Chapter 23
I haven’t been pulled out in the fifth inning since my second season on the team.
I’m consistently out on the mound for seven, even eight innings, before I’m forced off and replaced with a closer.
Relievers are needed less and less when I’m pitching, and I’ve taken more pride in that accomplishment than the three league titles I’ve won.
I stand out in not only our division but the entire MLB for my talent, but tonight?
I fucked up.
Two home runs have toppled my stats, and I left the game with my head between my knees. I’m not even surprised, either. That’s got to be the worst part. I knew I was going to play like shit, and that’s exactly what I did.
Inning after inning, I listened to the silence that filled our home arena when I let hit after hit come and allowed more runs in one night than the first three-quarters of my last season.
The worry in Roman’s eyes when I went to the dugout was worse than if he’d been pissed at me.
I knew what everyone was thinking, and I wish I could have told them the truth.
Instead, I chalked it up to my shoulder and let one of the trainers stretch it out far more than I needed.
After that game, I should be home in bed or forcing Wes to spend the night throwing with me. We’re both exhausted, but he’d still have come. I know that as well as I knew there wasn’t a chance I was going to make plans to do anything other than come right here once I worked up the confidence.
I pound my fist on Aubrey’s door, not caring if it wakes her neighbours. It’s well past eleven, but I know she isn’t asleep. There’s no way she’s been sleeping better than I have, which is like absolute crap. It’s what we both deserve after the other night.
That’s why I’m here. To fix it. Fix everything that we’ve messed up.
The door swings open, and my head empties, my courage draining.
Clearly dishevelled, Aubrey stares at me in confusion before her expression softens, exhaustion lowering her defenses.
The thin silk robe she’s wearing is short.
So, so short. It hitches at her upper thighs and pulls tight across her chest. The fabric does nothing to hide the sharp peaks beneath it.
She’s done the tie tight, but I know with one slight tug, it would fall.
I swallow so loudly it sounds like a drumbeat in the otherwise silent hall.
Her bare lips spread just enough to draw my attention.
When I focus on them, the memory of that sweet strawberry taste hits my tongue.
I’ve been reminded of that slippery gloss for days now and even considered making a trip to the store just to buy a pack of strawberries to try soothing the itch.
Reaching out, I grip the door frame and lean forward, suddenly desperate to close the gap between us.
She bunches the front of her robe in her fingers and twists.
The scent of nail polish is heavy in the air behind her, and I look to her other hand, finding it rubbing up the outside of her left thigh.
Her nails are a deep, glossy red colour that matches her tiny robe and the blush climbing up her neck.
She’s got her hair held up at the back of her head with one of her giant clips.
Rogue black strands fall along the soft, round curves of her face.
There’s not a speck of makeup on her cheeks or eyes, only the sheen across her forehead from whatever skincare product she must have been applying when I interrupted.
My cock throbs as I shift my weight, pressing back on my heels instead of my toes.
“What are you doing here, Finn?”
I focus, digging my fingernails into the wood frame. “We need to talk.”
“It’s late.”
“And I’ll be up all night if we don’t fix this. I have a feeling you’ll be doing the same.”
The blue hue beneath her eyes worries me as much as it reassures me that she’s in the same boat I am. It’s not just me suffering. I was just the first to break.
“Let me in. Just for a few minutes,” I murmur.
She exhales, and my gut twinges at how heavy it sounds. Her eyes are dull as she steps to the side, making room for me to enter her place. The door closes behind me, and I do a quick sweep of the condo, like I need the reassurance that nobody else has been here.
There’s no sign that she’s had company, which I already knew. Fuck.
Without a word, I watch as she goes straight for the fridge and grabs two cans of Dr Pepper. When she offers me one, I take them both and crack them open before handing hers back. Her lips lift at the corners before dropping, her throat working with a swallow.
“This is awkward,” she admits, turning toward the living room.
I chuckle, following. She sits on the couch, directly on the middle cushion, and I relax just enough to take a proper breath, knowing that she doesn’t want too much distance between us. Joining her, I let my thigh press against hers, creating a soft connection that I wait to see if she breaks.
When she doesn’t, I push forward. “I don’t like when we don’t talk, Bree.”
“I don’t, either.”
“So talk to me. Tell me how to fix this because I don’t want—”
She twists. I blink, and she’s in front of me, perched on her knees with two hands on my shoulders.
I swallow the rest of my sentence and press my lips tightly together, too afraid of spooking her.
Heat blasts through me, curling beneath her touch and spiralling outward.
The weight of her hands feels better than anything has since she kissed me.
