Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

RYLAND

It’s a new week.

I’m not going to think about Gabby in a sexual way. She’s my tenant, my assistant coach, my co-worker.

I’m not going to imagine how she looked last night in the shower, bent over, begging for my cock.

I’m not going to remember the muffled sounds she made as I drove into her over and over again, slamming my rock-hard cock inside that addicting pussy.

And I’m sure as fuck going to eliminate the feeling of her pussy squeezing me as she comes from my memory.

None of that matters. Because like I said last night when she was leaving my house, that was it. Not again.

No more.

So why, as I sit at my desk in my classroom, staring at the clock, ready for the bell to ring for lunch, am I hoping that I see her in the teachers’ lounge?

Because I’m a fucking pathetic mess.

Because something weird happened to me this weekend.

Something that still scares me and should scare me so much that I want nothing to do with her.

What scared me? It was what I saw.

I saw . . . I saw a brief glimpse of a future. A future I’ve never thought about before. One I didn’t think I wanted or cared for.

For a few seconds, as I watched Mac push Gabby on the tree swing, there was a small part of me that . . . liked it. How they were together.

I liked the way that Mac smiled when pushing her.

I loved hearing her laugh. So carefree.

I loved the hug she gave Gabby after.

I loved how Gabby responded to Mac.

I loved how she went along with everything Mac wanted even though I could tell, at times, she was in pain. So kind.

I loved how Gabby handled Mac so delicately, how she listened with full eye contact. She put Mac first, and that surprised the hell out of me.

Hell, it made me . . . made me like her.

Like her more than I should.

And I spent all day yesterday counting down the damn hours until I knew she was going to take a shower. I waited and waited until the moment she walked through the door. I knew I needed her. One last taste, I told myself.

And I got that last taste. I got my dessert I so desperately wanted.

It was fucking perfect.

Seeing how much I could pleasure her with just my fingers and mouth . . . addictive. I needed more. And even after the shower, when I sent her on her way, I lay in my newly made bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what would happen if I texted her and asked her to come over.

See, I’m a goddamn fool.

The bell rings, and the class packs up their workbooks while I knock myself out of my reverie. I shout something about what pages of homework they need to complete for tomorrow and then watch them walk out of the classroom.

Once they’re all gone, I slip my phone into my pocket, lock my door, and nearly sprint to the teachers’ lounge. On the way, I get a few head nods from some of my players, a few hellos from some students, and one fist bump from a kid I swear I’ve never seen before in my life.

When I reach the teachers’ lounge, it’s empty, so I grab my lunch from the fridge and find a table that could accommodate Gabby and a few stragglers if they decide to join. Am I one to eat in the teachers’ lounge often? Not really.

I’ve pretty much stuck to my classroom, but apparently, my mind has changed as to what I do during my lunch break.

A few teachers trickle in. Some that I don’t care to speak to, not because I’m an ass, but because they’re more into student drama, and that’s just not my vibe. And they know it because they sit at the farthest table from me.

I unpack my lunch and take my burger patties to the microwave, where I heat them for a few minutes. When I packed my lunch, I just dipped into the leftovers from the weekend, which makes it super simple. Burgers with no buns, pasta salad, and some cut fruit. Easy.

When my burgers are done, I bring them back to my table, worried that Gabby might not show up, but that’s when the door opens, and she walks through laughing.

Something light in my chest floats up when I see her . . . until I see who’s behind her, making her laugh.

Fucking Christian.

I swear to fuck, if this man thinks he has any chance at even remotely entertaining Gabby, he’s fucking wrong.

When Gabby spots me, she smiles and brings her lunch over to the table, making me feel better, only for that to be squashed when Christian joins us too.

This fucking guy.

“Hey, how was your morning?” Gabby asks, taking a seat and wincing at the same time. She’s clearly still in pain.

“Good. How are your legs?” I ask.

“What’s wrong with your legs?” Christian cuts in, looking concerned.

