32. Dusty

When Tyson Kyle strikes out, I grab my mitt, following Skyler out of the dugout.

Bo and Josh take a detour towards the stands and then, one by one, the rest of our ragtag team follows. Skyler watches, tossing his hands in frustration. “Really? It’s not even the fifth inning.”

“I think that’s all she wrote, bud.”

I slap him on the arm and turn towards the stands.

“No respect for the game.”

He mutters, following behind me.

Josh has already taken Erin’s seat, arms locked around her waist, pinning her to his lap. Bo leans on the stand’s railing, standing over Andy like a caveman. Marnie sits in between the girls, looking tiny and put out.

And sexy as fuck. Those little black shorts barely cover her ass, and they were the first thing I saw when she climbed out of her car. It’s been a physical struggle to keep my eyes on the game when all I want to do is throw that girl over my shoulder and take her somewhere quiet.

I stride towards her, pulling up short as I get closer, not sure how to play things. Usually, if I want a woman, I just dive in, going straight for the kill. I don’t really care if people are looking, because I already have a reputation. I was born with that, so it’s not like I’m worried about falling from grace.

But Marnie doesn’t have a reputation and I don’t want people whispering about her. So, I hang back, trying to ignore the effect those bare thighs are having on my cock.

But hanging back means people don’t know about the two of us.

And she is fresh meat in a town starved for novelty.

Conversation and laughter swell around me, but I can hardly pay attention. It’s like the Pierson family has banded together to plague me. That trash baby, Trinity Pierson, is talking to Sienna again. His brother, Ben Pierson, is looming over Marnie, making it hard to see her expression. Is she laughing? Frowning? I want to go over there and scoop her up, but the last Pierson is determined to hold my attention.

Shea Pierson, Ben’s little sister, is back from college and trying to make up for lost time.

We may have slept together a time or two. Or five or six. She’s the only repeat customer I’ve ever had, but that’s because she always had a very practical approach to sex. It was always transactional, never clingy. I don’t know if she senses she doesn’t have my full attention, but it’s like she’s viewing it as a challenge. Physically keeping me from getting away by wrapping her hands around my arm.

I’m almost grateful my friends are sitting on either side of Marnie, like two bearded sasquatches. They make it hard to swoop in on the girl.

But that doesn’t stop people from trying. When Ben Pierson snags Marnie’s hand and pulls her to her feet, all bets are off.

Nobody touches my woman.

Closing the distance in two strides, I slide my arm around Marnie’s waist. I disentangle Ben’s hand with my forearm. “I need a ride home.”

She comes right to me, looking a little pissed, but she’s willing. That eases something in me, a question that was forming like a hard ball in my stomach. I wasn’t one hundred percent sure she would pick me over Ben. The possessive monster in my head lies back down, satisfied that she’s chosen sides.

Winking at Ben over my shoulder, I guide her away. He shakes his head, frowning, but knows better than to go toe to toe with me over a woman.

Marnie lets me lead her a short distance away from the crowd before digging her heels in. She looks annoyed. “You need a ride?”

“Actually, I was thinking about giving you a ride.”

I murmur, stepping closer. “Your cute little shorts have been working overtime, but I think those thighs would look better wrapped around my hips.”

She sucks in a breath, cheeks turning a fascinating rosy shade. “If you want an easy fuck, that leggy blonde over there is yours for the taking.”

I pull back, an uneasy feeling tightening my stomach. “She’s just an old friend.”

“Right.”

She narrows those amber-colored eyes.

I tilt my head. “Are you jealous?”

That does all sorts of things to me. I’m pleased that she was even paying attention. But a surly part of me is all too aware that she is leaving soon.

Leaving me and my life in shambles.

She’s an atomic bomb and I want nothing more than to wrap myself around her.

Clicking her tongue, she rolls her eyes and starts to walk away.

I grab her wrist and gently pull her back. “Hey, don’t walk away mad, baby girl. I want to talk to you.”

“You want to do more than talk.”

She’s right about that. I’ve had her almost every night since I met her and it’s not enough. My blood surges for her. She’s bad for me. Her presence alone means destruction. And still, I’m addicted.

I reel her in closer, closer, fascinated by the way her chest rises and falls. She takes a shaky breath. “I’m not into players, Dusty.”

It would have been better if she’d just slapped me. I let go of her wrist, not liking the weight settling on my shoulders.

She backs up a few steps, looking like she wants to say something. Closing those lips, she winces and turns away.

I like to blame the small-town rumor mill for my reputation. I like to think it’s unfair.

But if this woman, who hasn’t been here long enough to be poisoned by rumors, is calling me the same thing, maybe there’s some truth to it.

Maybe it’s time to call a spade a spade.