Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

RYLAND

That felt amazing.

So fucking good.

It’s safe to say that I’m addicted to her, and I don’t see that ending anytime soon. It’s only going to get worse.

But I won’t slip up again. This was a special occasion—if that’s how you want to phrase it. I felt like I needed that connection after what happened. It was . . . fuck, it was terrifying. I felt my heart racing as I was trying to find the damn ladder, only for her to slide down and fuck up her thighs.

I still hate myself for it.

So fucking her, giving her what she wanted—hell, what I wanted—it was as if I was giving myself permission to make sure she was okay. And that’s how I knew how to do it on a deeper level. I didn’t want her telling me she was fine—those are just words. I wanted to feel it. I wanted to feel her around me, squeezing me, letting me know she was okay.

And that’s exactly what I got.

Another taste.

Another moment with her that I’ll have to tuck away and not revisit because we do have to keep this platonic.

I finish up in the shower, and when I step out, Gabby’s leaning against the counter in one of my old baseball shirts.

And she looks damn good in it.

I grab my towel from the hook and keep my eyes on hers as I dry off. “Comfortable?”

She nods. “Your shirt smells good.”

For some reason, that causes a surge of pride to pump through me. It shouldn’t. I should not care in the slightest. But hell, knowing she can smell me on her? Yeah, I fucking like that a lot.

I wrap my towel around my waist and watch as her eyes travel over my body, taking in every inch. I don’t blame her. I was doing the same thing when she was in the tub. When I washed her hair, I couldn’t take my eyes off her wet tits and hard nipples, the way her chest heaved, moving them in and out of the water. I was entranced.

Leaving her to look, I head into the bedroom and grab a pair of clean shorts. I drop my towel to the ground, showing off my ass, and slip on the shorts. When I turn around, catching her eyes on me, it takes every ounce of willpower not to capture her mouth with mine.

If I touch those lips, I’ll be a goner.

I have to remain neutral. I allowed this momentary lapse, but now we’re back to friends with no benefits. It will be better, easier.

“You ready?” I ask her as I pick up my phone and check it. I spot a text from Abel saying that he left the arnica gel on her doorstep.

“Ready,” she says as she pushes off the counter and takes one step toward me, but I’m quickly at her side and lifting her into my arms. “You realize how ridiculous this is, right? You can’t carry me everywhere.”

“I can actually,” I say, weaving her through my room, down the stairs, and out the back door to my truck.

Luckily, I remembered to grab her things before we left the field. So I snag her purse and carry her up the steps to her apartment, where I set her down. While she digs out her keys, I pick up the gel. When she finds them, I take the keys from her and unlock the door, only to scoop her back up.

“Bedroom or living room?” I ask as I shut the door behind me.

“Living room is fine.”

I walk over to the couch and lightly place her on the cushion.

“Can I ask you to do me a favor?”

“Yeah, anything,” I say.

“Uh, can you get me a pair of underwear? Not a thong, just a regular pair. From what history has shown us today, you’ll insist on applying that gel, and when you go to spread my legs like you do, I’d rather have a barrier between your hands and my . . . lower half.”

The corners of my lips tick up as I nod. “Yeah, I can do that. Where’s your underwear?”

“Top drawer of my dresser,” she answers.

I head back to her bedroom, where my eyes roam the space. Wow. It’s beautifully decorated. White bed with green and white bedding, nightstands on either side, a matching white dresser, cream-colored rug, green curtains . . . and a fake tree in the corner. It’s put together. It looks like a home in here rather than the jail cell I’m living in.

I need to get my life together.

When I open the top drawer of her dresser, I’m greeted by lace and silk. Bras, thongs, cheeky underwear. She has it all. I sift through the fabric and pull out a pair of black lace underwear. Pleased with my choice, I take it to her in the living room, only for her to stare me down.

“That took you longer than it should have.”

“Wanted to make sure I got you the right pair,” I say as I move in front of her.

“I can put it on myself,” she says as she reaches for it.

“That’s okay, I can do it,” I say with a smirk as I move the underwear down to her feet. On a sigh, careful of her inner thighs, I slip them up her legs, then help her stand where she pulls it up the rest of the way.

“That was my job,” I say.

“I think that’s above your pay grade as a friend.” She sits back down with my help, then spreads her legs and gestures toward them. “For your inspection.”

That makes me chuckle as I squat down and look over her legs. “These are going to bruise bad.” I pick up the arnica gel and open the top. I squirt some on my fingers. “I’ll be gentle.” She sucks in a sharp breath as I start to spread it across her right thigh. “I know, just grin and bear it.” While I spread the gel with one hand, I hold her leg with the other and make soothing strokes with my thumb over her skin, letting her know that I’m not here to hurt her. I’m here to take care of her.

