Hardball (32 page)

“Two games down,” I said.

“Hundred sixty to go.” He put his lips on my forehead. So soft. So warm. He turned my insides to paste and exposed them to the comfort of his attention.

“I’m doing this because I want you to be happy,” I said. “But you don’t need me. You’re a brilliant player. Period.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, and I didn’t know if he was thanking me for speaking that truth or for playing along with his ritual. I didn’t ask.

He played that night as if it was the defining moment in his career, and talk of his passion and talent was reignited in the post-game show. The third game was on Wednesday, and he had a car pick me up.

I got there ninety minutes before game time, and we walked the bases quickly, kissed, and I took my spot behind the dugout, where Francine waited in a puffy black coat and red beret.

“Larry and all of them are going to be at the bar on Friday.” She handed me a large black coffee. “Including Carl. I know you avoid him, but I thought you might not have to anymore?”

“I don’t, but Friday isn’t good.”

She pouted. “Doesn’t he have a game? Like… away? Not here?”

“Yeah. I have to be there.”

She blew into the little hole in the coffee lid, making a low whistle. “I’m not even going to ask why,” she said between blows. “I’m going to ask how.”

“I have to leave work early and get on the freeway to San Diego. And when he’s across the country, I’ll get on a plane Friday afternoons and take an overnight back on Sundays until school ends.”

“You know that’s crazy, right? I mean, I’m assuming he’s great in bed, but I’m sorry, I don’t know if any man is worth all that confusion.”

We stood for the “Star Spangled Banner.”

“He is.” I leaned in and whispered, “He’s completely worth it.”

She smiled, bumping me with her hip. “Good.”

He was worth it. Every hour of lost sleep. Every inconvenience. Every moment I wanted to shake him and say, “It’s your talent! Can you please own it so I can get to bed early?”

He needed the routine I gave. When he was away midweek and I had to work, I watched from a stool at the bar. His failures seemed bigger and his successes more modest. For a moment, I thought there might be something to the superstition. Maybe he did need me. Even if it was all in his head, maybe he needed me.

By June, I was wrecked.

“I think I miscalculated,” he said in the airport after a night game in St. Louis.

I would be getting off the plane to be shuttled right to Hobart Elementary, where Jim was covering the first half hour of the library schedule in case there was traffic.

“Miscalculated what?”

We sat on a leather couch in the first-class lounge. He draped his arm around the back and tenderly stroked pieces of my hair off my neck. I was flipping through a magazine, but the pages couldn’t hold my attention.

“You have dark circles under your eyes.”

“I can’t think. I feel like I live in peanut butter.” I tossed the magazine aside. “Two more weeks. Then I can go around with you all the time. I’ll find an apartment when you have that double home stand in July.”

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” he said. “I want you to move in with me.”

“That’s not going to help.”

“You won’t have to look for an apartment. And it’ll just cut a step out of the travel.”

“I don’t know,” I said, resting my head on his chest. “Maybe I’ll get used to the peanut butter.”

“I love peanut butter.”

I bent my neck, resting my head on the back of the couch. “I love you too.”

He kissed me, and I could have dropped off with the softness of his lips on mine and the smell of summer grass around me, but they announced my flight.

“Think about it,” he said when he picked up my bag.

“I will. I’ll see you Friday.” I kissed him, grateful that he’d be home for the weekend series and I could sleep.

Dash

The slumps usually started at my second at bat if she wasn’t there. Sometimes I walked or the other guys were at the top of their game so no one could tell. But I could. I felt it because things got harder. I felt as though I was hanging on by my fingernails.

“You’re psyching yourself out,” Youder said for the hundredth time.

We were on a plane back from St. Louis, and he thought now was the perfect opportunity to lay down more mentoring. I wanted to punch him sometimes.

I put my seat back. “I’m fine. It’s up and down for everyone.”

The truth of that, even as it came out of my mouth, had no effect on me. I was just saying words. I knew I was down when she wasn’t there and up when she was. Any statistician could see my weekdays away sucked.

I had a hundred things to say about Vivian. But the most important was that with her, I felt loved. Really loved. All of me. The non-medicated, not-charming, awkward son of a bitch who read too much and had learned to juggle balls to calm down.

I sent her library fruit and candy, boxes of pens and sticky notes. Anything she mentioned the kids needed. It wasn’t enough. She drove herself to the edge of exhaustion to be at my games. She had to quit that job because as nice as it was to be loved without limits, she was hitting a physical barrier.