You can put the concerned look away, you fuck. While you were probably ironing your shirt last night, I was tongue deep in Gabby’s pussy.

“Oh, I have some bruises on my thighs.”

Christian’s brow creases. “Oh, how did you get those?”

“Painting the foul pole,” she answers easily. “My ladder slipped, and I had to slide down the pole. Apparently, I forgot how to slide down a pole properly and, well, bruised up my legs pretty good, but they’re doing better. I think I’m holding it together in front of the students.”

“Ouch, that sounds unpleasant.”

“Kind of was. I spent all weekend rubbing cream on the bruises.”

That’s not all you did this weekend.

I recall some other things . . .

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling a little better,” Christian says like the dweeb that he is.

Okay, to be fair, he’s not really a dweeb, but I’m feeling pretty poorly about him at the moment, given how attached he seems to Gabby. Therefore, I’m lashing out.

“Hopefully, you don’t have to slide down any poles for a while,” he continues.

Fucking idiot. Can’t even do banter right. The only pole she’ll be sliding down again is mine.

“Yes, let’s hope that’s the case unless you need me to paint more foul poles, Ryland?”

“Nah, we’re good.”

“So . . . how is it working with the famous Coach Rowley?” Christian asks. Excuse me, but did I hear a sense of . . . jealousy in his tone? Or is that just me reaching for another reason to hate this guy? Not that I need another reason. He’s talking to Gabby, so that’s reason enough.

“Well, we haven’t done much, but I think we’re kicking it up this week, right?”

I nod. “Which reminds me, I actually want to talk to you about a few things.” I look at Christian. “If you’ll excuse us, we could use some privacy.”

Christian sits back and points at himself. “You want me to leave?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

“Oh.” He looks at Gabby, who doesn’t know what to say, so instead of making a fuss, he stands from the table and says, “Okay, well, I’ll see you around, Gabby. I’ll stop by later for that recipe.”

“Or I can email it.”

“Either way.” He touches her shoulder, and I nearly reach across the table and snap his wrist in half.

When he’s gone, Gabby leans forward and whispers, “That was rude.”

“What was rude?” I dig into my burgers, cutting them up with the knife and fork I brought with me.

“Kicking him out like that.”

“I don’t know. I feel pretty good about it.”

“Ryland,” she chastises.

“What?”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” I say as I pop a piece of burger in my mouth, but when I’m met with her unpleased stare, I set my fork and knife down. “He needs to know you’re not someone he can talk to.”

“Says who? You? Because I hope we’re not getting into this again.”

“We’re not . . . we’re here to talk baseball.”

“We could have talked baseball in front of Christian.”

“And bore him?” I wave her off. “No, that’s not being fair to him. This is better, you and me, no distractions.”

“Uh-huh, and would you prefer if I sit next to you so we can really talk closely together?”

I prefer if you sit on my lap and let Christian know he has no goddamn chance .

“No, across from me is fine,” I answer.

She shakes her head and pulls out a salad from her lunch bag.

“What?”

“You’re just unbelievable, you know that?”

“Yes, because that’s what you said last night.”

Her eyes widen, then quickly narrow. “Jesus, Ryland, where is your professionalism?”

Yeah, where is it?

Apparently, it flew out the window the minute I saw her with another man.

“It’s still intact,” I say even though I fear it’s not. “Enough of this bullshit. Let’s talk about today.”

“Fine,” she says definitively. “What about today?”

“Did you get my email about our plan?”

“Yes,” she answers.

“Do you have any questions?”

“No.”

“Good,” I respond and then wait a second. “Glad we got that sorted. What else do you want to talk about?”

“That’s all? That’s why you kicked Christian away from us?”

“I didn’t know if you had more to discuss,” I say. “Or if you had questions.”

She shakes her head and, to my surprise, stands from her chair. “Unbelievable, Ryland.”

