Playball

Friday

Do I like yoga? Hell no. Do I believe it could be a valuable tool in dealing with stress? Absolutely. Am I willing to try just about anything to stop myself from feeling like I may break a few laws, including but not limited to kidnapping and the administration of truth serum? Even yoga.

But, as Grandma Locke once told me, good things come to those who—nope, not that one. There’s no harm in trying, right? Well, shit, neither of those applies in the situation. But ya see, what happened is this …

The Steel brothers and their crew were busting on each other—as they do—about a thrown-together slow-pitch softball game that they were playing tonight against “the girls.” Amias was getting razzed about not being able to play because his body is owned by the Jags, and Zandor was telling him that he’s got a few moves he never taught him. Amias asked me if I wanted to come watch a bunch of chicks take down the Steel version of the Jersey Ballbusters. I was on the fence, you know, because who knew when Gwendolyn York was gonna blow in and insist on riding my face or dick. Until, fate, that beautiful bitch, caused him to tell me, “Roman’s idea; he’s wooing.”

The girls. Softball. Gwendolyn York on the field.

Sold! To the man who can’t seem to tell her no … even if it wrecks him.

Parked and unloaded, AJ, Nour, Turner, and myself head toward the field. We get to the first baseline as the girls are running in from a warm-up.

Turner lifts his nose in the air and inhales deeply. “I smell couture cunt.”

“What the fuck, Turner? You can’t say shit like that,” Nour snaps.

AJ scrubs a hand over his face, hiding his grin.

Turner swats at the air and asks me, “You hear a rookie buzzing around here?”

“Might wanna be more careful around here. She’s probably Steel adjacent.”

He shakes his head. “They were her words, not mine. She has a Cartier diamond for her hood piercing.”

“And how do you know this?” Nour asks.

“A man never kisses and tells.”

Laughing, I look up at the sky. “You’re lucky you’re a good-looking man with a fat bank account, because you got robbed in the smarts department, Turner.”

We head to where Roman is standing, and Marks—fucker—waves me over.

Fucking great, I think as we head to him.

“Placing bets. Cyrus said to leave it open for you four. Guys or girls, buy-in’s a hundred.”

I pull out a wad of Benjamins. “Two on Walton’s finest.”

“Makes no sense to lay two down.” Marks shakes his head.

I leave it there, anyway. “Not much has made sense as of late.”

He shakes his head. “Time has a way of working things out. Remember who she is. The harder you push, the harder she’ll pull.”

What the fuck?

“You telling me?—”

“I’m team Gwen all day, every day. Whatever makes her happy.”

“That’s a cop thing. You get trained on how to dodge questions and leave people more confused than they were before they asked?”

He smirks briefly. “It’s not a skill; it’s a gift.”

“Yeah, well, it’s fucking annoying.” I clench and release my fists. “Give me an answer to one question.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You in love with Gwendolyn York?”

He looks me dead in the eye. “Love her like a sister.”

“You’re not her brother.”

“Not all families look the same.” His eyes narrow. “You’re getting this for free, and you leave it right here.”

Might be a fool’s move, but I nod.

“Deb and my mom, they’ve been together for years, so when I say like a sister, that’s exactly what she is to me. That also means if you fuck her up, I will ruin your life.”

No sane man would find comfort in a threat, but I’m clearly not sane these days.

He rolls his eyes. “Go grab your boys and tell them to pull a Benjamin out and place a bet.”

Once that’s done, we head to the bleachers, and I’m wondering how the fuck I missed Deb was gay, wondering if that’s another thing Gwendolyn didn’t fully disclose, like the fact her father’s family is fucking loaded. Searched that shit on the web the other night because five mil is a lot of fucking money, and who the hell puts the condition of being married to get a trust fund?

I slide in next to Roman and Pope and shake the shit off, zone in. Gonna enjoy a day off. The fucking weather.

Abe O’Donnell is pitching, Jase is on first base, Justice is on second, Zandor is on third, Xavier is at short, and Cyrus is catching. Outfield is Ranger, Max, and I think Brand Falcon, Jase’s country star son-in-law.

“You recording?” Rome asks Pope, who leans over his shoulder and shows him the screen.

I see Chloe, and she is beaming.

“You did this?” she asks.

“My idea to do something as a group, but when I mentioned batting cages to Abe O’Donnell, he set this in motion,” Rome tells her.

Kid’s good. Really fucking good.

The girls run in, now up for bat.

“Batter up!” Amias, who’s umping the game, yells.

Zandor walks up, holding a wooden bat.

They talk shit for a second before the girl gets on the mound.

“Oh my God, Bekah, look at that butt,” comes from Xavier’s wife, and she and Zandor’s wife, Bekah, laugh when he shakes his ass.

“Strike one!” Amias calls.

“Who the hell is that pitching?” AJ asks.

I shake my head because I have no fucking clue.

“Cora,” Rome answers.

“She’s got a hell of an arm on her,” Nour comments.

