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Even though I’m supposed to be paying attention to the game in front of me, just like every time I’ve heard that beautiful, sassy voice shouting from the bleachers, I look back over my shoulder, finding Wren in the middle of the stands surrounded by other parents, completely forgetting I’m supposed to be coaching a high school baseball game.
The stands are crowded with island residents to cheer on their Summersweet Wildcats who are currently undefeated, but no matter how loud everyone has gotten during the game, I can always pick out Wren’s voice. It’s like my ears are specifically honed to her, pulling my focus away from the game and putting it only on her. On how goddamn beautiful she always looks whether she’s standing on the beach under the moonlight in a sexy as hell romper or sitting in the stands under the lights in a hoodie and jean shorts straight from work. On how passionate she is about the game of baseball, not only yelling at the umps all night when they make a stupid call but throwing out shouts of instruction and encouragement to the players, each baseball term effortlessly flying out of her mouth, making my dick jump to life in my shorts at a fucking high school baseball game. Just like it did that day I came up on her coaching practice, except that day I had to actually put my hands over my crotch I was so hard watching her masterfully lead practice.
I always laughed whenever Wren would mess up baseball terminology in our messages and thought it was kind of adorable. There is definitely no laughing involved when I hear beautiful, sweet, sometimes sassy Wren Bennett shout things like…
“Choke up on it!”
“Hit it harder!”
“Way to pull it out at the end!”
“That one’s going long and deep!”
And, “Can you grab me some nachos?”
Yeah, so, I’m in hell. Everything she says turns me on now, and it feels like I jinxed myself by saying I needed to slow things down and stop picturing her naked all the time. Now, I’m picturing myself eating nachos off her bare tits, and a man can only take so much, dammit!
When Wren’s eyes meet mine from the stands and she gives me a small smile and a little wave with her fingers, it takes a hell of a lot of strength to look away from her and back to the game. I know it’s not me out there playing on that field, but looking up into the stands from where I’m sitting at the end of the bench in the dugout, in the same spot I used to sit in high school and look up into the stands, wishing Wren was there cheering me on, I almost feel like a teenager again and my girl finally came out to watch me play. And the fact that my girl is the one I’ve been dreaming about since I was that teenager sitting on this bench and glancing up into the stands through the fence just makes it sweeter. And harder to keep a tight leash on my need for her. Being here in this place with the same old smells and sights and sounds, it’s hard to stop remembering all those fantasies I used to have about Wren back in the day, where she’d come to one of my games in high school and we’d celebrate the win by her riding my cock in the dugout after everyone went home.
All of the shit Palmer and Bodhi told me about Kevin suddenly flashes through my head, pouring a cold bucket of water on my fantasies. I need to be concentrating on erasing every bad thing that asshole has ever done and said to her with nothing but good, instead of all the cock riding fantasies, for fuck’s sake. Nothing but reminders that she is strong, and beautiful, and amazing, and perfect exactly the way she is, and not just someone I want to bend over a chest freezer and fuck into oblivion.
A bunch of boos and shouting from the stands when the ump calls the last pitch a ball reminds me I should probably concentrate on this game first before I do anything else.
Pushing myself up from the bench, I stand in front of the chain-link fence surrounding the dugout, reaching up to rest a couple of my fingers in each hand through the fence holes to hang on while I focus my attention on our pitcher, Carter. He started tiring out halfway through this final inning, and after two walks in a row before this current batter, I called a timeout for a chat with him and our catcher on the mound.
I could see the fear in Carter’s eyes as I walked across the infield toward him with a calming smile on my face, knowing exactly how a situation like this would have played out with their old coach. A lot of screaming, yelling, blaming, and humiliating as the man pulled him from the game to replace him with someone else who could finish strong. With the Devils only trailing us by one run, bases loaded, and two outs, it’s a stressful situation not only for me as a coach, but for the pitcher as well. When I saw the determination on Carter’s face as soon as I met him on the mound, and he was adamant that he could strike this guy out and finish the game, I nodded, handed him a ball, patted him on the shoulder, and told him to kick some ass.
