13. Casey

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CASEY

“Have you seen that new guy?”

“The ump? How could you miss him?”

As I entered the athletics department, I saw the staff gathered around Candice’s desk. As the receptionist, her desk seemed to be gossip central for the rest of the staff. She was huddled with Mark, the athletic director for both the men’s and women’s swim and track teams, and Sandra, the Director of Public Relations for the entire athletic departments. I skirted them and made my way to the wall of mailboxes to check my cubby.

“He is hot .” She stressed the word hot, and I could imagine she was burning herself.

“Hot doesn’t begin to describe him. The way he fills out those pants, and that shirt, my God.”

“What’s his name? Something Buchanan?”

I tensed, realizing they were talking about Baylor. My mood went from pleasant to sour in the blink of an eye. Why did it even bother me at all? Who cared if they thought he was hot? He was. It wasn’t like we were dating. I couldn’t even stand him most of the time.

“I think it’s Brian or something.”

“Bailey?”

Grabbing the four pieces of mail in my cubby, I turned sharply and gave each of them a pointed look. “Are you all on paid leave? Or do you have jobs to get back to?”

Great, now I sounded like an asshole. Fucking Baylor.

“Good to see you, Coach,” Mark said, walking back to his office.

I wished I could say the same.

My blood pressure remained elevated as I walked over to the clubhouse at the field. My assistant coach, Marley, was taking inventory of the equipment. He caught one look at my expression and asked, “What’s up, Coach?”

“Nothing,” I replied tersely.

He didn’t look like he was buying that. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Sorry, I’m just fed up with nosy people who like to gossip.” And Baylor.

Marley laughed. “You just described pretty much everybody on the planet.”

He had a point. I was being ridiculous. But then I started to think, how often did Baylor get hit on? Did he like the attention? I bet he loved it. Was he sleeping with anyone? Jesus Christ, why was I even entertaining those thoughts ?

I was kicking myself for agreeing to have dinner with him tomorrow night. The more I thought about it, which was plenty, the more nervous I became. And once I figured out what the nerves were from, I was just pissed with myself and him. In short, I was afraid of my attraction to Baylor. Afraid that if he suggested we sleep together again, I wouldn’t say no.

I really needed to say no.

The guys began filing into the locker room for practice, and I did my best to shake off my thoughts of Baylor for the next two hours. Yelling at my team was a great way to work out my frustration. Putting them through their paces settled some of my anxiety. And by the time I made it home, I was in a much better mood as I knelt to get my face licked by Rawlings.

For dinner, I heated some leftover beef stroganoff and made a quick side salad to go with it. I ate in front of the TV as I watched SportsCenter with Rawlings beside me, giving me her best puppy dog eyes as she silently begged for scraps. She reminded me of one of those neglected shelter dogs in the ASPCA commercials, pretending like she hadn’t been fed in months.

I gave her a cherry tomato from my salad and laughed because she actually looked disappointed with the offering, although she licked it greedily from my hand. “You are nothing but a beggar, little girl.”

Baylor was right. Eating alone sucked. I did it way too often, practically every night. Rawlings didn’t count for company. I pretended like she did, but when I really stopped to think about it, I realized how quiet it was, and just how lonely.

At least we were having dinner together tomorrow night, not that I was looking forward to it. And on Saturday, Marcus and I had tickets to a baseball game. Thinking of my coming plans eased some of the loneliness I felt as I finished dinner.

Afterward, I cleaned up the kitchen and headed outside to work on my project. I now had three little wooden libraries lined up in a row, each painted a different color. Next weekend, I would deliver them around town and install them in front of the bank, the daycare, and the church on Easton Ave.

I loved the work. Loved keeping my hands busy, my mind occupied, and sweating from the physical effort. There was nothing else, not even coaching, that brought me this kind of satisfaction. The smell of sawdust and fresh paint was headier than any cologne. I could have become a carpenter or handyman, but they say the best way to kill your passion for something is to do it as a paid job. I wasn’t sure if that was true because I still loved baseball with all my heart, but I was glad that with woodworking as a hobby and not a career, I was able to pick and choose my projects and finish them at my own pace.

I worked until the sun began setting and the sky turned a dusky navy blue before going inside to shower. When I crawled into bed, I reached for my tablet, scrolling through social media to catch up. I came across the university’s account and paused when I saw my face on the screen. It was that reporter kid, Sean, from the journalism class interviewing the team before the last game.

“Coach Collins, I’m going to ask you the same question I asked each of your players. If you had a sister or a daughter, which player on your team would you allow her to date?”