“She’s got a hell of a lot of things.” AJ chuckles.

I zone out and watch Gwendolyn on third base, decked out in Lulu, crouched down, eye on the pitcher, Cora.

“Strike two!” Amias yells.

“Z, what the hell are you doing?” Jase laughs.

“Don’t go easy on us!” Whit yells in. “We’re going to kick your asses fair and square!”

“Mrs. Pope”—Zandor shakes his head—“you might want to tell her to take it easy on us. Jesus, girl, where did you learn to pitch?”

“I think you should just focus on the ball, Mr. Steel,” Cora says all too politely right before she throws another.

“Strike three, old man. You’re out!” Amias calls.

Cora strikes Jase and Xavier out next.

She’s good, real good.

The girls run in, and whatever sports bra she’s wearing, I wanna shred because her tits aren’t bouncing even a little, which is bullshit.

I hear Turner say, “Hey there, Francesca.”

“Turner,” she acknowledges him without even looking toward us.

“Swear I’m in love,” he sighs.

“You do that a lot,” I point out. No lie; he has three ex-wives and like six kids. He’s a good man and takes care of them, but not at a level that will be sustainable when his career ends.

“Locke, what’s up?” I turn to see the chick I was chilling with at the concert standing right fucking there.

She’s fucking gorgeous—tall, dark, thin, and perfectly put together.

“Dromida O’Donnell.” She holds out her hand.

I give it a shake. “Memorable name.”

“You didn’t ask that night.” She smiles.

“If I remember correctly, neither did you.”

She lifts a shoulder. “Tell you the truth, I didn’t much care.”

“Burn,” AJ snickers.

“You playing tonight?” I ask just to make polite conversation.

“I’m not sure. You tell me?”

AJ nudges me and whispers, “Say yes. Fuck, please say yes. She’s hot as fuck.”

“You’re a gorgeous woman, no doubt a heartbreaker. And here we are, surrounded by men and women I think you may be related to.”

“You afraid I’d tell them you lack stamina?” She winks.

“I’m afraid you’d put me to shame, and shame is not a place I like to be put.” I give her a smile.

“See you around, player.”

“Good luck tonight, Miss Steel Adjacent.”

“What the fuck? You literally just turned down couture cu?—”

“Not gonna ask who the fuck you’re talking about, Tereira, but I will advise you shut it the fuck down,” Amias Steel hisses from behind us.

“Fuck, man, sorry.” AJ holds his hand to his heart.

“Respect, man.” Amias glares at him.

AJ starts to open his mouth, probably to explain himself, and I hit my knee against his. “Nope. Just shut it down.”

“But—”

“Nope.”

“Fuck,” he grumbles.

I glance back to see who else may have heard him, and I see Gwendolyn York roll her eyes and walk away.

Well, shit, I think, knowing damn well she heard at least part of the interaction between Dromida O’Donnell and myself.

And you know, I’m not sure I want to correct her assumption if she has one. Fate may do me a solid and let her believe this is the part of our story where the third-act breakup occurs. This would send her off to frolic in a forest full of cherry blossom trees, pondering the what-ifs before tripping over a baseball and having that lightbulb moment.

Gwendolyn’s a leftie, so I don’t get to watch that ass drop from this angle. Even when it was on a bigger field, I always tried to sit where I could see her pretty face as she got in her stance. I was always in awe of how relaxed and graceful she looked.

She takes her place at the plate and plants her feet firmly in the dirt. She holds the bat with a relaxed yet firm grip. Not a damn thing has changed. Her stance is balanced, knees slightly bent, shoulders squared off to the pitcher. And then, a nod to the pitcher, and she locks in. Only when he’s winding up do her muscles tense in anticipation. Then, in one fluid motion, she swings.

The bat cracks against the ball and sails to leftfield, just behind where Brandon anticipated it was going, and it drops to the ground.

In a blink, she’s overrunning first, and her teammates are all cheering her name. A smile plays on her lips until she sees me clapping. Then she rolls her eyes.

Fawna, the owner of O’Donnell’s Pub, Abe’s daughter, and yep, Dromida’s sister, is up next. She hits a grounder, which is scooped up by X. He hesitates but tosses it to Justice, who reluctantly tosses it short, and Fawna is safe.

Next up, another dark-skinned beauty. They’re cheering her name—Nikki. Abe pitches it in nice and easy, and she taps it right into Abe’s glove.

“Hit me home, Shaw!” Gwen yells as CeCe steps to the plate.

Abe’s pitch to her is beautiful, yet she doesn’t swing.

“CeCe, that was a gift!” he calls to her.

“You might not want to do that again, Mr.—”

“It’s Abe, kid,” he cuts her off.

“Strike one,” Amias mumbles.

She smirks, steps back, and does all that again.

He pitches a little outside, but she steps into it and nails it.

By the time I look away from the ball soaring over their heads, Gwen’s rounding third and heading home.

