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“Let’s get these cages warmed up,” Linkin says, “before we have to leave.”
And that’s how we spend the next two hours, eating pizza, drinking beer (well, some of us), and taking cracks at baseballs in the batting cages. Sawyer gives pointers, but only when solicited. Otherwise, he’s content to sit back and watch, talking to the guys and even holding Hudson for a few minutes.
When it’s my turn, I step inside the netting. Sawyer made sure the ball thrower thingy was turned down as much as possible for the one the girls are using, but I’m still surprised at how fast the ball flies by my face. Ha. Balls. Flying by my face. I can’t help the snort that slips from my mouth. Sawyer’s eyebrows rise with his smirk, as if he knows my mind was headed someplace dirty.
I take a few more swings, completely missing the ball as it sails into the net behind me. I’m about to throw the bat and give up baseball forever when Sawyer moves into the netted area with me. He steps up beside me just as a ball flies by, hitting the net once more.
“Come ‘ere,” he says, stepping up behind me. He wraps his arms around me, positioning me the right way. “Spread your legs a little more.”
“Is that an invitation?” I sass, moving my legs until they’re shoulder width apart.
“I’m already harder than hell watching you take swings, don’t tease me,” he breathes seductively against my ear. “Keep your eye on the ball. It’s coming,” he adds, sending dirty images careening through my mind.
And it does come. The ball, that is. I’m watching for it and ready, so when it’s in the right spot, I swing the bat. The crack of hard wood meeting the ball is satisfying, instantly putting a smile on my face. Glancing over my shoulder, my eyes collide with his smiling ones. “Great job.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, getting into position again for the next pitch. “I think it’s the teacher,” I add, shimmying my ass against the erection he mentioned.
He grunts and grabs my hips to halt my teasing. “Not nice,” he growls.
I don’t say anything as I swing at the next pitch, sending the ball flying high into the net above the pitching machine. “You could go pro,” he tells me, no mistaking the pride in his voice.
Laughing, I reply, “I don’t know about that, but this is fun when you actually know what you’re doing.” I take a few more swings before my arms start to tire. “You’re up, Slugger.”
Sawyer takes the bat and pulls me in for a kiss. The sounds of my sisters’ “awws” behind us makes us both smile against our lips.
“All right, Sosa, step out and watch how it’s done,” Sawyer says confidently, placing one last lingering kiss on my lips before heading over to the pitching machine. Everyone seems to gather around the protective net as he grabs a longer, heavier bat from the rack and heads over to crank up the pitching machine’s speed setting.
Then he takes his place behind the plate, and my entire body hums with desire. His stance is wide, his powerful legs taking up a pretty large piece of real estate at the plate. The corded muscles in his arms flex and jump as he twists his hands around the bat. The look in his eyes intense and completely focused as he stares down the machine, waiting.
And then the ball flies.
He swings with so much power, so much expertise, that when the cracking of the bat fills the room, it steals my breath. I’ve never seen anything like it as he takes his position for the next ball. When it’s released, the same thing happens. We watch it sail into the netting, high above the cage.
That’s how it continues as he hits the ten balls he put into the pitching machine. I don’t miss how every couple of swings, he stretches his bad shoulder, twisting and moving it around. I wonder if he’ll hurt later after this? But I don’t think he really cares. Not if the happiness reflecting from his blue eyes or the casual smile on his face is any indication. Sawyer’s in his element, plain and simple.
And it’s hot as fuck.
Like throw my panties on the ground, wetness running down the inside of my thighs, kinda hot. Now I can completely see the sex appeal that seems to follow pro ball players around from city to city. I’m only witnessing a small piece of his sexual magnetism at work (and not even on a real baseball field), but I totally get it now.
I’m a total bleacher bunny.
When he steps out of the cage, the guys are all over him, complimenting him on his hits and talking baseball. My sisters all look like they’re wiping drool off their chins, which causes a small burst of pride to swell in my chest. It also makes me a little thankful that my grandma isn’t here to witness Sawyer’s uber hotness in action. The poor old woman would probably have a heart attack.
I, however, zone in on how he’s favoring his right shoulder. Has he swung the bat like that since his accident? Could he have done a little damage just by hitting a few balls?
He catches my eye and must see the concern on my face. He’s approaching me before I can even register that he’s moving. “Everything okay?” he whispers, sweeping hair off my forehead.
“I should be asking you that. Did you hurt your shoulder?” I ask, slipping my hand under the sleeve of his t-shirt and gently rubbing the puckered skin left from his incisions.
Sawyer shrugs. “It was a little tight at first, but the more swings I made, the looser it started to get.”
I continue to massage the joint, rubbing my fingers around the back of his shoulder and down his arm, then to the front and back down his arm. His eyes become heavy lidded and I can’t tell if it’s just that relaxing of a massage or if he’s getting turned on.
Then he pulls me flush against his front.
Yep, turned on.
He wraps his arms around my shoulders as I inhale the musky, masculine scent that is this man. It might sound a little weird, but I could sniff his clothes and his skin all day long and never tire of it. If I could bottle it up and sell it, I’d be a millionaire for sure.
