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Pale green eyes roll. “If you were aiming for incognito, you probably should’ve left the Wolves cap at home.”
I don’t mention that I had no idea I was wearing it until right now—only instinct had me grabbing it on the way out the door. “Can take the man outta the baseball, can’t take the baseball outta the man.”
“Sounds painful.” Ben knocks his hip against mine, gracing me with a genuine smile. “Thanks for doing this.”
Not like I had anything else to do, I barely resist quipping.
When Ben first told me about the job opening on the Select team he’s worked with since he retired last summer, just after his boys were born, I refused. I think I laughed, actually, because I could barely—canbarely—wrap my head around how easily, how willingly, Ben transitioned from the MLB golden boy to a small town 12U coach, let alone do the same thing. I didn’t care that his assistant coach had quit suddenly and he desperately needed a replacement.
But then Amelia called. Nick, too. Then Luna, Jackson, and Kate. Jesus, even Pen took a crack at me. The whole family did their due diligence so the next time Ben asked, I was sufficiently broken down, and I said yes.
A reluctant, resentful yes that I’m sure I’ll live to regret but Amelia says negativity impedes recovery and, while I don’t buy into that shit, I’m trying to look on the bright side.
So, I return Ben’s smile and playfully croon. “Anything for you, Benny boy.”
With a snort, Ben leads me towards the waiting crowd, muttering important names and rules beneath his breath as we go. It’s impossible to miss how the chatter dies down as we approach. How every gaze swings to us—to me.
Instinctively, my posture straightens. A smile slides into place. I slip off my hat, raking a hand through freshly-trimmed curls before setting both on my hips. The first thing I learned all those years ago when I entered the public eye was how to deal with an adoring—or un-adoring—crowd. So, the greeting I have prepped is tried-and-true.
What I’m not so prepared for, though, is how quickly it dies on my tongue when I scan the crowd. More than half the faces are familiar to me but only one truly stands out. Only one makes my stomach dip while my throat does something funny and some very inappropriate memories flash through my mind.
I’m sure my gaze goes comically wide as it snags on an unforgettable gray one. I’m sure I look like a damn fool, mouth hanging open, hands falling limply to my sides. I’m sure every publicist I’ve ever had would shake their head and cringe as I do a terrible job at maintaining impassiveness as I croak, “Sunday?”
3
CASS
Turns out,it’s really, really hard to hate your life when a beautiful, naked woman is writhing on your lap.
I take my time getting her off with my fingers first. God, do I take my time, and in return, she takes hers. Long, slow strokes of my cock have the back of my head digging into the headrest, my moans filling the car. She pauses when her thumb smoothes over the tip, the most alluring combination of surprise and lust flashing across her face as skin meets metal. “Didn’t that hurt?”
“Uh huh,” I hum, catching her bottom lip between my teeth, nipping. “But I’m a big boy, darlin’. I can take a little pain.”
Pretty eyes roll at my attempt at her accent, and again, for different reasons, when I thrust against her. Swollen lips sticky with smeared lipgloss peck mine. Greedy hands get back to work, confident as they guide me between her thighs. Using it for its intended purpose, she slides my piercing against her clit, the noises she whimpers in my ear going straight to my cock. One roll of her hips and I’m slipping inside her, the wet heat of her cunt sucking me in and scrambling my brain almost enough for me to forget...
“Fuck, wait.” It fucking kills me to halt her downward grind. “I don’t have a condom.”
I feel her disappointed groan in my goddamn soul, feel it reverberating through my body too as she flops forward, a damp forehead plastering to the crook of my equally damp neck. Her heavy breaths are too damn hot against my skin, her slick cunt too fucking tempting, but before I can make a dumbass decision, she makes it for me.
With a deep inhale, she straightens. “I’m Sunday.”
Sunday.
Pretty.
“Figure you should know my name if I’m about to let you fuck me bare.”
Ordinarily, this is where I draw the line—pregnancy scandals are so much easier to dodge when I do my due diligence and wrap it up. But fuck, there’s something about this girl, something that bypasses my defenses and instead has me thanking my past self for, at some point, earning some seriously good karma. “Are you sure?”
“You’re clean, right?” I nod, choosing not to mention that I haven’t had sex since… September? Before that? I can’t remember. “So am I. And I’m on birth control.”
Music to my fucking ears.
My resolve shattering, I kiss her the way I want to fuck her, long and hard. Both of us make quick work of getting her settled right where she belongs, the head of my cock just nudging inside of her when she pauses again. Resting her forehead against mine, she drawls, “This is the part where you tell me your name.”
“Morgan.” The lie is instantaneous, one I’ve told before, but this time, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. “It’s Morgan.”
* * *
