Chapter 20
Twenty
Aspen
I’m on Keene like white on rice the second he walks through the door early Sunday evening.
And when I say walks, I mean hobbles. I’m watching my best friend hobble his way into our dorm.
The sight alone has the same anger building inside me as when I saw that jackass from Washington nail him in the ribs during the game.
“Let me see it,” I demand, grabbing the strap of his bag from his shoulder.
He frowns, letting the duffle slide into my grip. “Hello to you too, Pen.”
I frown right back. “Hello? Really? You get beaned in the side and you wanna start with hello?”
His nostrils flare and instead of answering, he shoves past me toward his room. Not bothering to give me a second look.
What the fuck?
I follow him. Of course, I follow him, my fury only growing. Except now, it’s also aimed toward him instead of the dickface who hit him.
He doesn’t look or spare me a second glance, speaking straight ahead of him as he pushes open his door. “I was hit by a pitch. Big deal. It’s happened plenty of times before.”
Dropping the bag next to his door, I cross the room to him and grab his shoulder. “Don’t you dare play this shit off, Kee,” I snap as I spin him toward me. “Now take your shirt off and let me see.”
The minute I see his wince, I know I made the wrong move.
Shit.
His lip curls back in a sneer before he yanks his arm from my hold. “Yeah? Well, I’m not really in the fucking mood to be ambushed and then manhandled the second I walk through the door.”
I bite my tongue and step back, putting some space between us when I don’t want there to be any. It wasn’t my intention to piss him off the second he walked through the door. It’s just…
“I know this isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last,” I say, calming myself by clenching and unclenching my hands at my sides. “I’ve seen it hundreds of times. But I’ve never seen one take you to the ground like that.”
His scowl slowly fades as he fiddles with the hem of his shirt, glancing away from my imploring gaze. “I promise, I’m fine.”
My tongue wets my lip and I grab the soft fabric, pulling him back into my space. The words are a whisper off my tongue. “Then show me. Prove it.”
He gives me an exasperated look. “Pen—”
I raise a brow. “Don’t make me dare you.”
A slow smirk crosses his face and he shakes his head. “So stubborn.”
“One of my most endearing qualities,” I remind him, slowly lifting his shirt up.
He snorts. “If you say so.” But then his arms raise, albeit slowly, allowing me to slip the fabric over his head with ease.
Brown eyes heat when they reconnect with mine as I drop the shirt to the floor between us. Neither of us dares break away from the other. I don’t even think either of us are breathing when my hand connects with the skin covering his side. The contact is enough to have him glancing away from me.
Clearing my throat, I move my attention to where I’m touching him.
I take in the massive bruise across his ribs, my breath hitching as the pads of my fingers trace over the black and blue and purple skin.
It’s welted and raised in places to the point where I can even see the stitching from the ball in one spot.
But what has me wanting to cringe the most is the indentation, making it look like the ball is still lodged into his side entirely.
I’ve seen Keene’s baseball injuries up close and personal before. None of them have ever looked like this.
“This is just from a ball?” I whisper. He winces when I brush over where the skin is raised, the area clearly more sensitive than the rest of the injury.
“Yeah, but I’m fine, Pen. Seriously,” he says, trying to pull away from me, but my fingers wrap around his bicep to stop him. He glances down at my hand and sighs. “I’ve been hit by a pitch plenty of times. You’ve seen it in person, you’ve watched it on TV. It’s part of the game.”
Yeah, but your body wasn’t mine any other time this has happened.
My attention flicks up to his face and I can tell how much pain he’s in, though he’s trying not to show it. Between the ball he took to the ribs and spending nine innings behind the plate, he’s gotta be hurting. Sore muscles and aching bones.
“Did you take an ice bath for it?”
“Didn’t have time there, so I took a quick one in the team’s clubhouse before coming home.”
He shifts away from me again, and this time, I let him go. He drops onto his bed with a thud, a low groan following as he buries his face in his pillow.
I clear my throat again before saying stay here, not bothering to wait for a response.
“Wasn’t planning on moving until Monday morning,” he calls, slightly muffled as I enter the bathroom.
I quickly fill the tub with steeping hot water, dumping in a few scoops of Epsom salts I know he keeps under the sink after long, rough days.
His coach always harps on him about doing both ice baths and salt baths after spending the weekend behind the plate, since alternating between the hot and cold can help heal and soothe his aching muscles.