It takes a little bit of time, but once I’m done, I lift and wash my hands in the kitchen sink. Once I dry them off, I ask, “Do you want me to get you anything to drink?”

“Could I have some iced tea? There is a pitcher in my fridge. Cups are in the cabinet next to the fridge.”

“Sure,” I say. I remove the iced tea from the fridge, then pull two cups from the cabinet and fill them up. After returning the iced tea in the fridge, I bring the cups over to the couch and hand her one. When I take a seat next to her, she eyes me.

“What are you doing?”

I grab my phone from my pocket. “How do you feel about sandwiches?”

“Um, what?”

“Sandwiches, do you like them? Figured that would be easy for dinner.”

“Are we having dinner together?”

“I’m hungry, and I don’t feel like making anything, and you sure as hell are not making anything, so I can either order sandwiches for us both, or you can sit there and watch me eat a sandwich in front of you.”

“What a hard decision,” she says sarcastically. “Whatever will I choose?”

I hand her my phone, and I watch her scroll through the options. “What are your thoughts on tuna?”

“Well, if you really want to keep this friends with no benefits, that’s the way to do it.”

She chuckles, then scrolls some more. “You know what? Just a ham and cheese sounds good.”

“Yeah?” I say. “That’s what I get.”

Her brow raises in curiosity. “Are you just saying that?”

“No, of course not. Did you?”

“Do you really think I believe a ham and cheese sandwich is the way to impress a man?”

I shrug. “Times have changed. I don’t know what the youth are doing these days.”

That makes her chuckle again, and hell, I like the sound. “Are you calling me your youth?”

“Well, you’re younger, right?”

“Not that much younger.”

I finish the order and ask, “How old are you?”

“Thirty.”

I slowly nod my head. “Thirty-five. So . . . not bad.”

“We can share the same likes and dislikes of our childhood.”

“We could.” I drape one arm over the back of the couch and then shift to turn toward her. “What was your favorite show growing up?”

“ Muppet Babies ,” she says without giving it much of a thought.

My lip curls. “ Muppet Babies ? Really?”

“Are you judging me?”

“Yes, yes, I am.”

She rolls her eyes. “It was a solid show that made me happy. What did you like? Something lame like . . . Power Rangers ?”

“Uh, Power Rangers was great.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t have this conversation with you because I know that you’re just going to believe that you’re right and I’m wrong.”

“That would be correct.”

She chuckles. “And that’s exactly why we’re not talking about it.”

“Then what do you want to talk about?”

“First of all.” She reaches for the remote, but I help her and hand it over. “I think we need to turn on the Bombers game.”

Christ, a girl after my own heart.

She turns on the TV and doesn’t even have to change the channel as she must have been watching the game last night. The game just started, so the score is zero-zero, but the Bombers are up.

I get comfortable and ask, “Have the Bombers always been your favorite team?”

“They’re not my favorite,” she answers, surprising me.

“Oh wait, you like the Rebels.”

She shrugs. “Not really. I just think Jason Orson is really good.”

“Then who is your favorite team?”

“If I said the Bobbies, what would you say?”

“Fairweather fan. It’s easy to like the Bobbies when they have a high payroll and a shit ton of championships.”

“I knew you were going to say that.” She sips her drink. “Who’s your favorite team?”

“Bombers,” I answer. “I grew up here. It’s the hometown team.”

“Makes sense. I watch the Bombers because Bennett’s on their Triple-A team, and I’m hoping their third baseman gets injured so he’s called up. I’ve never wished for so many pulled hamstrings in my life.”

I laugh. “That would be fucking awesome if he was called up. Shit, I should have been following him. I didn’t know he was with the Bombers minor league system.”

“He was traded last year. It was part of a big trade deal. Worked out because he was with the Texas Hot Dogs, and he hated it there.”

“Oh, that’s right, the Hot Dogs. Fuck, what a terrible draft.”

She laughs. “Yeah, it was brutal. It was right when they went through the rebrand too and chose the new name to get fans more involved. They thought the Hot Dogs was just odd enough that it would work.” She shakes her head. “It did not.”

“No, they have the worst record in baseball, lowest stadium attendance, and they’re the laughingstock of the league. Bennett is lucky he was traded.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

All of a sudden my phone rings, and I glance down at it to see it’s Hattie.

Fear races up my stomach because the only reason she would be calling is if something happened with Mac.

“Hello?” I answer in a panic. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Hattie says. “Sorry about calling, but Mac was missing you, and she wanted to call you.”

“Oh,” I say, the panic slowly easing. “Okay, put her on.”

The phone gets passed from what I can hear and then her little voice comes on. “Uncle Ry Ry.”

“Hey, Mac,” I say. I catch the soft smile that passes over Gabby’s lips. “What’s up?”

“I miss you.”

