a cat doused with water. I grinned and leaned against the machine, boxing her in. “I’d introduce myself, but seeing as how it’s your job to know who I am, I’ll skip that part and ask you for your name instead.”

Her rosebud lips parted then clamped back together a few times. I could almost see the conflicted thoughts tangled behind her bright blue eyes.

“All right,” I said, reaching forward to take her hand. “We’ll start with me. Justin Calloway.”

“I know who you are,” she said with a frown. She tugged her hand free of the limp handshake. “What do you want?”

Damn, this one’s been put through something… I softened my approach, dialed back my cocky grin a notch, and started over. “I want to know your name.”

“Why?” She seemed genuinely puzzled by my question.

A chuckle burst from me. “Are you always this guarded? Forget having a wall, you’ve got a goddamn fortress built around you.”

She darted a glance down the hallway as though mentally mapping out an escape route.

“Come on,” I prompted. “Just your name.”

“I need to get back to work.” She started to move away, gingerly tiptoeing past me like she thought I might reach out and snag her and pull her back. I let her go but couldn’t hold back a chuckle as she walked away. “You know I can find out who you are. Even if you don’t tell me.”

She nodded and hurried off. But stopped short a few paces later. She turned and called back. “Grace. My name is Grace.”

Then, just as quickly, she was gone, swallowed up in the crowd of people flocking the concession stands that were open for spectators and media personnel.

Grace. I smiled to myself. It was perfect for her.

I had the first piece of the puzzle. Now I just needed to gather up the rest.