Page 50 of Hiding in the Outfield

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” O’Neil has a death grip on my arm.

“Fuck! Why is he sending him?” My heart jams in my throat. My stomach is winding itself into the guts of a baseball.

The dugout goes dead silent, every one of us leaning over the rail. Nobody breathes.

The first baseman whips it home.

Trent slides. He’s too late, though. I know it before the tag even comes down.

Everything caves in. My gut drops and splats right onto the dugout dirt.

But it’s okay. We’re tied. We’re still in this⁠—

“It got by the catcher!”

The ball skips through the dirt. Trent slides over the plate.

“He’s safe!”

“WE WON!”

My jaw goes slack. Holy fucking shit.

Holy fucking shit.

Then the dugout explodes. Shouts. Bellows. Whoops. Someone’s pounding their chest, and gloves are flying. We storm the field and swarm Trent.

Finally. Finally, a fucking win. I’ll take it, error or not.

I walk into the townhouse riding the high of our win, and Frankie’s waiting by the door. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t greet me, or his brother, or any of the guys; just grabs my hand and drags me to the stairs.

“What’s going on?” I stumble after him, grinning.

“I think you need a shower.”

My brows pinch. “Uh. I just showered at the clubhouse…”

“You didn’t do a good enough job.”

I laugh. “Frankie, what has gotten into you?”

He halts a few steps up, and I barely stop myself from crashing into his back. He whips around to face me. “I got a call today.”

I cock my head. “Okay…”

“A doctor call.”

I freeze. “A-a doctor call?”

A wicked grin spreads across his face. “Frankie is cleared for light activity.”

My heart rate skyrockets. “And th-that means your cheek can handle the increased blood pressure to your sinus⁠—”

“Jackson. I have gone way too long without an orgasm. I am cleared.” He jabs a finger at me. “And yes, I specifically asked about orgasms, okay? If you don’t shut up and join me in the shower in the next five seconds, I’m doing it without you.”

With that, he spins on his heel and dashes the rest of the way up the stairs.

I stand there staring at the empty spot on the top landing like a fool for way too long. But holy fucking shit. I don’t know what we’re going to be doing, but I’m minutes away from being naked with Frankie. In a shower. With, like, slippery soap and suds and stuff. My pulse drums against my throat.