She takes her lunch to the table where Christian is sitting and settles beside him.

And the smile that crosses his face makes me want to knock his goddamn teeth right out.

Well, this fucking backfired.

Ryland: What do you guys think of Gabby?

Hattie: OH MY GOD! It’s happening, Aubree. I told you. I told you it was going to happen.

Aubree: You know, you did, but I didn’t really believe you. But you’re right, it’s happening.

Ryland: What’s happening?

Hattie: You’re falling for her. I could see it in your eyes this past weekend.

Aubree: I don’t usually go along with her foolishness, but I agree, I saw it this weekend as well.

Ryland: I’m not falling for her.

Hattie: Then why ask what we thought of her?

Ryland: Just general interest. She’s . . . different, right?

Aubree: I don’t understand. Different from what?

Ryland: I don’t know . . . other people.

Hattie: Yes, she’s different from other people because she’s her own person.

Aubree: ^^^ Facts.

Ryland: But I mean, you know, different.

Hattie: You might have to elaborate because you’re not making much sense at the moment.

Aubree: Agreed, I’m not following.

Ryland: Never mind. Forget I even asked.

Hattie: Oh no, we’re not forgetting this. This is a moment. A huge moment! The biggest moment, because you’re actually showing interest in a girl for the first time since Samantha.

Aubree: And that was ages ago. You shut down after she cheated on you, and we didn’t think you’d ever open up to another person. But here we are.

Ryland: I’m not opening up, okay? I’m just . . . fuck, I feel weird.

Hattie: Does your heart pound when you see her?

Aubree: Do your palms get sweaty when she’s nearby?

Hattie: Are you thinking about her all the time?

Aubree: Do you have this undeniable, happy feeling that bursts through you when she is around you?

Ryland: I’m not answering any of those questions.

Hattie: Oh my God, it’s because they’re true, aren’t they? Gah, Aubree! He likes her.

Aubree: Looking over the symptoms we just described, I’d conclude that he likes her as well.

Ryland: I don’t like her. I just . . . she makes me . . . I don’t like it when . . . fuck, I don’t even know what I’m saying.

Hattie: Because you like her. Just admit it, Ryland. You like someone. It’s okay. You’re not about to explode.

Aubree: Maybe if you admit you like her, you won’t stumble over your words as much.

Ryland: She’s just different, okay?

Hattie: She is, she’s very different, and that’s what’s so amazing about her. She’s independent and strong and doesn’t take any shit, but she also knows how to accept help when she needs it and is kind and loving.

Aubree: And confident. Can handle her own and, most importantly, knows how to handle you.

Hattie: Not to mention she’s so great with Mac.

Aubree: A definite plus and since we’re mentioning things, there’s an obvious attraction between you two which only heightens the feelings you’re trying to suppress.

Hattie: What we’re trying to say is that we approve.

Aubree: We definitely approve.

Ryland: I don’t know why you approve, there is nothing to approve of. I wasn’t looking for approval. Honestly, just forget this entire conversation.

Hattie: No chance in hell will we forget this. I’m actually screenshotting everything as we speak.

Aubree: Send me those screenshots and then upload them to the cloud.

Hattie: Should I just send the screenshots in this text thread to remind our brother that we approve?

Aubree: Probably is best.

Ryland left the group thread.

“Get your butt down,” Gabby yells at Johnson, one of the juniors on the team. “If I have to say it again, you’re doing poles.”

From the dugout, I lean against the fence and stare at the practice Gabby’s running.

I’m in fucking awe.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.

The outfielders run routes by themselves, weaving through cones, tossing balls to each other, constantly moving like a well-oiled machine.

The infielders are set up in tight formation, standing at shortstop and second with Gabby in the middle, hitting short quick hops to the boys and then tossing the ball to the other line. They’re all moving and tossing and putting balls in buckets, and I swear if I didn’t watch her explain, I’d have stood here trying to figure it all out.

