When I walk in the press box of the stadium, Easton sits with his head down studying the papers spread all over the counter in front of him. Not wanting to disturb him and ruin his concentration, I lean against the doorjamb and wait for him to notice me.
“You done with work?” he asks without looking my way.
“Yeah. Adler’s coming along and I completed my reports for Griswold,” I say referring to the interim general manager until Boseman finds a new one.
“You heading home? You’ve been here all day, you must be exhausted.”
“I am, but I figured I’d sit here with you awhile if you don’t mind.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know,” I say as I close the door and approach him. He remains focused on what he’s working on so I take in the view of the field from our position at the club level. The grass is in pristine shape, the World Series logos have been painted on the infield, and strings of plastic flags have been hung along the left and right field lines. There are a few guys on the field—it looks like JP, Guzman, and Santiago, taking a few extra cuts at the ball. Getting some additional batting practice in before the next game tomorrow.
The Aces are tied with the Anaheim Angels, one game all, so the city is abuzz with the knowledge that they’ll be in front of the hometown crowd for the next three games.
“You couldn’t have asked for a better location to have your broadcast, huh?” I put a hand on his back and scratch it softly.
“The second best thing to playing in the series is broadcasting it.” I hear the bitterness and sarcasm in his voice and let it go without commenting. I’d feel the same way if I were in his shoes. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I get it. All I meant was at least you’re familiar with this booth and its layout since you’ve broadcast here before. Besides, this stadium is your second home of sorts so that might help combat the nerves some.”
There’s a crack of the bat below. Some whooping as the ball hits the upper deck beyond the right field wall.
But it’s Easton who demands my attention when he reaches out to pull me to him. When I step between his parted knees, he wraps his arms around my hips, pulls me into him, and rests his head on my abdomen. My hands automatically thread through his hair to reassure him that I’m here, still rooting for him, still the one who wants the best for him.
“I’m nervous,” he admits after a few silent minutes, the heat of his breath seeping through the fabric of my shirt and warming my skin.
“I know you are,” I tell him, trying to imagine what he’s going through—the pressure he’s put on himself and the fear of public scrutiny if he messes up. As soon as he was announced as part of the broadcasting lineup for tomorrow’s game, the assholes behind their keyboards started their bullshit.
He holds on for a few minutes as the sounds of baseball below filter up to us when I get an idea. Something to make him a little more at ease. Something for him to remember when he’s feeling nervous during the commentating.
“Hey, you know what they say to do when you get nervous, don’t you?” I ask, pulling away from him and walking toward the door. The stadium is far from vacant with the game tomorrow and the postseason preparation, but I’ll take the risk that no one is going to come knocking on the press booth door.
“Picture everyone naked,” he says.
I flip the lock on the door and turn around to face him, a more than coy smile on my lips. “You can do that.” I take a step toward him and lift one of my eyebrows. “Or you can imagine me standing here naked.”
One corner of his mouth turns up in disbelief as his eyes narrow, curiosity owning his expression. And so I make good on my comment. I pull my tank top and sports bra over my head, the weight of my breasts falling when they’re free of the restrictive fabric.
His eyes widen. “Oh, fuck.”
“Exactly. Oh, fuck.”
I toe my shoes off and shimmy off my exercise pants so I’m standing in the broadcast booth of the Austin Aces, completely naked, with an audience of one.
He wets his lips and shifts in his chair.
“You know what’s even better than imagining me naked?”
“What’s that?” I love that he can’t keep his eyes from roaming all over my body as if it’s a treasure map he can’t wait to explore.
“Imagining me sucking you off in the exact same chair you’ll be broadcasting from.”
“Imagining you doing it or remembering you doing it from firsthand knowledge?” he asks as he shifts again in his seat, his erection tenting his shorts.
“That depends,” I murmur as I step between his thighs again, lean down, and press my lips to his. I make the kiss soft and slow, so that when I break from it, he sits forward to try and take more.
“Depends on what?” He chuckles.
“Why your shorts are still on.”
In a flurry of movement, he has his gym shorts shoved down to his ankles and has one foot out of their leg.
With my eyes on his, I drop to my knees, lower my head, and ever so slowly slide his cock into my mouth. I press my tongue to its underside as my lips suction around him and am rewarded with a guttural groan when he hits the back of my throat. His eyes break from mine as they close and his head falls back.
I take my time, letting the warmth of my mouth, the suction of my lips, and the pressure of my tongue work him up the ladder of ecstasy.
“Goddamn,” he groans.
Music to my ears.
Holding him as deep as I can take him, I bring my hands into the mix. First with fingernails scraping gently over his balls. His thighs tighten. His feet flex. And then as I slide him out of my mouth, the release of the suction making a popping sound that fills the booth. I grab his shaft with my other hand and twist it gently as I begin to work it up and over his length while my mouth pleasures its tip.
Easton’s hands are everywhere. First on the armrests. Then on his thighs. Then one fists in the back of my hair and holds my head as he lifts his hips and fucks my mouth.
It’s erotic as hell.
The sound of his groan. The pop of the suction when he breaks from my lips. The crack of the bat down below. Knowing people are right there while we’re doing this in here.
Intoxicating.
The groan he emits. The possession in his grip. His stilted praise between pants of breath.
Empowering.
Knowing I can give this to him. Not just the climax, but something to recall and put him at ease when he’s here tomorrow night. A little private moment to make him smile right before the nerves kick in when the teleprompter starts rolling.
“Scout.” It’s a dirty moan as he bucks his hips up, and I suck harder. “Scout.” His dick swells and his muscles tense. “Scout.” And then he’s lost as I suck and swallow everything he has to give me. “Oh. God. Scout.”
His grip loosens from my hair but he pulls back on it so I’m forced to look up to him. I bring a hand up to wipe my lips when he slips from my mouth.
His disbelieving grin reaffirms the risk was definitely worth it.
“You’re bad.”
“Would you rather I be good?”
“Hell, fucking, no.” His laugh fills the booth as he helps me rise from my knees. “Look at you. I didn’t even get to take advantage of all of this.” He runs his hands up and down the sides of my torso and murmurs in appreciation.
I bat his hands away. “You can take advantage of it later. I’ve got to get dressed before we get caught.”
I love the sound of his laugh. “Not so brave now, are you?”
“You got what you wanted, didn’t you?” I ask as we begin to put our clothes back on.
“Damn straight I did.” He looks like the cat that ate the canary right now. Smug as hell.
“Don’t ever say I’m not a team player,” I tease.
“You sure as hell just took one for the team.” He shakes his head and looks at the many papers in front of him before looking back to me. “And I’m more than certain that your generosity for the team will help ease my nerves tomorrow night.”
“Good to know.”
The love in his eyes is overwhelming and makes me unexpectedly uncomfortable. I avert my eyes and focus on tying my shoes, but when I look back up, he’s still there, still looking at me.
“Are you done?” I ask.
“Nah. I want to run through this a few more times. You going to head home?”
“Do you mind if I stay here with you instead? I have my book to read so I promise I won’t bug you.”
His smile is soft. “I’d like that.”