“You didn’t do anything that needs fixing. I was the one who kissed you, Finn. You’re not allowed to blame yourself for anything.” Her eyes flick between mine. “I want you to tell me if you hated it. Or if you wish I hadn’t done it because you think it made things weird between us.”
“I’m not going to lie,” I rasp, sounding as wrecked as I feel.
“I don’t want you to.”
“Then what do you want?”
It sounds simple, but it couldn’t be further from it.
The question is heavy, loaded with everything I can’t put into words just yet.
I search her expression for any hint as to how she’s feeling, only to find pure desire.
I blink a few times to clear my vision. But no, it’s still there.
The want burning in the deep blue of her eyes hasn’t been replaced with cool indifference.
My heart leaps. I feel the heavy weights of my hands in my lap as I force myself not to reach over and pull her into my arms. She’s still holding me, her thumbs stroking my shoulders at a slow, cautious pace. I bite down on my tongue and grow stiff with restraint.
“I don’t know,” she finally whispers. Her gaze drifts over my face before falling to my mouth, lingering. “Nothing good.”
“Tell me.”
I snap my eyes down to where she grabs my hand and starts to guide it. She brings it to her stomach, and I suck in a breath, fingers twitching but not reaching out despite how badly I want to feel her properly. The silk robe pinches beneath my palm, rising when she continues moving my hand.
“I’m . . . what if . . .” She trails off, her lip nestled between her teeth.
My blood roars when I cup her breast, her movement stalling. Her nipple is pebbled, poking through the robe and scraping against my skin. The flutter of her lashes draws a desperate groan up my throat. I watch her while I squeeze, applying pressure to the heavy softness.
I lean closer, unashamed of how helpless I sound when I ask, “You’re what?”
She tugs on my hand, and then it’s moving again.
Over the swell of her breasts and to the bare skin exposed by the robe now slouching down her shoulder, she sweeps my fingers up her body.
My nails drag over the goosebumps, and I inhale the warm scent of vanilla lotion, flicking my eyes up to watch her features tighten and then relax.
“Am I going crazy?”
“No,” I answer instantly.
“I need to know if it was just one time. If we were just confused.”
I immediately want to deny the accusation, but don’t, keeping quiet instead. It’s safer to let this play out, just to make sure. This isn’t something that can be done and then taken back. I’m not touching a stranger.
Aubrey is my everything. My best friend. Money, fame, baseball—I would give it all up for her.
So, I nod. I agree and cover my tongue in more bite marks when my fingers dance across her throat.
Across the small indent at the base and up along the side, I feel her hot blood beneath the skin and the quick thrum of a pulse.
She closes her eyes, her head tilting to the side as I swipe my thumb over where she’s throbbing and lower my head.
My mouth drifts across her temple, hot breath fanning out.
“Tell me what to do,” I mutter.
Her fingers twitch around my wrist. “Kiss me again. Then we can put it to rest. It has to be you.”
“And if I don’t want to put it to rest?”
She pauses, staring at me like she doesn’t believe I’ve really asked that. Like the idea of me wanting to kiss her again doesn’t make sense. I almost laugh but think better of it.
“You seem so sure that I didn’t like what we did, Bree.
But you’re wrong. It’s the only thing I’ve thought about this weekend.
Knowing you were upset had me playing my worst game in seasons, but right now, I can’t find it in myself to care.
Not when all I want is to pull you into my lap and kiss you the same way I did before you ran from me. ”
Soft, slow blinks from black lashes answer me. My stomach twists and knots itself into a ball as I wait, my uneven breaths filling the space between us. Her hair tickles my jaw as I press closer and wet my lips.
“Tell me not to do exactly that,” I demand, warning.
“I can’t.”
This time, I kiss her first.
I grab her beneath both of her thighs and haul her onto my lap while our mouths touch, lips parting in sync.
Her fingers dig into my hair and pull me closer while I run a hand up her spine and take her hair down.
I toss her clip onto the couch and grip her curls at the roots, tugging just enough to get a reaction.
Her strangled moan fills my mouth, and I taste it on my tongue, tightening my grip on her thigh. It’s the first time I’ve heard a sound like that come from her. I want more. Need it.
The pressure in my groin intensifies when she lets her weight fall and our middles touch. Shocks travel up my core and wings out, electrifying me.
“Is this wrong? Does it feel like we should stop?” I ask roughly, unable to help myself.
She pinches my lip between her teeth and pulls, eyes snapping open just long enough to burn into mine. “No.”
That’s the end of it, then.
For tonight, this is us, and I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.