Fuck my heart.

“I miss you, too,” I say. “Are you not having fun with Aunt Hattie and Uncle Hayes?”

“No, I am, but I still miss you. Don’t you want to sleep over here with me?”

“If I sleep over there with you, then I might eat all the pancakes Uncle Hayes said he’s going to make you in the morning. Then you won’t have any for yourself.”

“You can’t eat all of those pancakes.”

“Oh, I bet I could,” I say.

“That wouldn’t be very nice, Uncle Ry Ry.”

I chuckle. “See, that’s why you don’t want me to spend the night too. I’m the pancake monster.”

She laughs. “No, you’re not.”

“Okay, fine, if I have to prove it to you, then I will. I’m packing my bag now, and I’m headed over. Be prepared to eat no pancakes tomorrow morning.”

Her cute laugh rings through the phone. “No, no pancake monster invited.”

“I don’t need an invitation. I’m just going to show up.”

“You better not, or Chewy Chondra will bite your toe off.”

“Bite my toe off? I don’t think Chewy Chondra’s teeth are strong enough to bite my toe off.”

“She does,” Mac says with conviction. “She’ll bite it right off, then give it to her spiders.”

“No, not the spiders,” I say in a scared voice.

“Yes, the spiders.”

“Well, sheesh, I guess I better stay here, then. That means no pancakes for the pancake monster.”

“Yeah, no pancakes for you.”

“Sad,” I say. “Tell me this, did you get to swim in the pool?”

“Yes, Uncle Hayes got a new floatie, and it’s a horse.”

“What? A horse floatie? You have a horse floatie over there, and you’re missing me? How is that possible?”

“Because I love you,” she says, breaking down every goddamn wall I’ve ever had up.

I smile softly. “I love you, too.”

In the background, I hear Hattie say, “The s’mores are ready.”

“S’mores?” I say. “Uh-oh, the s’mores monster is coming over.”

“No,” Mac shouts into the phone. “You stay there, Uncle Ry Ry. These s’mores are for me.”

I sigh heavily. “Fine, eat two for me.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you,” I say, but I don’t think she hears it because the phone is shuffled around again, and Hattie comes on.

“Pancake monster?”

I chuckle. “I don’t know. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Seemed to work, though. Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she just got sad out of the blue, kind of weird but also good.”

“Good?” I ask.

“Yeah, because she’s attached, and that’s a good thing, Ryland. A very good thing.”

I swallow hard, feeling overwhelmed by the responsibility of that sentence. “Okay.” I swallow back the tightness in my throat. “Well, let me know if she needs to chat or if she really does need me to come spend the night.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s already snuggling up against Hayes outside.”

“Okay. Well, thanks. Bring her with you tomorrow when you come over to help out.”

“Of course. And just by chance, what are you doing tonight?”

Not wanting to get into it, I say, “Goodbye, Hattie.” Then I hang up on her and set my phone down next to me. I look over at Gabby and say, “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize.” Her lips twist to the side, and I can tell she wants to say something she’s not saying.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“What are you not saying?”

She tugs on her still wet hair and says, “It’s just cute, hearing you talk to her. You’re really sweet with your niece.”

“Would you prefer I tell her if she calls me again she’s sleeping under the stairs?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “No. I’m just saying it’s sweet. You seem to handle it very well, and she’s incredibly lucky to have you.”

I shift uncomfortably because it isn’t easy for me to take compliments. When I was growing up, compliments were not a thing in my household. Our mom died of breast cancer, same as Cassidy, and our dad was an alcoholic. I was left with Cassidy to be the parent of Hattie and Aubree while consequently getting the brunt of our father’s abuse. Nothing about our house was loving other than the love Cassidy shed on all of us. I’m pretty sure she’s the only reason I’m still here, that, and Hattie and Aubree.

“Thanks,” I say softly, looking toward the screen to distract myself.

“I made you uncomfortable,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

“Can you stop apologizing?” I say. “Jesus, Gabby, there’s nothing to be sorry about.” My tone is harsher than I anticipated, and I can tell it is by the expression on her face.

“Okay, I’ll stop.”

She turns toward the TV as well, and I hate myself even more. This is exactly why I don’t enter into romantic bullshit because I have fucking issues. I have anger issues. I cannot regulate my emotions, and I don’t know how not to be an asshole when I’m stressed or uncomfortable.

I drag my hand over my mouth, and in an annoyed tone—annoyed with myself—I say, “Fuck, now I have to apologize. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

“It’s fine, Ryland.”

“It’s not,” I say. “I’m just . . . I’m not good at taking compliments.”

