Chapter 36

Brooks

I don't bother textingMackenzie after the game. I dash home, grab Coco Puff, and head through downtown to get to her apartment.

She's probably flipping out. I need Sarah's number. Her dads' numbers. Hell, I'll take her boss's number too.

I bang on the door, and it opens within four seconds, and there she is.

My girl.

With big, worried blue eyes, her white Fiery Forever T-shirt—huh, it's kinda see-through—and a bag slung over one shoulder.

She opens the door wider. "I was coming to see you. To make sure you're okay."

That stops me short.

For all the shit I've put her through with being an idiot this season, she's worried how I feel.

This passionate, optimistic ray of sunshine is worried about me when I've gone and done the one thing I thought she'd hate me for, and broke my bat to sleep with a woman.

And the weirdest part is, we've become such good friends under all the attraction, I honestly think she'd ask the same if it had been another woman.

Which it won't be.

Ever.

I study her worried eyes, and I nod. "I—yeah. I'm okay. Are you okay?"

Was it fun going oh-for-four tonight at bat? No. Especially when the ump called me out twice on questionable strikes.

But there's more to baseball than batting, and I was a fucking rock star in the field, plus I helped give Jarvis some excellent relationship advice.

Don't mistake me being a virgin for so long for me being a clueless idiot, and dude was headed to idiot-land.

She threads her fingers through mine. "I'm okay if you're okay. I was worried you'd think—you know."

Yeah. I know. I step into her apartment and pull her into my body. "I'm awesome. Hazard of being me."

Coco Puff barks. "You're a rock star! It's your birthday! Happy birthday! You're a rock star!"

That'd be a lot funnier if she wasn't wrapping her arms around me and squeezing like she's afraid I'm going to bolt. "My dads dropped off my old umpire voodoo doll. We can put pins in his back and knees."

Coco Puff growls.

I start snickering, and soon we're both laughing while my puppy watches us like we're insane.

She tugs us farther into her apartment. "What the hell was up with the lights? Tripp and Lila won't answer my texts and Beck swears he didn't get any answers out of them either."

"Cooper says the stadium's too old."

"Ugh. Sarah said the same. Why did Lopez get caught on camera spitting out his drink the fourth inning?"

"Dunno."

She shoves me on the couch and straddles me. "You were standing right there with that look."

"What look?" Better question, who cares? I have a lady who smells like Cracker Jacks stroking my chest with one hand and petting my puppy with the other.

"That look. You said something funny to him and made him choke on his Gatorade."

"What happens in the dugout stays in the dugout."

"Are you serious right now?"

"I have a very sensitive heart, and I need to know you'd still like me even if I didn't have all the inside dugout scoop."

Truth? I'll tell her anything she wants to know. Even filed away about a dozen stories about my day that I'm dying to share, because I know they'll make her laugh.

She grimaces. "This would be so much easier if you weren't a baseball player."

And that's easily the sweetest thing she's ever said to me, because of all the people in the world who should want to date a baseball player, it's Mackenzie, but she likes me for all the other reasons besides me being a baseball player.

I think I just got complicated.

But my heart's glowing and I can't stop smiling, and this isn't because she was the first woman I've ever gone all the way with.

It's because she throws herself headfirst into everything she does with the kind of passion you don't find every day. It's because she has so much heart her body can barely contain it. It's because I know how easy it would be for a heart like that to hurt, and I will move heaven and earth to make sure that she doesn't hurt.

Ever.

She has more belief in her pinky finger than most people have in themselves and all their relatives combined.

I want her to be my first, last, and only.

Her frowny face is getting frownier. "That wasn't supposed to be funny."

"You're so fucking perfect."

Where I expect her to roll her eyes and tell me she's not, instead, all those frownies disappear behind a soft smile that says it doesn't matter that I didn't get a single hit tonight.

Because I hit a home run with her.

Don't we all want to be perfect to someone? And loved for who we are under the jerseys we wear?

"You're going to hit the ball tomorrow."

Her conviction is contagious, and I smile even bigger. "Yes, ma'am, I most definitely am."

"I should really try harder to resist you."

She slips her hands under my shirt and pushes it up my chest, then follows her hands with her tongue.

Thank fucking god.

She still wants me.

And she's not resisting wanting me.

Mackenzie Montana is seducing me.

One kiss, one touch, one little happy noise at a time.

She doesn't stop me as I tug her shirt off and treat her to the same pampering she's giving me.

Nope.

She reaches between us and strokes my rock-hard dick through my shorts, and fuck, this isn't enough.

Not nearly enough.

"Ms. Montana, are you trying to ruin me?"

"Absolutely."

Her playful smile makes my dick strain harder than he's ever strained before, and instinct takes over my body as I swoop her over my shoulder and carry her into her bedroom while she shrieks with laughter.

Coco Puff dances behind us, barking for playtime.

"You're the best! You can do it!" his collar cheers, and Mackenzie and I both crack up.

"Can we get one in Fireball sayings?" I ask as I toss her onto her bed.

"I love when you talk dirty to me."

I love shucking my pants and crawling onto the bed with her. Having her tackle me with a kiss and roll so she's on top.

Her kisses.

Her moans.

Her heart.

She's seen me at my worst. She's brought me back from my worst.

She's getting my best now, and it doesn't matter how little experience I have.

She fits. I fit.

Nothing in my life has ever felt this right.

Pretty sure I love everything about this woman.

She pulls out of the kiss and pushes up, stroking my chest. "If baseball didn't exist, what would you be doing right now?"

"You."

"I wouldn't know you if it wasn't for baseball." Gentle fingers thread through my hair, and that smile—god, that smile. It puts my dick on edge and ready to explode.

Good thing she's willing to give me a lot more practice.

"I would still want you."

She rewards me with the kiss to end all kisses. The one that's not lips and tongues and teeth, but hopes and dreams and dancing souls.

The home run of kisses.

The grand slam of kisses.

The kiss that says this is my gift to you.

The kiss that says I'd want you too even if baseball didn't exist.

Yeah.

I'm done for.

She's my one.

Forever.

And I'm gonna fucking win the whole damn season for her to prove it.