Home Run Baby: A Sports Romance (3 page)

“Love and marriage.”

My smile fades. “I’ve been on this planet for the exact same amount of time she has… but I feel like I’m a thousand years behind. Like, where did I go wrong? What did she do that I didn’t? What does she know that I don’t?”

“She’s got a three-minute head start on you,” he says. “A lot can change in three minutes.”

“Maybe.” I pause, letting it sink in. “I just wish that I could skip to the end, you know?”

“End of what?”

“Relationships. I hate the beginning. It’s awkward and weird and no one says what they’re really thinking and then you just end up having to get to know them all over again six months in and I…” I shake my head. “It’s just not worth the effort anymore.”

“Well…” He flexes his jaw. “If you skip to the end, then you’re either single, again, or one of you is dead.”

I squint. “I’m clearly not great at planning either...”

“Clearly,” he nods, smiling. “But I get what you mean.”

“You do?”

“It’s rough taking the time to get to know someone only to look back and realize you wasted all that time — time you could have spent getting to know someone else.”

“It’s
disappointing
.” I pause. “But then again… you never know if that
some
one will turn out to be
the
one.”

He scoffs. “If that even exists.”

“Well…” I take a drink. “It’d be
super nice
if the universe would just smack me in the head with it if that happens because I will sure as hell fuck that up, too.”

He stares at me for a long time, barely blinking, and I feel a rush of nerves rattle my gut.

I clear my throat and look into my glass again. “Wow, you’re really good at the whole
keep them talking and drinking
thing.”

“I’ve been told that.”

I say nothing else. Not that I could say anything more with his jade eyes carving a hole into my skull like this.

“Look…” He leans in closer and lowers his voice to a soft murmur. “I don’t normally do this…”

I raise a brow, recognizing the seductive tone. “Oh, sure you do.”

He licks his lips. “I’m celebrating tonight.”

“What are you celebrating?”

“This is my last shift here.”

“Oh?” I ask. “Moving on to bigger, better things?”

“Something like that.”

“Congratulations to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Why the fuck should I care?”

He chuckles. “My shift ends in ten minutes. On my way out, I’d planned on swiping a bottle of the good stuff from the back.”

I gasp. “That’s
naughty
.”

“That’s
justified
,” he grins. “Believe me.”

“So, you’re sticking it to the big, bad, boss man…”

“Yes, I am.”

“So, I ask again...” I lean forward until we sit a few inches from each other. “Why the fuck should I care?”

His eyes flick around my face. “I thought that maybe you’d like to join me in my celebration.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?”

“You seem like you could use the night off.”

“From what?”

“From you.”

“If only it were that simple.”

“Let’s make it that simple,” he says.

“So, you snatch up some expensive hooch, we hop on back to your place,” I recount, “and then
what
?”

He looks at my lips. “We skip to the end.”

I point a sly finger at him, narrowing my eyes as my pulse quickens. “Not bad, bar guy. Not bad at all.”

“Thank you,” he says.

I sit back and look him up and down. “Spin.”

“What?”

“Give me a spin!” I twirl a finger in the air.

He exhales a laugh and turns around in a circle. My eyes instantly drop to his rear; firm and tight in his jeans and I nod with admiration.

“Okay,” I say. “Lift your shirt.”

He gawks at me. “Seriously?”

“I’m sampling the merchandise!”

“What am I? An object?”

“Yes!” I shake my head. “Man, the service in this place
sucks
. They’re better off without you.”

He fixes his eyes on me and raises his shirt, revealing enough taut abs that I actually lose count. “Well?” he asks, letting the shirt fall.

I shrug. “Meh.”

“Meh?”

“Meh.”

“Okay, then,” he laughs. “Now, you lift
your
shirt.”

I scoff. “Rude much?”

“
I’m
the rude one?”

“I’m doing you a favor, bar guy,” I argue. “Without me, your night of celebration would include you getting blasted alone while you Netflix and chill with your non-dominate hand.”

“Hey, we could forget all about it,” he says, smirking. “I’ll even pay for your cab. You can head on back home and watch your sister make googly eyes at her honey while you die a little more inside.”

I blink. “Ouch.” I empty the rest of my drink down my throat while I slide off my stool. “Okay, fine. But just
one
boob.”

“Wait…” He raises a hand and twirls his finger.
“Spin.”

I raise a crooked brow and turn, slowly moving so he gets a good look. His eyes burn into me, crawling down my body like a laser and I can’t help but blush a little.

He nods, his gaze flicking upward from my ass. “Okay. Go ahead.”

I look at the old man again but he’s either completely oblivious or really good at pretending to be. I grip the bottom of my shirt and raise it, being careful to only let half of my bra get exposed.

The bar guy looks at me and the edges of his lips curl with delight. Luckily, I sprung for my lacy, black undergarments tonight and the sudden dilation of his pupils shows me that he agrees with that decision.

“Well?” I ask, dropping it back down.

He shrugs. “Meh.”

“Oh, fuck off, bar guy.”

“What’s your name?” he asks, laughing quietly.

I bite my lip and say the first name that comes to mind. “It’s Jenny.”

“It’s nice to meet you,
Jenny.
” He turns towards the back room. “I’m going to go clock out.”

“And what’s
your
name?” I ask, watching him go.

He pauses in the doorway. “It’s Joey.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,
Joey
.”

I’m not sure why I lied to him but I don’t really regret it, either.

Leaving Daisy Hawthorne at home for the night seems like a pretty decent idea.

Chapter 3

Hunter

My name isn’t
Joey
.

But hers isn’t
Jenny
either.