“None of them,” I smirked.

“Okay,” he laughed. “That’s fair. Let me ask you another question. Describe the perfect date.”

My expression was blank, and you could tell I had been caught off guard by the question. I really needed to do a better job of schooling my features when this kid interviewed me. God, how many people saw these videos? It already had ten thousand likes. Jesus Christ, ten thousand people had listened to me describe the perfect date.

“That’s easy. Tickets to a good game, followed by burgers at Dixon’s Diner, and then we would…” It was a good thing I didn’t finish that sentence on camera.

“What’s that, Coach?”

“Sorry, kid. I’ve got a game to go coach.”

… and then we would go back to my house and fuck in the shower. And then again on my bed. That was the rest of the sentence I didn’t speak out loud. Nothing fancy, no wine or candles, I didn’t care for the movie theater or dinner and a show. Just give me a good game and simple food followed by great sex and I was a happy man.

That was enough internet for tonight. So I checked my messages, just to make sure I hadn’t missed one from Baylor, not that I expected him to reach out or anything. Usually, it was me that started the conversation. Was he waiting for me to do it again? Did he even want to talk to me?

God, why did I sit here and torture myself with these ridiculous thoughts? I couldn’t stand the man!

Most of the time.

I could barely tolerate him long enough to have dinner with him. Powering the tablet down, I returned it to the nightstand, rolled over, and shut my eyes. It was a while before I was able to fall asleep, and when I did, my last conscious thought was of that great sex I wasn’t having in the shower.

Thick steam wrapped my body in a warm hug. My head felt light from the heat. Bracing one hand flat against the wet tile, the other roamed over my chest, tweaking my nipple between my fingers until I felt a sharp stab in my belly. Down my wet skin, over the ridges of my abs, my fingers tangled in my dark pubes, tugging lightly.

“Ahh,” I breathed out.

Rough hands gripped my hips, pulling my body flush against theirs. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the heat on his face, his intense expression burning me alive, hotter than the water pelting my head.

“Let me do that for you,” he offered, reaching for my cock.

Baylor wasn’t asking, he was taking. His rough fist engulfed my shaft, stroking up and down unhurriedly. I looked down at the water sluicing off my shaft. His hand glided easily over my length, building the most delicious burn in my belly. He cupped my balls in the heat of his palm.

“How hard do you want me to squeeze?”

Without waiting for an answer, his fist began to close around my sac, the pressure increasing until it became uncomfortable. Just when I couldn’t take more, he tugged lightly, pulling the globes away from my body to stem all sensation, good and bad.

I was hungry for more.

“Touch me,” I begged.

His teeth sank into my shoulder, biting lightly, but deep enough to leave a mark. He sucked dark welts into my neck, sucking hard and then lapping at my bruised skin with his tongue.

“You taste so good.” His voice was rough in my ear, sending shivers throughout my body despite the heat.

Without warning, Baylor spun me around and dropped into a squat, his mouth level with my dick. He glanced up at me with a wicked look before his tongue snaked out to tease my tip. He lapped up the clear bead of fluid seeping at the tip.

“If I suck you hard enough, will I get more?”

“Fuck yes,” I hissed, grabbing the base of my cock. I traced his parted lips with the tip. My eyes hooded with pleasure when he held out his tongue. I slapped my cock against it repeatedly before shoving inside his mouth.

My knees shook with pleasure. My balls swelled. I could feel my heart beating in my throat. Baylor used his wicked mouth to work my cock and balls over thoroughly, so I had to brace my weight against the wall to keep upright. He swallowed around my girth, and I felt his throat convulse and sagged against the wall.

I was either going to cum or pass the fuck out.

“Do that again,” I ordered.

Baylor took me to the back of his throat and swallowed, and I felt the spasms in my balls. My seed flooded his mouth, giving me a rush of pleasure so strong my head felt woozy. I glanced down in time to watch him swallow every drop before licking his lips clean.

“Turn around,” he ordered, coming to his feet.

Baylor grasped the base of his cock and stroked himself, preparing to fuck me. I turned toward the wall and braced my weight, widening my legs. The tip of his cock pushed against my virgin hole, making goosebumps rise over my flushed skin.

His wet tongue lapped at my face, bathing my cheek in drool. Sticky, stinky drool. He whined low and?—

My eyes fluttered open. God, he was hairy. “Rawlings!”

Fuck, my fantasy popped like an overfilled balloon, leaving me disappointed and unsatisfied. It was so good, though. Baylor was a great fuck, even in my dreams.

Too bad we weren’t fucking.