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Beside me now, he rocked back on his heels and smirked at me.
The fucker.
I scanned the room, but the chair was nowhere to be seen.
“I will find it, and then you will be sorry,” I warned.
Bosco broke out in a fit of laughter.
Price, our catcher, joined in from across the room. “I bet you won’t.”
Despite my annoyance, I couldn’t help but smile. It was good to be back. Thank fuck my head was on straight again and I’d been cleared to play.
The only dark spot in all of it was that Aurora had gone home after the doctor cleared me yesterday. The second she was gone, my apartment, which I usually loved, felt empty.
Even worse, my bed was cold. Her words—we can’t do this again—put a damper on the night she’d spent with me. But I’d proved her wrong. I’d spent that night with my mouth on her, and my fingers and my cock inside her. I’d brought her to orgasm so many times I’d lost count. And even though she’d left saying it was over, her eyes said it wasn’t.
“It’s the best day ever. Humpty’s back!” Knight cheered, pulling me out of my own head. “Want a good-luck hug?”
“A what?”
Knight stepped forward, tripping on something imaginary. He threw his arms out, but it did no good. Stumbling like a fawn who was learning to walk, he face-planted into my bad shoulder.
A shot of pain tore through me, but I fought the urge to wince or curse. The injury was still slightly bothering me and tight at times, but I was keeping that information to myself.
“A good-luck hug.” Knight wrapped his arms around me and patted my back like I was a damn infant.
“Jesus,” Damiano huffed. “Personal space, man.”
Bosco snickered, and Knight smiled like a goofy jackass. This was the status quo around here. And it was why I loved these guys.
But how would I choose between them and Aurora if it came to that? Because she was right. We couldn’t be together while we both worked for the Revs.
“You okay?” Eddie Martinez, our shortstop, cocked a worried brow my way.
“Yeah, yeah.” I waved him off. “All good.”
For now, all I could do was push thoughts of Aurora to the back of my mind and focus. Lock into the game and settle into being the Mason Dumpty my team and the fans expected.
That’s what I did all through the pregame and warm-ups. My thoughts didn’t stray to her again until a long fly popped up in the third inning, and flashes of the last time I was out here going after a ball hit me.
They were followed by fragments of memories. Of my week with her, the laughs, her smile, the way she felt in my arms, under me.
“Dumpty, you got it?”
Bosco’s voice jarred me out of my thoughts and brought me back to the play. I sprinted toward him and stretched my arm out, ready to snag the ball out of the air. The move tweaked my shoulder, but I fought the wince once again. If Coach Wilson saw that I was hurting, I’d be back to riding the bench. So I breathed through the pain and forced a smile to my face as my glove snapped around the ball.
The crowd roared. Two outs.
I did my shuffle—pulling my arms in and lifting my shoulders, letting them bounce while I crisscrossed along the outfield with the ball in my glove. The sound system blasted, all bass, and I spun on the beat. God, I loved playing it up. And I could guarantee Knight was over at third doing his own. I turned that way and found him spinning. And our mascots—three Revolutionary War soldiers wearing Revs jerseys over their regimental coats—jumped up and joined us in the dance.
When the seats they’d been sitting in were empty, I caught sight of the sticker on one of the chairs. With a brow arched, I pointed to Bosco, then the chair.
His only response was a laugh so boisterous I could hear it over the music.
With a smirk, I tossed the ball to Martinez at short and then subtly rolled out my shoulder. Luckily, the next batter went down swinging, giving me a break. When I stepped to the plate two innings later, I was loose and ready. The perfect pitch slid straight down the center, above home plate. Easy pickings. My bat collided with the leather, sending a crack vibrating up my arms. My shoulder burned, but I smiled as the ball flew high and straight over the outer wall.
Every step around the bases had my shoulder tightening, and by the time I made my way back to the dugout, I couldn’t fight the grimace anymore.