She waited for me at the gate with a sign that said KING OF ELYSIAN. She wore a skirt, and if I looked under it, I knew I’d find something that would keep us up half the night.

I kissed her right there and took her home.

Vivian

He started kissing me when we were barely in the door, dropping his bags on the hardwood with a
clap
. He was more intense after a series away, less controlled. His hands went up my skirt and grabbed my ass hard. Yes, it hurt. Yes, it turned me on.

I kissed him back, reaching under his shirt for the hard muscle that waited for me. I felt suddenly empty, wanting, awake and ready.

He pushed me onto a barstool and yanked my legs open, exposing the new stockings and garter belt I’d bought for him.

“Yes,” was all he said as he spread my arms over the counter. “Stay still. I’m going to taste that delicious pussy.”

“Okay, I—”

I forgot the next word, and all that came out was a groan. His tongue flicked the inside of my thigh, a point of pleasure surrounded by the scratch of his stubble. He moved the crotch of my panties aside and ran his tongue along my cleft like a hungry man, sucking on me while holding my legs wide open.

I was wet, hot, pulsing in response to every flick of his tongue. He ate me as if he’d never done it before, as if he had to do it now or die trying. My arms stretched on the counter where he’d put them, and my back arched.

“I’m close, Dash.”

He lightened the pressure of his tongue but didn’t stop. My raspy breaths only uttered
please please please,
though I didn’t know what I was begging for. When I thought I couldn’t be on the edge any longer, he laid his lips on my clit and gently sucked the orgasm out of me.

When I could breathe again, he stood. His cock was monumental, pushing against the fabric of his pants. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Welcome home,” I said.

“Home?”

“To Los Angeles.”

He glanced around. “You didn’t move your stuff in.”

I slid off the barstool. “I think I found an apartment.”

He looked surprised but unshaken. “Where?”

“Bottom of the hill. Your hill. It’ll be ready next month.”

“Do you need help packing?”

Yes? No? There was a quarter century of crap in that house. Dad hadn’t decided where or when he was moving, but I felt as if I needed to give him room and reason to go. So I’d found a cute one-bedroom behind a Craftsman.

“Can I let you know about the packing?”

“Stand up,” Dash said.

I didn’t have time to comply. He took me by the shoulders and got me to my feet, pulling my shirt up to reveal my lacy bra. He slid that over my tits, exposing the hard nipples to the air.

Pressing his erection against me, thumbs and forefingers circling the bases of my breasts, he spoke into my ear, “You’re here all the time.”

“But you aren’t.”

He closed his fingers around the apex of my tits and squeezed the nipples, twisting until my knees melted under me.

“You’re so hot. I can’t even think. Take your skirt up and the underwear down.”

I hitched my skirt around my waist while he played with my nipples, and I got my underpants just below my ass.

“Take my dick out.”

I reached for him, wiggling to get at his enormous cock. He was wearing sweatpants, so it wasn’t long before I felt the skin of it against my palm and the drop of pre-cum waiting. I was ready for him again. With a final tug, he took his hands off my breasts and hooked a finger on my underpants, yanking them wide.

“Leg. Come on, sweetapple. Before I fuck these off you.”

I pulled my leg through the opening, and my panties dropped over my left foot.

He pressed four fingers onto the wet ache between my legs. His eyes were on fire, and his lips were tight with intention as he rubbed my clit and slid three fingers inside me.

“Deeper, God, Dash, deeper.”

He got his fingers in me and found the bundle of nerves inside, circling it, pressing it awake. I hitched a leg over his waist, and he took his hand away. I groaned.

“I want you here,” he said, stroking my wet cleft with the head of his cock. “In this house.”

“I’m here. But I want to—”

He shoved himself in me, and I gasped.

“Want to what?”

“Fuck. Dash. God. Just take it. We can talk later.”

He got all the way inside, down to the root, grinding up against me. He pushed me against the counter, pinning me with his cock, pushing his body against my clit. I held onto his shoulders for dear life as he fucked me hard and slow, angling himself against me. I felt full, every surface stimulated, the pressure of his hips bringing my other foot off the floor.

His eyes locked on mine. His jaw set. He looked as if he wanted to tear me open and crawl inside me. And I wanted him to. Fuck me. Fuck my identity. Fuck my own skin and soul.

I wanted to tell him I was coming, but it was too late. I was shredded. Ripped open, and he came in the fissure, marking me with his name as it left my lips in a scream.

Our bodies moved together even after we were done. He wrapped his arms around me and carried me to the bedroom.