“I can see that.” She turns toward me, her eyes like a beating heart, offering me a lifeline with their understanding. “You can be real around me. You realize that, right? If you snap at me, you snap at me. It’s not going to change my opinion of you, but I will call you out if I don’t approve. I know what it’s like to have baggage. I know what it does to you as a human, and it’s baggage you never should have been carrying in the first place. I understand you, but know, if I apologize, it’s because I mean it.”

Guilt consumes me.

An uncomfortable tension rolls through my body.

And my mind is having a hard time comprehending that she has no problem talking about such . . . sensitive topics. Because what did she go through in order to thoroughly understand me?

For me, we’ve skirted around sensitive topics my whole life.

We’ve never really gone into detail what our dad did to me . . . did to our family. And Gabby, she so easily speaks of baggage and what a bad childhood could do to someone. It’s perplexing.

I don’t know what to say, so I reply with a simple, “Okay.”

Thankfully, there is a knock on her door, and our sandwiches have arrived. The reprieve I needed.

“So did you play ball?” I ask Gabby as I wipe my mouth and set my napkin down on my finished deli paper.

“I did,” she says. “I didn’t get to play it like Bennett, though.” She pops a cut-up strawberry in her mouth. I grabbed them from her fridge when the sandwiches arrived.

“What do you mean?”

She wipes her fingers on a napkin and says, “Didn’t have anyone to take me to practices and games.” She shrugs as if it was no big deal. “I practiced, though, with Bennett. We’d watch and read everything we could about baseball, and I made sure Bennett found a way to and from games and practices.”

“Wow,” I say, not knowing any of that. “So you never really got to play the game?”

“A little here and there, but not like you and Bennett. But I never had to play the game to love it. I enjoy playing catch, hitting the ball off the tee, getting grounders, simple things like that, which practice the skills of baseball.”

“What’s your favorite part of the game?”

“Defense,” she answers. “I love everything about it. Bennett and I would go back and forth between who got grounders. We even had a pitchback at one point, and we’d rotate, one right after the other, throwing the ball and catching it from the pitchback. There’s something about not knowing where the ball will end up, only for you to find it in your glove from the effort you put behind in retrieving it. I love it.”

I slowly nod my head. “I, uh, I love offense.”

“Really?” she asks.

“Yeah, I love the intricacies of it. How one minor glitch in your swing could cause a month-long slump. I love problem-solving and adjusting the swing to get out of that slump. And I love that the swing isn’t the same for everyone. What might work for some doesn’t work for others. Plus, the sound of the ball hitting the bat is probably the best sound ever.”

She smiles. “Not better than the ball hitting the glove.”

“Looks like we might need to test that out at some point, play some catch and hit some balls.”

“Are you suggesting that we play baseball together?”

I gesture to her legs and say, “When your legs are better of course.”

“Of course.” She leans back on the couch and looks over at me. “You realize we make a pretty good match on the field. You with offense, me with defense. Not that I’m going to suggest anything because you’re the head coach, but that can work to our advantage.”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, I thought of that.”

“And did you know that David actually asked me that question in my interview? He asked what I liked coaching best, and I said defense. Maybe he knew you were an offense coach and thought we would make a great pair.”

I give her a don’t fuck with me look, which makes her laugh. “Do not give that man credit.”

“I mean, you have to give him a little bit of credit.” She shifts to turn toward me more, and I can tell it’s uncomfortable for her. “You have gotten off a few times since he made such a solid choice in picking your coaching staff.”

“Pretty sure his intention in picking you wasn’t so I could get off.”

“Just a supreme benefit.”

“That we’re not partaking in anymore,” I remind her.

“Of course. Never again. It was fun creating orgasms with you while it lasted, but from here on out, no more extremely satisfying and mind-blowing pleasure.”

My mouth goes dry as I catch the grin on her lips. “If you’re trying to make this . . . hard, keep talking like that.”

Her grin grows. “Trust me, I know how to make it hard. I don’t need advice.”

My eyes narrow, and she laughs.

“Come on, we need to be able to joke about it, or else this is just going to be torture.”

“It’s already torture.”

“You suffering over there, Rowley?”

I don’t know why, but I like her using my last name like that in a teasing tone.

“Yeah, aren’t you?”

“Well, my inner thighs are in need of some soothing.” She wiggles her brows, and I find it far too adorable.

“You’re being annoying,” I say even though I don’t feel that way. I kind of wish she’d do more, maybe even allow me to drag her over to my side where I could just casually slip my hand under her shirt and play with her while we watch the game.

“Seems like you like annoying.” She wiggles her finger at my smile.

“Just humoring you.”

“You’re a liar, Ryland Rowley. But that’s okay.” She’s silent for a second. “But seriously, you’re the best sex I’ve ever had.”

I press my lips together and stare at the TV for a few seconds. Then, I loll my head to the side and say, “Sex will never be the same after you.”

That brings a huge smile to her face, and that’s all I can ask for.