17. Casey

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CASEY

“Come on!” I scrubbed my face, hoping that when I looked out onto the field again, I was watching a different game. “What is he doing out there, Marley?”

“Tanner, Coach?”

“No, not Tanner. Blue! He can’t be serious.” Why had I been under the false impression that just because Baylor had submitted to me in the bedroom, he would be nicer to me on the field? Nothing could be further from the truth. Then again, he was also giving Marcus’s team the same bad calls. Poor judgment ran in the man’s blood.

Baylor blew his whistle, motioning for my runner to return to second base.

“He stole that fair and square!”

Marley shrugged and sighed. “It’s going to be a long game, Coach.”

I reached for my bottle of antacids, popping a handful in my mouth. “It sure fucking is,” I agreed.

If we lost this game, that would put Marcus’s team ahead of us. We weren’t out of the running for the World Series, but we also weren’t looking our best.

“Objectively, it was a close call, Coach,” Marley said, playing the Devil’s Advocate.

“Bullshit. Keep that up and you’ll be coaching from the parking lot,” I warned. Marley laughed. He was used to my empty threats by now. Austin was up to bat. He widened his stance and raised the bat above his shoulder, ready to put some power into his swing. “Come on, Healey. Show them what you got!”

The Cougars’ pitcher threw a fastball, but Austin struck it with his bat, the crack reverberating across the field. “Hell, yeah!”

It was a close call as he ran all out for first base. Baylor motioned that he was safe as his cleat touched the plate just as the first baseman caught the ball. It was the first time this evening I hadn’t wanted to throttle him.

“There you go, Coach,” Marley encouraged, clapping me on the back. “We’re making a comeback.”

“We’ll see about that,” I grumbled, taking a swig of diet soda to wash down the chalkiness of the antacids.

I looked out across the field, my gaze colliding with Baylor’s. I couldn’t stop remembering his mouth wrapped around my cock, his face covered in frothy saliva, and his eyes, red-rimmed and teary. He gagged so beautifully for me, and he fucking loved it. How had I found a man brand new to cocksucking, who loved it so immediately and intensely?

Baylor was… addicting. A recurring thought I couldn’t shake .

I thought of him night and day—when I was working, when I was driving, when I was coaching. I couldn’t get him out of my head.

I wanted more. I had to have another night with him. Inside him.

We stayed up to bat for two more hitters, giving Austin a chance to cross home plate. The RBI gave us a slight lead over the Cougars. “If we win this game, I’ll do the chicken dance.”

“Really, Coach?” Bandy, my left fielder, had overheard.

“Sure, Bandy,” I joked, trying to force my mood to lighten.

My good mood didn’t last long, though. Austin was pitching, and his confidence was clearly shaken after the last two Cougars at bat hit on his first pitch. He was running through his warm-up routine again and again, rotating his neck, shifting his weight from his left foot to his right, and flexing his fingers around the ball. He threw a warm-up pitch to Flanders, his catcher, and they went back-and-forth about five or six times before Baylor blew his fucking whistle.

“Damn, I’d like to shove that thing down his throat,” I muttered under my breath, taking to the field. I stomped across to the pitcher’s mound, where Baylor was talking to Austin.

“He’s out of time, Coach. He’s got to throw the next ball.”

“Bullshit! The new rules state that a pitcher who was already in the game gets unlimited warm-up pitches, not to exceed the two-minute lapse between innings.” I checked my stopwatch. “He’s got thirty seconds left, starting now,” I emphasized, clicking the button in front of his face. “Learn the fucking rules of the game, Blue.”

He got right up in my face, lowering his voice. “Don’t make me throw you out again.”

“I wish you fucking would,” I dared him. I would make him suffer on his knees with his wrists tied behind his back the next time we were alone.

“You’ve got thirty seconds, Austin,” Baylor warned, backing away from the mound.

“Good job, Coach,” Marley praised, smacking me on the back as I entered the dugout.

“All right, Coach!” my team cheered, throwing popcorn and balled-up bubble gum wrappers at me.

“Settle down. Austin’s confidence is shaken, and if he doesn’t get it back, this game is lost.”

The boys gathered at the fence with me, almost crowding me out as they cheered Austin.

“Come on, Healey! Show him what you’ve got. Give him the cannon.”

The next time Baylor blew his whistle, Austin was out of time. He looked up at the night sky, probably asking the baseball gods for a miracle, and then ran through his warm-up routine once more before letting the ball rip.

“Strike!” Baylor shouted.

“Yes!”

The next was called a ball before he threw another strike. He wound his arm back and let loose, the ball rocketing across the distance, and right through the strike zone.

“Strike three,” Baylor called. As the Cougars’ batter shuffled back to his dugout with his head hung low, my boys went wild, shouting Austin’s name, and pitching ice at him from their drinks. I breathed a sigh of relief, giving Marley a high five. The Muskrats had won eight to six.

