Chapter 25

Mackenzie

I basically spendthe entire afternoon holding my breath. Every time a ball bounces Brooks's way at the game, my hands clench into fists, I squeeze my eyes shut but still try to peer through them, and every muscle in my body goes into fight or flight mode. And don't ask how bad it is when he steps up to the plate.

The game isn't even in the second inning before Sarah demands to know what in the hell is wrong with me today.

Politely, I mean.

Sarah's never rude.

"I can't tell you," I whisper to her. "It might curse us more than it already has."

The mascots race through the stands between the third and fourth innings, each carrying a picture of one of the players' faces, and seeing who can get the most people to kiss their favorite player.

Cooper Rock wins by a landslide, naturally.

Brooks isn't even an option, and now I'm wondering if that's good or bad luck for him, because Cooper hit a home run after he won the kissing contest. Maybe the same would work for Brooks?

Or maybe it would be the opposite?

By the fifth inning, I'm wound so tight my neck and jaw are sore, and Sarah's not having it anymore. She marches me past security—they love her here, but then, people love her everywhere—and up to the owners' suite.

It's decorated in Fireballs colors with all-new lighting, paint, furniture, and flooring, with sliding glass doors opening to enough seating for about fifteen on the deck. Tripp and Lila and their kids are all here, along with Beck, his sister, her husband, and their son.

I dig my heels in before the suite door closes behind us. "Sarah, seriously, I cannot talk about this in front of them."

She points to a cozy Fireballs-red leather chair in the corner, which is more orange than red, because Tripp and Lila are changing everything. "Sit. Stay. And don't make me regret the birthday present I'm already planning for you."

It's only loyalty to my oldest non-family friend that has me obeying.

She pokes her head out onto the deck, says something to everyone else, and then slides all the glass doors shut. Then she turns and crosses her arms. "Talk. Now."

"Brooks and I masturbated together this morning."

I bury my face in my hands so I can't see the disappointment in her face, because now that I've come down off the proximity orgasm high, I'm truly ashamed of myself. "I let my sexual desires get in the way of what's best for the team."

"Was it good?"

I peek at her from between my fingers, and I realize she's holding in a laugh. "This isn't funny."

"Mackenzie. He got a hit."

"Only because St. Louis's short stop fumbled the ball."

She sinks into the chair next to mine and pulls my hands away from my face. "It takes two to mutually masturbate. Did he participate because he's trying to punish you for cock-blocking him and he's taking advantage of your feelings to make you feel bad if he performs poorly on the field today, in which case I'll be calling my parents to come join yours in castrating him, or has he finally realized what an amazing woman you are?"

"He asked me to puppysit Coco Puff."

Her eyes narrow. "Did you masturbate with him to talk him into letting you babysit his puppy?"

"I would never."

She's pinching her lips together again like she's fighting a smile. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

My shoulders sag. "Yes. And I love you too. And I'm not ashamed of masturbating with a man. Just of how it's going to impact his game. This isn't like last year's superstitions, Sarah. Or even the rest of my life's superstitions. I have contact with him every day. I influence how he feels every day. I'm one degree of separation from all of the players now, and what if I'm in a bad mood one morning and I can't hide it and I pass him my cosmic anger, and he says the wrong thing to Lopez, who flips off Cooper, who tells Darren that the name he and Tanesha picked for the baby is ugly, and then the whole season goes to crap?"

"The very fact that you'd worry about that being a possibility is why it's not going to happen. Your love for the Fireballs is too pure for you to ever impact the team negatively."

"But I masturbated with Brooks when I know he can only hit a ball because he's stayed a virgin. Like, did I virtually take his virginity? Is his aura no longer a virgin?"

Tripp knocks at the door, and we both jump.

He points at James, his four-year-old, who's doing the potty dance, then shrugs apologetically.

"What did you tell them?" I whisper.

"That we needed a minute."

"Sarah—"

"Cross my heart, I won't even tell Beck."

"I don't deserve you."

"Mackenzie. Yes, you do." She hustles across the suite to let Tripp and James in, and the little boy dashes to the bathroom.

Tripp smiles at me. "I don't know what you're doing for luck these days, Mackenzie, but keep it up. The team's getting there."

I stare at him, because he did not just tell me to mutually masturbate with Brooks before every game.

I know he didn't.

Sarah makes a strangled noise and turns an unusual purple-red that flags Beck's Sarah-is-uncomfortable radar, and he leaps over the back of his chair to charge the room.

Sarah gives him a subtle head-shake that's mostly her eyeballs telegraphing that she's okay while she smiles at Tripp. "Must be Mackenzie's bring back Fiery campaign."

Now Tripp's the one turning interesting colors while she silently dares him to argue. He scrubs a hand over his face when he looks back at me with guilt written all over his face. "Mac…"

"Go on. Tell me it's impossible." I wave a hand. "You know what I have? I have faith. You'll do the right thing."

Sarah lifts a brow at me.

I get it.

I hear her.

Have faith that mutually whacking off with Brooks isn't going to blow the Fireballs' season.

I do. I hear her.

But I have a lifetime of superstitions to contend with if I'm ever going to believe it.