It’s
Daisy
, according to the ID she showed me earlier, but I’ll let her be
Jenny
tonight if that’s who she wants to be.

She follows me into my apartment and instantly hums to herself as she sees the cardboard boxes stacked in every corner. “You weren’t kidding about moving onto bigger, better things.”

“Nope,” I chuckle.

“Where are you going?”

I walk through the barren living room towards the kitchen, the only room I haven’t managed to box up yet, and I set the bottle of liberated whiskey on the counter.

“Not far,” I answer.

She leans against the door frame, seemingly satisfied with the vague reply. Either she’s respecting my boundaries or she doesn’t actually care; neither of which would surprise me. This obviously isn’t her first rodeo.

But it’s not mine either.

I snatch two glasses from the cupboard and open the freezer for some ice, feeling her eyes on me the entire time. “So, what brought you to the bar tonight?” I ask.

“I needed a drink.”

“Well, I know that.” I fill the glasses. “But why
that
bar? I’ve never seen you in there before.”

“Oh.” She sighs and pops off the door frame, her shoes gently clacking along the linoleum floor towards the counter. “It was within walking distance of my place.”

“Car trouble?”

I slide the glass closer to her and she picks it up. “Only in the sense that driving home would have gotten me
into
trouble.”

“I see.”

“I’m usually a
drink at home alone
kind of girl,” she explains. “But tonight, my sister and her
fiancé
are sleeping on my couch, so…”

“Home not so lonely.”

“Exactly.” She raises the glass to her lips and takes a slow sip. “
Mmm.
Joey the bar guy knows his booze.”

“It was more or less a job requirement,” I say, taking a sip of my own.

“Makes sense.”

We lock eyes for a moment, both of us wondering how long we can delay the inevitable here. I think to lean in and kiss her just to get it over with but she spins away, taking her glass with her as she explores the rest of my apartment.

I let her wander, watching her as her hips sway in those tight jeans and her little blue eyes shine in the shadows.

Daisy — or
Jenny
, as I should remember to call her — isn’t quite like anyone I’ve encountered before, which is slightly ironic considering there’s another version of her out there somewhere. She’s confident, that much is obvious, but there’s a sharp vulnerability beneath it that she probably doesn’t let out very often. Her confidence stems from her looks alone and I’ll be the first to agree with her on that. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of her since she walked into the bar.

She halts in my bedroom doorway and pauses, leaning against the door frame without even glancing inside. “You’re left-handed,” she says, pointing her index finger at me as she clenches her glass with her other fingers.

I blink. “How’d you know?”

She smiles and takes another slow drink, filling the time with as much silence as possible. “Just a wild guess,” she finally says.

“How?” I ask again.

“You stack your dishes on the left side of your sink.” She gestures towards the bathroom. “Your toothbrush is hanging on the left side, too. At the bar, you stirred my drink with your left… Also, you’re currently holding your drink in your left which more or less confirms my suspicions
and
— come to think — you waved me into the bar with your left arm, too…”

I step a little closer to her. “Impressive,” I nod. “You have a good eye for details.”

“I’ve been told that.”

“I bet that comes in handy in your line of work.”

“More or less.”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Joey, I’ve wanted you to kiss me since I sat down at that bar.”

I step closer and she adjusts her arms, lowering her drink to her side. She looks up at me and her eyes stay open until the last possible moment before our lips touch.

There’s no hesitation in her kiss, no moment of doubt before her lips purse against mine. She kisses me back and my heart races, firing blood throughout my limbs as I press her little body against the door frame and crush my lips on hers.

She chuckles softly and looks up at the ceiling, bearing her neck for me and I take soft nibbles out of her skin. My nose twitches, sensing spots of perfume hidden behind her ears and I pull her a little closer to me as she empties the last of her drink down her throat. I taste the whiskey on her lips. It mixes with the sweetness of her and my cock presses hard within my jeans.

Another chuckle escapes her throat and she purposefully grinds her hips against me, firing sparks up my spine.

“Get on the bed,” I say.

She moves with a wide smile, setting her empty glass on my desk as she passes by it.

I follow her, watching the curve of her hip and the slouch of her shoulders. My eyes constantly move to experience her.

She sits down by my pillows and leans back on her hands with her chest pooched out, staring up at me with a flirty, expectant eye as I stand above her in the dark.

I set the bottle down on the bedside table but she picks it back up. She takes a swig, letting her lips purse hard against the bottle’s neck and she licks the rim as she brings it down again.

My cock bounces. “Lie back.”

Her eyes never leave mine as she obeys, lying down with a firm grip on the bottle. “Just so you know,” she says, “if you’ve got a dirty mouth, I don’t mind.”

I raise a brow. “Good.”

She hums with amusement. “I knew it.”

“Knew
what
?”

“You spend your time listening to other people talk, talk, talk,” she smiles. “The quiet ones
always
have the best dirty mouths.”

“Is that so?” I ask, leaning over her.

She nods. “Show me what you got, Joey.”

I lay my nose against her neck to inhale a little more of her. “I will. But first,” I say, kissing her collarbone, “my tongue is about to get a little too busy to talk.”

I raise her shirt, exposing her navel and my ears ring with that delightful laugh of hers as I make my way down.

“A man who respects the foreplay…” she says. “I like that.”

I snatch the whiskey from her limp fingers and take a drink, letting a bit of it gather on my tongue. It spills onto her skin and I lap it off her as she runs her finger through my hair and a shiver runs through her body. I slip her shirt over her head and she tosses it away before I bury my face in her cleavage, taking what I’ve wanted since she exposed herself to me at the bar.