“Men are on first and third,” Easton murmurs to himself as he stares out the window to the stadium below. The ballpark’s lights brighten up the sky, much like how the Aces being in the playoffs has brought the city to life.
I glance at the TV, see that Easton is right, and know that Tino is the fastest on the team. One long fly ball, and he can score to give the Aces the lead in this scoreless game.
“We can still go down and watch the game, you know,” I say, checking my cell to make sure I have no texts from the team. After working nonstop for the past eight days, I decided to let Scott take the lead tonight so I could get a breather before what is looking more and more like the Aces going to the World Series.
“I know, but I need to get this nailed down,” he says as he leaves the window and sits down at the table cluttered with papers. Papers that Finn was able to get from Fox in advance of the broadcast so Easton could learn them. The sponsorship information. The rehearsed commentary. Anything that needs to be read off a teleprompter. “I was just taking a break. My eyes burn from looking at this for so long.”
He glances over to the TV as JP strikes out, and I know he would give anything to be playing right now. To be a part of his old team and clinching the National League title with them.
And maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to be at the game. It’s a hard enough pill to swallow in general, but when the sights and smells surround you, it makes your reality tougher to accept.
“You and Helen have been working on this nonstop all week. I know you’ve got it pretty well covered, but if you want to go over it one more time, I’d be more than happy to help.”
He cocks his head to the side and just stares at me. He looks tired—his eyes are bloodshot, his hair is all over the place, his favorite shirt has seen better days—but I’m so proud of him for how hard he is working. For studying his ass off and conquering his demons.
“What?” I ask, unable to read what he’s saying in his look.
“What if I couldn’t play ball anymore?”
Well, that’s not what I was expecting, so it takes me a few seconds to clear the surprised look from my face and answer him. “Then you can’t play baseball anymore.”
“Would that bug you if I couldn’t?”
“What kind of question is that?” Where is he going with this?
“You’re obviously attracted to that side of me—the physical, the competitive, the everything about the game—so if I wasn’t playing anymore, would that change things between us?”
I meet his eyes and my heart breaks for the uncertainty I see in them. “Easton, I love you for you. Sure all of those things are a part of you, but to me, there is so much more that makes up the measure of a man. More than anything, I’d be sad watching you say goodbye to something you love. But would I not want you anymore?” I ask as I stand and walk around the table, and set my hips against its edge so I can look at him. “Not a chance in hell.”
That shy smile slides on his face and lights up his eyes as they roam down the length of my body. My thin camisole tank doesn’t hide much and my little pajama shorts don’t cover much more.
“Thank you for believing in me.”
“There’s no thanking needed,” I say as he looks up from where my nipples are hard beneath my top and wets his bottom lip. “Do you want to go over these again?” I ask, trying to distract him—half-heartedly—from what the look in his eyes says he really wants.
“Did I ever tell you I always had a thing for teachers?” he asks as he pulls his shirt over his head, careful of his shoulder, and tosses it to the side.
“You did, did you?”
“Oh yeah. Their hair pulled back all prim and proper. The pencil skirts and buttoned-up blouses I’d stare at and imagine what was underneath should one of those buttons pop open when she was bending over the desk in front of me.”
“Hot for teacher, huh?”
“Your hair is pulled up,” he murmurs as he uses his good arm to slide my ass toward him so I’m now perched on the desk directly in front of him. “And I could pretend that your tank top has buttons on it.”
“You could, could you?” My laugh fills the room above the muted roar of the crowd floating up to our condo from down below.
“Definitely.”
“But I’m not wearing a skirt.”
“Once I take it off you, does it really matter what you were wearing?”
“Good point.” I follow the slow, sexy slide of his hands from my knees up the length of my thighs. “But I haven’t taught you anything.”
It’s his turn to chuckle. “No worries there, I think I’ll let you school me, right now.”
I lean forward and press my lips to his, encouraging his fingers to find their way beneath my shorts.
We make love.
By the lights of the stadium he’s played under his entire career.
With the roar of the crowd reminding him of the game he should be playing.
Under the spotlight he’s lived his whole life.
We create something that’s uniquely ours.
Our own magic.