We were still leading the standings.

“Coach, you’ve got to do the chicken dance,” Bandy shouted, getting all the boys to join in.

Oh, fuck no! “Don’t you know the difference when I’m kidding or not?”

“No?” he asked. “You gotta do it, Coach. You’ll jinx us if you don’t.”

If there was one thing baseball players took seriously, it was superstition and luck.

“Oh, come on, you can’t be serious.” I looked at the faces of my team, each one of them smiling and looking hopeful. “Fucking A!”

Marley cackled. “I bet there’s a chicken suit in the clubhouse. Want me to check?”

“Don’t you dare,” I threatened. I shook my hips from side to side and flopped my arms for about thirty seconds to satisfy their perverse need to see me humiliate myself.

“No, Coach, you gotta do it out on the field. Get the fans involved.”

Damn, Bandy! “You’re going to be running laps until your legs fall off. I’d watch it if I were you.” He just laughed, pointing to the field. They were all pointing to the field. “Fuck me,” I mumbled, exiting the dugout.

The on-field assistant to the commentator rushed forth. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Coach has to do the chicken dance because we won,” Danby informed him. He relayed the information through his headset, and to my everlasting mortification, they began to play the chicken song over the loudspeaker.

My chest felt tight as I took my position on the pitcher’s mound, and I tried to pretend the crowd was one big blurry blob of children as I strutted my hips and flapped my arms, turning in circles like a mindless chicken. I caught one face, though… Baylor’s . He was grinning like it was his birthday. Fucker . He had to be loving this. The crowd went wild, stomping their feet in the stands, creating a loud echo that rambled through the stadium. It was the most humiliating thing I’d ever done, but fuck it. I was the head coach of a D1 team in first place and we were going to the College World Series. I could stand a little humiliation.

With my phone in hand, I stared at the blank screen for fifteen minutes, debating whether I should call him. I wanted to hear his voice in my ear as I stroked my cock, thinking of all the filthy things I wanted to do to him. I wanted to make sure he remembered his place after getting so high and mighty with me during the game. I wanted?—

My screen lit up with a text.

Buck:

Are you awake?

Of course I was awake! Who could sleep with a raging hard-on?

I’m awake.

Buck:

Congrats on your big win tonight.

No thanks to you

Buck:

You sound bitter, but it’s hard to tell over text.

Buck:

You gonna answer if I call?

Ugh! I was dying for him to call, but I’d rather do the chicken dance again before I admitted it to him.

I guess there’s one way to find out.

A moment later, my phone rang, but I had to hold my finger still through at least two more rings before I allowed myself to answer.

“Hey,” I said, sounding casual.

“Hey,” he returned, sounding intimate and sexy. His voice was low and smooth. He was definitely in bed.

Was he touching his cock like I was?

“That was some dance. I didn’t know you had those moves. You didn’t flaunt them in the club.”

My chuckle was a low rumble. “I didn’t know either. That’s what I get for making a dumb bet.”

“Where’s my girl?”

“Excuse me?” My mood plummeted instantly.

“Rawlings.”

“Oh, she’s right here next to me.” Damn, hearing him ask after her brought me immense satisfaction. I peered over the side of the bed at my baby cozied up on her doggy bed, fast asleep.

“When can I see you again?”

He was feeling bold tonight. I’m glad he asked first. I didn’t want to appear too eager. Ha! More like obsessed.

“Tuesday?”

Baylor sighed. “I have a game on Tuesday.”

“Wednesday?” Those were my only two nights off this week.

“Wednesday works.”

Thank God. “I should be home around seven.”

“You’re not even gonna buy me dinner first? Such a gentleman!”

I laughed. “Fine. Dinner at seven. Then…”

“Ohhh. I hope it’s something good. Like last time.”

“I promise it’ll be even better.”

His husky breath was the only sound for the next minute. Until… “Are you hard?”

His question hit me right in the nuts. “Yeah, are you?”

“Yeah. I’m touching it. I wish it were your hand instead. ”

“Me too.” He was killing me! “I wish this were your mouth instead of my hand.”

“Close your eyes and pretend I’m on my knees, my face a mess, and I’m choking on your cock.”

A sound I didn’t recognize wrenched from my mouth. I stroked my cock faster, spreading my knees wide, and imagined it was Baylor’s mouth. Tight, wet heat enveloped my shaft, bringing me to my knees. I pumped my hips, fucking my fist, fucking his handsome face. A wave of pleasure rolled through my belly, making my muscles spasm.

“Are you gonna fill my mouth, Coach? I’m dying to taste you.”

“Fuck,” I hissed, coming into my fist. “Swallow it, Bitch.”

Baylor chuckled. “You taste delicious.”

“Did you come?” I hadn’t heard him make a sound.

“Yeah, before I even called you,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Now we’re even.”

“Goodnight, Baylor.”

“Night, Coach.”