Page 65 of Serving Bunt

I was still staring when he caught me. Busted. Diaz’s eyes met mine with that cocky, knowing look that never failed to make my stomach flip. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped something quickly.

My phone buzzed a second later.

Diaz

You keep eye fucking me like that and we’re gonna have to sneak back to the cabin during the seventh-inning stretch.

Heat flooded my face. I typed back quickly, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face.

Me

Can you blame me? Have you seen your shorts?

Diaz

I have them in green, too.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning.

Me

They are very . . . distracting.

Diaz

The shorts or my thighs?

Me

Both.

Diaz

Especially when picturing them draped over your shoulders?

My face burned hotter.

I glanced around quickly to make sure no one was paying attention, but there was no need. The closest people to us were still a few yards away, close enough to hear laughter and conversation, but far enough that our little corner felt private. Mila had claimed a patch of grass near one of the string-light poles and was hosting an Instagram Live for her fans.

A little farther off, Colt and Nora were sprawled out in a couple of Adirondacks, watching the game while sharing a blunt. Nora passed it to him with a lazy smile, saying something that made Colt cough-laugh through a cloud of smoke.

No one was paying us any mind. I typed back quickly, pulse hammering.

Me

Maybe.

Diaz

Good.

My phone buzzed again seconds later.

Diaz

Been thinking about your mouth on me since this morning.

Buzz.