9. Casey

CHAPTER NINE

CASEY

My jaw cracked loudly as I yawned widely. I slept for shit last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face behind my lids. My cock was uncomfortably hard thinking of his wicked tongue licking that pickle like he’d licked my cock that night. God, I’d love to feel his mouth on me again.

Ain’t gonna happen. If ever there was a one-and-done guy, it’d be Baylor fucking Buchanan.

Sifting through the long-sleeve compression shirts, I grabbed a white and a gray off the rack in a size XL. Despite it being spring, it was still chilly at night, and these would keep me warm beneath my jersey. The men’s apparel section of the sporting goods store was rather small. Mostly, they specialized in equipment. I was headed toward the registers when I passed a familiar face that had me doing a double take.

Jesus Christ, he’s everywhere! I can’t get away from him .

Baylor was flirting with a cute brunette, flashing his megawatt smile to make her laugh. There was no way I could walk past them without acknowledging him. I would look like a total ass.

I refused to let him make an ass out of me!

“Buchanan,” I greeted with a nod. It wasn’t until I got closer that I could see he was holding several pairs of colorful jockstraps in his hand.

“Collins,” he said happily. “Are you picking out underwear as well? Sarah might give you a hand. She’s been very helpful .”

My cheeks flamed. I hated how he stressed the word helpful. Just how helpful had she been? Who the hell needed help to pick out underwear?

“I’m good, thanks.” I held up the compression shirts to prove my point.

Baylor grabbed a pair of boxers from the rack. They were black with flaming baseballs on them. “If I recall, I think these might be your size.” His gaze traveled down to my crotch, and the damn thing twitched for him like a puppy, begging for a treat.

I have a traitorous cock—and a traitorous dog.

Is nothing loyal anymore?

He thrust them at me, and I grabbed them to shut him up. Knowing him, he’d start waving them proudly for all to see just to embarrass me.

I turned to leave, but he stopped me. “You hungry? We could grab a bite to eat. Dixon’s Diner has seriously delicious pickles.”

I hated him. Hated his smirking, gorgeous face. Hated how easily he sparred with me and how much he seemed to enjoy it. Hated his… everything!

Baylor winked. “Cat got your tongue, Coach?”

“Next time you eat a pickle, I hope you choke on it.” That was my best parting shot? Jeez, I need help. His laughter followed me down the aisle.

I seriously hated him.

After dinner, I took the sporting goods bag to my room to put my new shirts away. Reaching into the bag, my fingers brushed against cool, silky fabric. I pulled out the pair of black boxer shorts and snorted. They were the most ridiculous pair of underwear I’d ever seen. Tossing them onto my bed, I ignored them and put my shirts away, then grabbed a hot shower. The scalding hot water lessened some of the tension I’d been carrying with me all day since running into Baylor at the store. Running my hand over my soft cock, I remembered the way it twitched for him.

Do not think about him in the shower.

Do not think about him while touching your cock.

You can get through this shower without singing Old MacDonald.

I made it without shouting his name while coming down the drain, but when I climbed into bed, those damn boxer shorts were still there, taunting me. I reached out to touch them, so smooth and silky. So soft, just like his skin. How were we so good together in bed, and so bad together out of it? It made no sense. In fact, the only reason I couldn’t stop thinking about him had to be because he was the last body I sank my cock into and I was horny. Beyond horny. Not to mention I kept running into him everywhere.

Gripping the black silk, I wrapped it around my cock and began to jack my shaft. Still engorged from the heat of the shower, the silky slide of the fabric over my sensitive skin made goosebumps rise across my thighs. I spread them wider, planting my feet on the mattress, and quickened my strokes.

Thoughts of Baylor danced through my head, wearing nothing but the burgundy jockstrap I saw in his hands today. Or maybe the navy blue one. It was his big, calloused hand stroking my dick. His lips parted, waiting for a taste of my cum to land on his tongue. I remembered the way he sucked me that night in bed, savoring my cock slowly, like he was enjoying the taste too much to rush. What I wouldn’t give to be fucking his mouth right now.

A jolt of pleasure made my thighs twitch, and my balls draw up tight, and I came in a hot rush into the wadded-up black silk. I lay there, trying to catch my breath, waiting for my heartbeat to slow, and cursing myself for allowing the fantasy of him to bring me off.

Again .

Fuck it. I grabbed my phone.

I stared at the blank screen for five full minutes, thinking of what I wanted to say. I had no clue why, but I just felt the overwhelming urge to reach out and connect with him.

The boxers are a great fit.

If I had to think of him wearing those damn jockstraps, let him think of me wearing nothing but black silk.

Buck:

I have great taste.

I don’t know about that. They look ridiculous, even though they fit well.

Buck:

Are you in bed?

What kind of question was that?

Are you?

Buck:

I am. Guess what I’m wearing?

Jesus Christ.

Is this the part where you send me a dick pic?

Buck:

Do you want me to send you one? Can’t stop thinking about it, can you?

You’re ridiculous, just like these boxers. I’m going to bed .

What are the chances that he’ll send a dick pic, anyway?

Buck:

If I call right now, would you answer?

No! Good night.

Just thinking of connecting with him over the phone, hearing his smooth voice caress my ear, made my heart rate shoot sky-high. It was easier to keep him at a distance if we just texted. My reasoning was ridiculous, but it was all I had. I really needed to hit up that dating app and find someone to replace Baylor Buchanan before this preoccupation with him got out of hand.

Leaning over the side of the bed, I glanced down at my dog lying on her doggy bed. She raised her head and looked back at me with her sad puppy dog eyes. I patted the empty spot beside me.

“Come on, girl. Come up here and keep me company.”

Rawlings didn’t need to be told twice. She bounded up on the mattress and plopped down in a hairy golden pile beside me, licking my hand as I tried to pet her.

Canine company was better than no company at all. And certainly better than an uptight prick of an umpire.