11. Casey

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CASEY

Leaning back in my chair, I assessed Baylor. He sipped loudly from his straw, completely oblivious to his lack of manners. He was loud, abrasive, and rough around the edges. He was basically a frat boy in a man’s body. He could be charming, I’d give him that, but also incredibly infuriating. Did he really think I treated him badly? Like gum stuck to my cleat? Maybe I did. Maybe that was the draw between us, the tension, the challenge, the unexplainable attraction and pull I felt toward a man I seemingly disliked.

He said he enjoyed it. Maybe I did too.

Great, now I sounded like a walking red flag.

Was Baylor Buchanan really my brand of crazy?

Fuck me, I think he was.

I didn’t even want to know what that said about me.

Baylor regarded me with interest. “So, you finished your degree at U of O Mapleview? What’d you major in?”

“How’d you know that?”

“Wild guess?” he lied.

“Sports management.”

“Oh, nice. You knew what you wanted from the start, huh?”

Leaning across the table, I pegged him with a hard look. “I always know what I want, Baylor.”

He shivered, his body moving in a way that proved my words hit their mark. God, I loved having that effect on him. It gave me a rush of power, of control, that hardened my cock. Just like my humiliation hardened his.

It seemed we might just be a perfect match.

In bed , that was. Out of bed… not so much. Not at all, really.

Baylor ordered a smothered pork chop, and I ordered a filet. We argued about the best way to cook a steak, pork versus beef, loaded or plain baked potatoes, the best dressing on a salad, and ultimately, the perfect dessert—chocolate or fruit, savory or sweet, mousse or cream. We couldn’t agree on a single thing.

The waitress dropped the check on the table, not knowing which of us to hand it to. We both stared at it like it was a snake poised to strike.

Baylor scoffed. “If you’re waiting for me to reach for it, don’t hold your breath.”

“This was your idea. You invited me to stay and eat with you!”

“What’s your point?”

No. Hell no. Sometimes you had to pick your battles, and this was a fight I was determined to win. “You thought you were meeting a woman. Would you have asked her to pay?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. There’s nothing wrong with asking a woman to go Dutch. They like their independence.”

“Bullshit! You would have paid, I know you.”

“Do you?” he asked silkily. His kissable lips pulled up at the corners in a little half smile. “Then you know I’m not paying that check.”

“If I pay for you, then this feels like a date.” Baylor laughed softly. “This isn’t a date, Blue!”

“Of course not. We’re just two guys having dinner together, and one of us is paying.” He leaned across the small table and whispered, “And it’s not me.” He followed it with a wink that made me want to choke him.

In a huff, I slapped my credit card down and busied my hands with my drink so I wouldn’t be tempted to wrap them around his thick throat.

He sat back, looking satisfied and smug. “Thank you for your generosity.”

I swear to God, if he pushes me, I’ll ? —

“We should do this again. According to the schedule, neither of us has a game on Thursday night. Want to join me for dinner?”

The fucking nerve of this guy! “No, why would I want to do this again?”

“Because you enjoyed it. Because eating alone sucks. We could call it the Lonely Bachelor’s Dinner Club.”

“No, we fucking can’t. That’s ridiculous. I’m not lonely. I enjoy my privacy. ”

“Oh, sure. Especially when you wear my ugly boxers to bed and text me after midnight. Not lonely at all, just… enjoying your privacy?”

Fuck him. He was right. “They aren’t your boxers.”

Baylor chuckled infuriatingly. “Sure, Coach. Whatever you say.”

That word coming from his disobedient lips makes my cock kick. A touch of respect, of formality, and I forgot all about whose fucking boxers they were. I wanted to hear him say it again. Preferably while naked, on his knees, looking up at me as he begged for my cock.

Please, Coach, let me suck your dick.

Jesus, I had to get out of here quickly before I embarrassed myself. Discreetly, I rearranged my dick and stood. “Next Thursday it is.”

“Great! Let’s get ice cream. I’ve got a craving for something sweet.”

“Baylor, I made it clear this isn’t a date.”

“And I heard you loud and clear,” he insisted patiently, almost as if explaining it to a child. “But I like sweets, and again, eating alone sucks.” As I considered it, he pushed me. “My treat this time.”

The ice cream place was a short distance from the restaurant, so we walked. Baylor stepped up to the counter.

“Cherry chocolate chip and a rum raisin, please,” he ordered.

Surprised and confused, I asked, “How’d you know that?”

Baylor smiled wolfishly. “I could tell you, but it’s so much more fun to let you sit and suffer, wondering how and what else I might know about you.”

Damn this man! So. Fucking. Infuriating.

“What else do you know?”

Baylor laughed and swiped his tongue through his cherry ice cream in a way that was supposed to remind me how talented his tongue was.

Like I could forget.

Everything this man did made my cock hard. Maybe I was just horny and needed to get laid. Then he wouldn’t affect me so easily.

I’d tried, I really had, thinking I was going to bury my dick in Andrew tonight. But since Andrew turned out to be the worst possible choice, I was going home with a full load in my balls. Again .

We walked back to our trucks, and Baylor gripped my biceps. The tips of his fingers pressed into my skin. “This wasn’t so bad. I think I might have enjoyed myself. Maybe.”

Coming from Baylor, that sounded pretty damn close to a compliment. “I guess it wasn’t completely terrible,” I agreed.

Baylor gave me a look that said he saw through my bullshit and chuckled. “Goodnight, Casey. Thanks for dinner.”

“Night. Thanks for dessert.”

I turned, but he called out, making me turn back. “Hey, if I called, would you pick up?”

“Nope.”

My stomach swirled. Yeah, it gave me a sick little thrill that he’d asked again. It occurred to me as I drove home that if I treated Baylor a little nicer, even if it was just an act, my season might turn out a lot smoother. Would it kill me to entertain the man, to give him a smile or two, maybe join him for dinner here and there, so that he wouldn’t continue to make those ridiculous calls against my team? A flash of him naked and bent over before me, thighs spread wide as he showed me his wet hole filled my head.

No, it probably wouldn’t kill me in the slightest. Especially not if dinner ended in bed again.