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“Elbow up—good girl.” I settle onto the mound, digging my toes into the clay. I have no idea how to throw a softball pitch, but I figure a nice easy underhand should be simple enough for her to hit. “Ready?”
She nods, so I wind back and toss the ball. She swings and hits it softly, but too late; she barely makes contact, and it rolls foul.
“Try and get on it faster,” I say as I pick up another ball. “Ready?”
This time, she hits it with some power. I jump out of the way as it rockets right up the middle of the diamond. She does a little dance at home plate. “Do it again!”
I toss her a third, which she hits right where the shortstop would be, and a fourth that goes all the way to the outfield. At the last one, she takes off running, losing the helmet halfway to first. I cheer, whooping, as she rounds second, then third. On her way home, I run over to meet her. We collide at the plate, landing in a heap of laughter and dirt. She’s on top of me, and her hair is in my face, and her eyes are as bright as the stars overhead. I loop my arms over her back, hugging her close, urging her to give me all her weight.
“And the crowd goes wild,” I murmur.
Her heartbeat races against mine. She kisses me deeply, our teeth practically gnashing together, her hands tugging on my hair. The warm weight of her sends heat to all the right places, and my mouth goes dry when she pulls off the jersey. She has on a purple bra, the same color as the jersey, showing off the two perfect handfuls of her tits. Her gold chain swings gently.
“Angel,” I say hoarsely.
Her smile is small and tilted to one side, and it means more to me than anything in the world. My Mia is brave. It takes guts to go after what you want instead of what’s expected of you, and it sounds like she made that choice long ago, when it would have been easier to give in to the pressure and expectations. I don’t know the full story yet, but I will someday soon, and when I do, that’s what I’ll tell her. She’s brave. She’s not letting anyone dictate her future but her, and that’s the most admirable thing I’ve ever known.
“Maybe outdoor sex can be our thing,” she says teasingly. She traces down my chest, playing with the buttons of my uniform. “What do you think?”
My mind is racing a million miles a minute, but I don’t indulge the thoughts. Not now, when I have Mia sitting on top of me, looking good enough to eat. Not when letting them in would mean acknowledging what I can’t push away any longer.
I have a future, but not in baseball.
Even though I loved tonight’s game—even though I love playing every game—my father’s legacy belongs to him. My life can’t be an imitation of his just because it was what he wanted for me before he died. I have to make my own future, even if it means giving up the sport I’ve revolved my life around for as long as I can remember.
And that’s fucking terrifying.
So instead, I pull Mia into another breathtaking, overwhelming kiss. “Come here, gorgeous.”
48
MIA
Somewhere in betweenstealing home and carrying me to the dugout bridal-style, Sebastian got pensive. I’m not sure what happened, but he won’t stop kissing me, even to talk for a moment, and he’s holding me so tightly I wonder if I’m going to be sore in the morning.
I love it, but I’m worried, too.
This dugout isn’t anything like the one in the main ballpark; it’s just a long bench with a step and a railing. It’s not at all comfortable, but that’s not the point right now, not when each kiss is like a drop of water after wandering parched in a desert. Not when there’s something hanging in the air between us, as delicate yet unbreakable as a string of silk. It’s wrapped around his heart and mine, shining in the quiet night. If we didn’t have the floodlights from the stadium bleeding over the sky, I’d barely be able to see him.
It’s a good night for planet hunting, as Nonno would say.
I gasp, arching my back, as Sebastian bites my nipple. He drags his hand down my side, curving over my hip bone before settling it on my bare thigh. The moment we got to the dugout, he made a makeshift blanket out of the jerseys, and I undressed the rest of the way without ceremony. He hefted me back into his arms, holding us chest-to-chest, and we made out against the cinderblock wall until I begged him for more contact. I got what I asked for, but he’s still too quiet. Normally I’m overwhelmed by the praise, teasing and laughter. This feels different. Serious. The pleasure is there—my clit is throbbing; I want his touch so fucking bad, and I know he’s hard—but he’s not himself.
I reach up and stroke my fingers through his hair. I feel him shiver as he kisses between my breasts. “Sweetheart,” I murmur.
“Mia,” he answers, my name slipping from his lips like a prayer.
“Are you okay?”
His eyes are bright even in the dark. “Are you? Are you too cold?”
I sit up a little. “I’m fine. You’re just… being quiet, I guess.”
He pulls me into his lap, wrapping his big arms around me. I throw my arms around his neck, happy for the contact. I bury my face against the hollow of his throat, feeling the press of his dad’s necklace, as I breathe in his sweat.
It’s sweet that he wears that necklace all the time. I like my hoops because Nana gave them to me from her personal jewelry box, and I like my chain because Nonno got it for me to match the earrings. He hasn’t spoken about it much, but I know the necklace holds the same level of significance to him.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just thinking about how much I admire you.”