Yet somehow, he always manages to forget the hot portion of this cycle, because the container of salts is pretty much full.
A few minutes later, the tub is full with the salts tossed in, and I make my way back to Keene’s room to usher him to the bathroom.
He fights me at first, refusing to move from his place on the bed, but eventually I manage to get him to agree to get in the damn tub if I order his favorite Italian place for delivery tonight.
That gets his ass up real quick.
“Mmm, that looks like heaven,” he says, staring at the tub as he starts stripping out of his shorts and underwear.
I busy myself with putting away containers when he undresses, then picking up his clothes to keep my eyes off him while he slides into the tub.
A low hiss escapes him, and I’m not sure if it’s out of pain or from the heat of the water, but I tamp down the urge to turn and check on him.
The last thing I want or he needs is me ogling his body when he’s in no shape to do anything about the stupid amount of lust he causes anytime I catch a glimpse of his bare skin.
So instead, I grab a clean towel from beneath the sink as I wait for the sound of water sloshing against the side of the tub to subside as an indication that it’s safe to turn around. Even if it’s completely idiotic and unnecessary, considering I’ve seen him naked hundreds of times now.
Something he’s quick to point out, which isn’t a surprise.
“You should know better than anyone, I’m not exactly shy,” he teases. I turn to see that shit-eating grin of his aimed my way from his spot in the tub. “I mean, I answered a FaceTime call in the shower with you.”
I feel heat rush to the tips of my ears at the mention of what happened when he was in Arizona, but I fight to keep the embarrassment from sending me to the safety of my room. “I just…was trying to be polite. Not ogle or anything.”
“Because knowing you want me is such a bad thing, right, Pen?” His eyes roll. “I fingered my ass and basically made a live porn video for you. I don’t give two shits about a little bit of eye-fucking.”
He’s got a point…
“Fine.” I shake my head and take a seat on the edge of the tub, letting my eyes trail over the lines of lean muscle and smooth skin. “So wanna tell me about how things went today? Besides the welt the size of the moon on your side?”
He leans back, closing his eyes as he goes over how the game went before he took a fastball to the ribs. My eyes trace over his face as he talks, grateful for the few minutes to take him in without his knowledge.
He’s got a couple bruises and cuts along his forearms, which isn’t all that abnormal. His skin looks more tanned, though, and the freckles dotting his cheekbones and nose have darkened some since I saw him Friday.
“I can feel you staring at me,” he says suddenly, opening his eyes. “Thought you weren’t gonna ogle.”
“Just making sure you’re still in one piece.”
He smirks. “Always the worrier. I swear, I’m fine. But if playing the injured card gets you to grant my every request, I’ve got one for you.”
“And that would be?”
He licks his lips as he takes his time mapping my face with his stare. Unlike me, he doesn’t care that I’m watching him, which somehow manages to make me more nervous.
It makes no fucking sense.
“Come in here,” he finally replies.
“What?”
“You heard me,” he replies, doing his best to slide up in the tub to make room for me. The issue is, we’re both over six feet tall and nowhere near small. No damn way we both fit in there. Comfortably.
“Not happening.” I laugh softly, but I stay seated on the edge of the tub beside him to keep him company while he relaxes. I think he gives up on the idea pretty quickly, when out of nowhere, his wet arm wraps around my waist, effectively soaking my shirt and shorts where his skin touches me.
“What the shit?” I ask, attempting to jump up. I don’t make it far though, because Keene’s arm tightens around me to hold me in place.
“Oh, no,” he says in mock innocence. I can practically hear the smile in his voice as he presses his cheek against my back. “How’d that happen?”
I roll my eyes and remove his arm from me, albeit as gently as I can since it’s the side of his body that took the hit. He still winces and I immediately regret not letting him keep it there.
“I wonder,” I say, my voice laced with sarcasm, but I still don’t turn around.
Instead, I reach down and peel my now partially wet shirt over my head, tossing it across the bathroom. My shorts come next, joining my shirt, but my boxers are still dry so they remain on my body as my last layer of decency.
Decency. Right. Because Keene hasn’t become very well acquainted with my cock by now.
His forehead presses into my back again when I move back into place. The heat of his skin directly against mine sends a shiver up my spine and goosebumps break out across my body like little zings of lust rippling through me.