Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
LOGAN
I rip a swing, and the ball soars over the fence.
And then another one. Going. Going. Gone.
Straight into the pine trees behind left field.
“Damn,” Brooks whistles, wiping sweat from his forehead. “What’s gotten into you today, man? I think you just hit that one five-hundred feet.”
I shrug and shake out my shoulders, take another pitch. Boom. Right-center. Gone.
“Yo,” he says, walking up beside me. “Be straight with me. Is this because of the scout that’s watching tonight?”
“A scout?”
Brooks raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t know? Some guy from the pros, from L.A. Coach said he’s got eyes on you.”
I glance toward the bleachers, and sure enough, there’s a man in a collared shirt and wraparound shades leaning back with a notebook in his lap. Shit.
I wipe my hand across my face. “Bro, I have no idea about any scouts. Didn’t even think of that.”
Brooks smirks. “Then what is it?” He leans in. “You been taking PEDs or something?”
I laugh and look out past the field. “Nah. I don’t mess with that stuff.”
My vision travels past the fences and the trees, past the town I never thought I’d care about. My thoughts land squarely on her. The way she tasted. The way her breath hitched when I touched her. The way she looked at me after, like I was more than just a rebound. Maybe.
She still might take some convincing. But she doesn’t know how convincing I can be.
“It’s nothing,” I mutter, grabbing the next bat.
After practice, I’m halfway to the locker room when I hear someone call out:
“Logan Wade?”
I turn. It’s the guy from the bleachers.
“I’m Kyle Templeton,” he says, extending a hand. “I scout for L.A. You’ve got one hell of a swing.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.” I shake his hand. “Thanks. Just lucky today, I guess.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That wasn’t luck. That was control. Power. Poise. You hit three in a row into the damn evergreen trees. That a normal batting practice for you?”
I shrug. “Been feeling good lately.”
He studies me for a second. “I’m gonna cut to the chase. You’re twenty-nine. Not exactly ancient, but it’s surprising you haven’t played in the majors yet if you hit like that. You’ve got the arm for third base and a bat like that. You’re wasting time in the minors.”
“I’ve thought about it, sure,” I say. “Don’t really want to ride the bench though.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying? I don’t tell everyone this. I didn’t even come here to see you. I came to see, uh, I forget his name…”
“Oh. Yeah, well, cool,” I say. I feel so chilled out today, and it’s no huge mystery why.
Yeah, I just had the best sex of my entire life with a girl I like more and more as I get to know her. It’s quite the high, you should try it.
“Cool?”
“Yeah, cool. Let me know.”
“Most guys…start making a case for why they should be called up.”
“I’m not really a bragger. Either you want me for the team or not, man. I just love the game.”
Yeah. Right now…all I’m thinking about is getting back to Cassie. Besides, most scouts are full of shit anyway. He probably says this same spiel every week.
“Good,” the scout says. “We’ll be watching. Keep it up tonight.”
He turns to leave, but not before he adds, “And keep your head in the game. You’re not invisible out there.”
If only he knew how far from the game my head really is. Maybe that’s what I need, though. A little relaxation.
I slip in quietly, the door clicking behind me. The house is dark, except for the soft golden glow spilling from the kitchen. My body’s buzzing from the game—three hits, one home run, solid defense. Should feel like a high.
But the second I see her, everything else vanishes.
Cassie’s leaning against the counter, barefoot, legs bare, wearing nothing but one of my button-down shirts—white, just barely translucent.
It hits mid-thigh, clinging in all the right places.
Her hair’s damp from a shower. She holds a glass of something dark in one hand, swirling it like she’s been waiting.
And from the look on her face, she has been.
“Well?” she says. Her voice is low, teasing. “You look like you just ran a marathon.”
“Felt like one,” I murmur, walking toward her. “We won.”
She raises her eyebrows. “How many?”
“Three hits. One homer.”
“MVP-type shit.”
I laugh. “I don’t know about that. It’s one game. You been watching?”
“I heard the bar cheering two blocks down.” She smirks and takes a slow sip, then sets the glass down. “Thought you could use something to take the edge off.”
I close the distance between us. “And this is the reward?”
She shrugs, eyes dancing. “That depends. You want the whiskey—or me?”
My hands are on her in an instant, cupping her face, then trailing down her sides, tugging her close. “Whiskey’s good,” I whisper against her neck, “but I’m dying for a taste of something else.”
Her breath catches, and I feel the shift in her.
I back her into the counter, sliding a hand beneath the hem of the shirt. Her skin’s warm, smooth, and my fingers travel higher, along her thighs, her hips. She’s not wearing anything underneath.
“Fuck, Cass,” I mutter. “You waiting here like this…you trying to kill me?”
“Maybe just weaken you a little.” She bites her lip, but her confidence is cracking around the edges.
“I’m already weak for you,” I say. “How many ways do I have to say it?”
“Fuck. I’m just not used to…someone admitting that about me.”
“Well, I’m not hiding anything.”
She gasps as I lift her onto the counter, step between her legs, and pull her closer.
Her hands fumble with the buttons of my shirt. “You still sore from the game?”
“I’m about to be sorer.”
“Logan. I might need a break,” she says. “You kind of wrecked me.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to work on being gentle.”
I press her back, lips grazing her collarbone, then lower until I’m kneeling between her thighs. Her fingers grip the edge of the counter as I taste her, slow and deep.
She lets out a cry that hits me right in the chest.
And all I can think is: this—this—is what I’ve been playing for.
And I finally feel like I’m in the right game.