“Faster feet, outfield,” she calls out.

How is she even watching them while hitting balls and tossing balls at the same time?

Fuck.

She’s putting me to shame.

And the boys, fuck, do they respect her.

They respected her the minute she came out on the field and started warming up with them.

Throwing with them.

Even getting in the dirt, showing them glove position, where to catch the ball, and the minimal stepping she wants to see from them when they get the ball and go to throw to first.

And with a few minutes left of practice, I know they’ve exhausted all energy and it’s only fall ball. They’re going to wonder what the hell they got themselves into, especially after yesterday’s conditioning.

“That’s it, a few more,” she says.

The entire time I’ve watched her, I’ve marveled at the way she commands their attention. I’ve been envious of her innovative ideas. And I’ve had a hard as hell time keeping my damn eyes off her ass in those spandex pants.

And once I saw her take charge, I just let her have it because I wanted to observe. I wanted to see how she’d run things, and I hate to admit it because I hate David so much, but fuck, she was a good hire.

No, not a good hire, a great hire.

An asset.

Someone who’ll better the team.

With her skills and knowledge on defense and my ability to fine-tune a swing, I think we will be unstoppable.

“Okay, bring it in,” she calls out, and I watch all the boys pick up the balls and toss them in the buckets before taking a knee in front of her.

Christ, she even has them hustling.

I walk up to them and clap my hands, letting them know they all did a great job today. Gabby turns to me to speak, but I gesture for her to go.

So she takes the stage. “Great first day on defense, boys. I know the drills were a little complicated to learn at first, but I’m impressed with your ability to adapt and listen. A few of you need to work on getting your butts down farther. Johnson, I’m talking to you.” He hangs his head. “But that’s something we’ll work on moving forward, and this fall, we can build your legs so they’re stronger, so you can get down farther, right, Coach Rowley?”

I fold my arms across my chest and nod. “Yes, I know this isn’t what you expected when you signed up for sixth-period baseball, but this is what we’re offering. We want to finesse your skills and build you up so when spring comes, we can be ahead of everyone else. Which means putting in the work every day like you did today. Bring it in.” We all put our hands in a circle, and I say, “Almond Bay on three. One. Two. Three.”

“Almond Bay,” everyone chants. The boys take off, and the seniors dictate who has to pick up the equipment. I remain on the field with Gabby standing next to me.

“How did I do?” she asks, sounding unsure.

I keep my eyes on the boys and their trailing backs.

“Fucking phenomenal,” I say. From the corner of my eye, I can see her bright smile.

“Seriously?”

I turn this time to look at her and stick my hands in my pockets so I don’t do something like . . . touch her, hug her, kiss her. “Yeah, Gabby, that was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Were you doing that with Bennett?”

“Yeah. Constantly.”

“No wonder his goddamn feet are so quick.”

She laughs. “Yeah, it was important for me to show him how vital it is at third base to have quick feet, quick reactions. I think that serves all positions.”

“Well, you really impressed. And the boys, you could see it in their eyes how much they respected you. I wasn’t sure how they were going to accept a female coach, but you didn’t even take a second to let them establish an opinion. You were in their face, telling them what to do right off the bat and then sandwiching that in with positive feedback. Hell, I think I could learn a thing or two from you.”

“Now you’re just reaching.”

I shake my head. “I’m not. I mean it.”

She fully turns to me, her eyes studying me up and down. “Are you just saying nice things because I’m mad at you?”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“Annoyed is more like it.”

I nod, understanding. “Trust me, Gabby. I’m annoyed with myself as well.”

“Great, that makes two of us.” She starts heading toward the dugout, but I grab her arm to stop her.

When she looks over her shoulder at me, I say, “I wouldn’t say shit just to make you happy with me again. I meant every word I said.”

“Okay,” she says, freeing herself of my grip. “Thank you.”

Then with that, she takes off toward the dugout without another word.