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“What?” In a split second, she’s pressed against the screen.
Again.
“Come on, Blue!” She tosses her hands up in the air. “Are you even paying attention over there? Pull your head outta your ass!”
The bear of a man that was sitting next to Brittany joins her at the netting, mimicking her displeasure, then they high-five each other. The umpire turns around and points a finger at Brittany and her accomplice.
“I’ve got her,” I say, wrapping an arm around her stomach. She struggles when I lift her up and settle her in my lap. At least this way I can keep a firm grip on her. Brittany continues to bounce around, trying to break free, before finally giving up.
I realize in this moment that I won’t let her go. Not now—maybe not ever.
“You do know we’re winning, right?” I ask.
“That doesn’t matter.” Brittany crosses her arms over her chest. The movement causes her shirt to rise, revealing a hint of skin above the waistline of her jeans. “It’s the principle! That was clearly a ball, which would’ve been ball four, which would’ve been a walk for Yadi. With the bases loaded, Wainwright would’ve walked into home and Carpenter was up to bat. Do you know what Carpenter could’ve done with the bases loaded?”
“No.” And to be honest, I don’t care. Right now, the only thing I care about is the creamy skin playing peekaboo above Brittany’s waistband. My arm is already wrapped around her stomach, so I slip my fingers under the hem of her shirt, praying that she doesn’t ram an elbow into my gut. When I stroke the soft skin with my thumb, she shivers but doesn’t pull away. “What could Carpenter have done?” I ask.
Glancing over her shoulder, Brittany looks at me and furrows her brow. “Huh?”
I chuckle and bury my face in her back. She’s so damn cute. “You asked me if I knew what Carpenter could do with the bases loaded.”
“I did? Oh, right, I did.” She shakes her head and turns back around, mumbling something that sounds an awful lot like ‘I can’t think straight when you touch me.’
“What was that?” I ask, wanting to make sure I heard her right. She may not like that she can’t think straight when I touch her, but I sure as hell do.
“Nothing.” She sighs. “I didn’t say anything.”
The next few innings go by without incident. All too soon it’s the seventh inning and everyone is, in fact, standing to stretch. Pressing my lips to Brittany’s neck, I whisper, “I’m proud of you. You went three innings without calling the umpire an asshole or a jackass.”
“Thank you,” she says. I loosen my hold around her waist and we stand up. Puffing out her chest, Brittany raises her arms and stretches like a cat. “I feel like I deserve some sort of prize or something.”
“A prize, huh?” Funny, because being here with Brittany, I feel like I won some sort of prize.
She nods.
Grabbing my beer from the cup holder, I tilt my head back and take a swig. “Name it and it’s yours.”
She smiles like the Cheshire Cat. “Anything?”
“Anything.” I’m secretly hoping that whatever she asks for involves the two of us getting naked.
“Nachos,” she states firmly. Nachos?
“I said you can have anything you want, and you choose nachos?”
Tossing her head back, Brittany lets out a deep, throaty laugh that travels straight to my dick, stroking it several times. This woman is going to be the death of me. No woman’s laugh should be able to make a man feel that.
“But I’m hungry,” she says, slipping her hand in mine. I follow behind her as she leads us toward the main aisle then weaves through the crowd, presumably in search of a food stand. “How can you be hungry? You had lunch, cotton candy, a jumbo hot dog, and half of my pretzel.”
“What can I say?” She shrugs, not stopping in her quest for nachos. “I love ballpark food.”
“Connor?” My stomach rolls, and when he doesn’t answer or look at me, I tap his arm. “Connor?”
The crowd goes wild and it pains me to say I have absolutely no idea what just happened. Connor jumps up, fist pumping the air, and despite my ever-growing nausea, I love that he’s enjoying the game.
I nudge him one more time. “Connor?”
“Sorry. That was intense,” he says excitedly. Dropping onto his seat, he looks over at me, and immediately his brows dip low. “Are you okay?” he asks, pressing the back of his hand against my forehead. “You don’t look so good.”