Jumping up and down, she’s screaming, “Go, go, go!”

“Oh my God, really?” Fawna squeals as she runs home, making it in right before the ball lands in Cyrus’s glove.

Abe jogs in and gives her a squeeze. “Good sprint, little deer.”

Nikki pulls her away. “She gets that from her mom.”

Pope leans over and tells Roman, “She ran track in high school.”

“How the hell do you know that?” he asks.

“We know every sport any of them ever played. Zandor was best at baseball, but he was more interested in flipping skirts.” I smile.

“That’s rich,” Gwen says, and I turn and look at her as she cracks open a bottle of water.

“That some passive-aggressive dig at me, Gwendolyn?”

She looks at Pope. “Tell him to fuck off.”

He looks at me. “York says to fuck off.”

“Thanks. I didn’t catch that.”

“There’s a story here.” Dromida nudges her. “Spill.”

She shakes her head. “Nah.”

I ride the most pathetic heights the rest of the game because she acknowledged me.

The game ends in a tie, and then I hop down and help Amias and Rome gather equipment.

Amias whistles loudly, gaining everyone’s attention. “The game was tied. I could hand back Benjamins, or we could leave your bets in a pot for the next game.”

“You placed bets on the game?” Gwen huffs. “I want names of who bet against, um …” She looks at the girls. “What’s our team name?”

“Powder Puffs,” I suggest.

She looks at Pope, brow arched.

Shit-ass grin on his face, Pope looks at me. “York says to fuck off.”

* * *

“Beer?” I ask as Rome walks up the stairs to his back deck.

“One sounds good.” He takes the Crawford Bock.

“Best beer in the world.”

“So I’ve heard.” He sets it down and hands me the pup’s leash. “Hold Elle while I get her food.”

“We’ll be here.” I lean down and run my hand down her coat. “You have a good time at the game?”

She doesn’t answer, of course, but whatever.

“One day, I’m gonna have a couple of you. Gotta be willing to travel, though. Got lots of places to visit.”

She puts her little paws on my lap.

“That’s right; don’t be shy. Come right out and tell me you want more attention.”

Roman walks out as Elle and I are bonding and sets her dishes down. Then he hooks her up on a run, grabs the beer, sits down, and throws his feet up on the railing.

“What do you think?”

“I think you need to step up your game.” He nods toward the house and laughs. “You might want to write whatever you’re feeling in a note since she won’t talk to you.”

“Gwendolyn only responds to one thing when it comes to me.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?”

“Orgasms.”

He nearly chokes on his beer. “Probably need to use your words before you get to that point, yeah?”

“Nope, just need to open the door and let her in.”

“Come again?”

“She and Marks take shifts over at CeCe’s?”

He nods, confirming my suspicions that it has to have something to do with her.

“When hers is up and if I’m home, she’s riding my dick or my tongue.”

“Since when?” he asks.

“Every night I’ve been here.”

“Wait—isn’t she dating?—”

“She might be, but that’s got nothing to do with me.”

“Locke.” He palms his face.

“What?”

“Fuck, man, I don’t know, but I sure as hell wouldn’t be eating pussy that’s been getting it from somewhere else.”

I shrug. “Still tastes like mine.”

“I have not a clue where to go with this, and it’s not my business, but you’re obviously in need of an ear and some advice.”

“Just came for the beer and the pup.”

“Not calling bullshit, but I’ll tell you a story, and you can do with it what you will.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I haven’t kissed Red’s lips since I’ve been back because she’s not pushed up on her little toes and demanded it. It’s fucking killing me, too, but she needs that control over us, and I’m giving it to her. But when she backs away, acts like she’s gonna end it, I remind her how we feel about each other and assure her I’m not going anywhere.”

“Not following the lesson in this one, Hart.”

“She’s got all the control, and you just let her have it.”

“She might need it, just like CeCe does.”

“Might be true, but she needs to know you aren’t just a dick or a tongue to ride.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“She comes knocking, tell her you want more.”

“She knows that,” I growl.

“You have history, deep history. Fix what was broken. Make her fix what she broke or let him win what could be the biggest game of your life, man.”

“Fuck him. That motherfucker knows she and I have always had this thing. He’s not fucking her; he’s fucking me through her. It’s a game to him. One he’s played with many others. He doesn’t get to hurt her.”

“You need to tell her that.”

“Told me I wasn’t allowed to speak to her again. Then she pushed me down on the couch, rode my dick, and left.” I pull my feet off the railing, toss the empty in the cooler, and grab another. “Don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

“All right, let’s talk about tomorrow’s games,” he suggests.

I scrub a hand over my face and lean back. “Question.”

“Shoot.”

“You in love with CeCe Shaw?”

“I’m in deeper than I’ve ever been before with anything in my life.”

“But not love?” I ask.

“That will be something I admit to her first.” He winks. “Not you.”

“You’re fucked.” I hold my beer out.

He taps his to mine. “Pot, meet kettle.”