Page 91 of Saving The Shortstop

“That’s a good girl. Take it,” I grunt, thrusting in and out of her soaked heat. “Take every fucking inch. It’s yours.”

She feels so good, clamped around me tightly, soaking the length of my dick each time I slide in and out. She breathes heavier with each passing second. I don’t even think we carry this on for a full minute before my balls are drawing up and her mouth pops open.

“Going to fill you so fucking full,” I grunt out, my body beginning to tremble as the first bit of cum shoots inside her.

As I begin to see my release dripping out and down her thighs, she moans loudly. Her nails damn near draw blood from my back as her pussy convulses on my cock. My vision becomes blurry, but I force my eyes to stay open and watch her beautiful face as she comes for me.

My entire body feels like it’s floating, and when I’ve finally emptied myself inside her heat, my body trembles as I keep myself hovering over her.

“I love you,” I whisper, shuddering once more.

“I love you more,” she breathes out before a smirk tugs the corner of her mouth. “And your perfect dick.”

Grinning, I press my lips to hers and kiss her deeply. It’s New Year’s Eve, and the night is still young. All the things I wanted to do to her? Fuck yes, I still plan to do them.

THIRTY-NINE

DALLAS

FIFTEEN MONTHS LATER

There are a lot of sexy things my girlfriend does. If she’s dancing, walking, swimming, hell even fucking sleeping on her stomach … she’s hot. But when she’s on the field, showing every motherfucker in the stands why she’s the top-rated shortstop in college softball right now for the second year in a row? That’s the sexiest thing of them all.

I wear her jersey proudly, with her last name stretched across my back, though I’m secretly dreaming of the day her last name is Rivers. NEU is playing the number-one-ranked college softball team, while we’re sitting at number four. Last night, we won against them. And if we can do it again, it would be so great for this team. They just have to get two more outs and this game will be over.

With the count two balls and two strikes on the batter, Gigi fires an outside pitch, and the girl swings but misses the ball, sending the NEU dugout, the fans, and the fielders into a celebration.

That’s two outs. They just need one more.

Almost as if he can read my body language and knows I’m nervous, Boston’s snout nudges against the side of my leg, and without looking down at him, I put my hand on his head and scratch his fur lightly. Since we got him, if I’m able to come watch Haven play, he comes with me. And if it works in her schedule to watch my games, they are both on the sidelines at mine.

I swear I’m more nervous watching this than I am ever playing in one of my own games. I’ve trained myself to stay calm because that’s when I play best. Just like the hot shortstop right now. She keeps her composure, though every time NEU makes an out, she does an adorable little dance.

“They are so much cooler than we are,” Cane says from beside me as we both stand against the fence, neither of us able to sit right now. “Way more badass.”

“You aren’t kidding,” I agree, watching my girl take her prep step just as Gigi pitches a ball toward the batter. It’s clocked at seventy-seven miles per hour, and I grin, shaking my head.

“Whooooaa, that girl is fucking fast,” I say, but my eyes soon move back to Haven.

When Gigi pitches again, it’s a hard hit to the left of her, missing by a foot or so. If their opponents get on base now, that’s going to put everything at risk because all they need is one run to tie this game up.

It hops off the dirt, seeming only to gain momentum, and I expect it to go out to left field, but I should never downplay the lengths Haven will go to catch a ball.

Diving toward second base, she catches it in her glove before rapidly firing it to first. Even on her side, her throw is like a laser. As the umpire makes the call that the runner’s out, all of the infield rushes toward Haven to celebrate. My girlfriend just made the game-winning play.

The entire stadium goes crazy, a sea of blue jumping up and down with excitement, but I keep my eyes on Haven, and within seconds, just like always, she finds me in the crowd and grins. Dropping her glove onto the dirt, she holds her hands up, making a heart. I may be the quarterback of the football team, and everyone knows me for being stone cold, but my girlfriend just won this game for the Eagles. You’re damn right I’m going to be a six-foot-three man making a heart back at her.

“I love you,” she mouths, even though I can’t hear her over the noise, but I say it back, grinning like an idiot as my heart swells with pride.

That woman … that little badass … she’s going to be my wife one day. I know it.

I tilt my chin toward her teammates, telling her to go celebrate. I’d wait all night if I had to—she’s earned this moment with them. It’s her senior year, and even though I know she wants to play professional softball next year, she isn’t sure yet if it’s going to happen. So even though I’d give anything for that dream to happen for her, I want her to enjoy moments like these in case it doesn’t.

She’s hugging Harley when a voice in the intercom says there is a special ceremony about to take place, and right away, the women from both teams look equally excited and nervous.

On the large screen of the jumbotron, videos begin to play—videos from the AUSL, the professional softball league that Haven has dreamed of being a part of for as long as I’ve known her.

For the past week or so, ceremonies like this one have been popping up unannounced. If I wasn’t dating a girl whose biggest dream is to play professional softball, I probably wouldn’t know what this video meant. But Haven doesn’t just play softball, she watches it. So I know this means that someone from the AUSL is here, and whoever it is will likely have a golden ticket to hand out. A golden ticket that takes one lucky woman right to their league. They won’t know what team, but the ticket signifies that the league wants her on one of them.