CHAPTER 23 BENNETT
BENNETT
“Why the smile?” Nolan asks as he sits next to me while Asher warms up in the cages. I’m next, so I put my batting gloves on and get ready.
“Am I smiling?”
“Big time,” Nolan says as he pulls a toothpick from his pocket and places it in his mouth.
“Didn’t think I was,” I say as I feel my cheeks stretch, a smile most definitely on my face.
“You’re still doing it. You’re smiling.”
“Can’t I smile while watching Asher hit?”
Asher doesn’t even glance at me when he says, “No,” in his gruff, take-no-prisoners voice.
“See, you’re making the scary man uncomfortable.” Nolan gestures to him. “So either cut the smile or tell me why the hell you look like a goddamn clown.”
Keeping my voice down, I say, “Things might have gone a little further with Bower.”
He slaps his hand to my chest and shouts, “Shut the fuck up. Did you bang her?”
“Dude.”
“Can you two fucking leave?” Asher asks, looking like he’s ready to shove his bat up our asses.
“Sorry,” I say and then get up and head to the hallway, Nolan remaining where he is and crossing one leg over the other, playing with the toothpick in his mouth.
“What the fuck, man?” I ask, hands spread.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“Why else do you think I got up?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Bathroom?”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Asher shouts, gripping his bat intentionally, like he’s going to snap it in half over Nolan’s head.
“Jesus,” Nolan says, getting up. “Get laid, man.”
Then he joins me in the hallway and leans against the wall. “He’s such a dick. You shouldn’t let him push you around like that.”
“I’m giving him space.”
“He doesn’t need space; the dude needs friends.” Whispering, Nolan says, “Can’t trust guys with no friends, like what the fuck does he do with his spare time? Work out? Have you seen his forearms? They’re like fucking bazookas.”
“He has friends, doesn’t he?”
Nolan shakes his head. “Nah, he’s always been a loner. He just needs some fucking love on his dick. He never goes out after games, he never—”
“Maybe he has a girl at home that no one knows about. Also, why do we care?”
“You’re the one who asked.”
“I didn’t ask anything.”
“Whatever, dude, I’m getting bored. Why are we out here?”
“Jesus,” I mutter. He’s almost as bad as OC. “You were asking why I was smiling.”
“Right.” He takes the toothpick out of his mouth and flicks it into a trash can before pulling a green Lifesaver from his pocket.
Does he just collect free items from the hostess stand when leaving restaurants?
Is an Andes mint next? “So, did you bang her?” He props one foot up against the wall behind him and crosses his arms.
“No. But I did do something else.”
“And that is…” He motions with his hand for me to continue.
“I don’t feel comfortable talking about it. I don’t want to invade her privacy like that.”
“For fuck’s sake, I’m your therapist; you can tell me.”
“You’re not my therapist.”
“Your sex therapist.”
“Also no.”
“Fine, I’m the asshole who helped you get to where you are now, and if you don’t fucking tell me, I’m going to find a way to get her number and text her myself.”
Even though I know he wouldn’t do that, I know that he could, so I quietly lean in and say, “We were reading books and I fingered her.”
Nolan slowly nods. “Nice.”
Uh, was kind of expecting a grander reaction than that.
“That’s all you have to say? ‘Nice’?”
“I’m not about to be some giddy asshole. Good job fingering her, man. Maybe next time you can use your dick.”
“Are you serious right now? You’ve been a part of this fucking pursuit from the beginning.”
“Was I, though? Didn’t you start liking her at sixteen?”
I drag my hand over my face. “Never mind. Jesus, way to ruin a good thing.”
I start to walk away, but he grabs my shoulder. “What’s next?”
“Huh?”
“With her.” He rolls his eyes dramatically. “What’s next with her?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have to have a plan. You can’t just wing this.”
“I have so far and it seems to be paying off.”
He shakes his head. “You lucked out, man. She dry-humped you and that was pure fucking luck and wine and you know it. You took your chances and fingered her—can’t stand the term by the way—and that seemed to pan out. The next move is the most important move.”
I hate to admit it, but he might be right. I was able to pass off the dry-humping and get her into a position where I could make the next move, but that was a big one, a big one that she allowed. But my next move is the most important.
“So, what is it going to be?” He nudges me. “You dry-humped her, you fingered her, now you can go all the way and shove your dick in her, or you can take the half step before that.”
“What’s the half step?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes as if I’m a fucking moron. “Eat her out, man.”
He pats my chest and then pushes off the wall.
Just as Asher exits the cages, Nolan calls out, “I’ve got next.”
Eat her out?
Would she even allow that?
Fuck, I want to, desperately. But that’s a huge step. Wouldn’t kissing her be easier than that?
I chase after Nolan, who is loosening up his back in the cages.
“What about a kiss?” I ask through the net. “Wouldn’t that be better?”
He shakes his head and gets in his stance just as a ball is thrown to him and he grounds out. He swears under his breath and loosens his arms for a second.
“No, my man. A kiss is intimate. That’s easily last. Use your lips…on her lips.”
He swings and cracks the ball up the middle.
“It’s the only way. Trust me on this.”
“I trusted you on Cougar,” I counter.
“Yeah, and look at where that got your fingers. Right in her pussy. You’re welcome.”
“Look at this,” Gretchen says as she plops a manila folder in front of me.
I’m exhausted from the game last night. It went extra innings and we wound up losing. It was a tough loss because we’re on the edge of making the playoffs, and right now, every game matters. Every fucking game.
I stare down at the folder and say, “It’s a manila folder.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass. Flip it open.”
Groaning because I’m not in the mood for Gretchen’s theatrics, I flip open the folder only to find a write-up of Books with Bombers.
Social media handles.
Pictures.
Followers…
“What the hell?” I say, zeroing in on the number. “Is that really ten thousand followers on Instagram?”
“It is,” she says. “And about ninety-eight percent of them are women.”
“Probably because I’m reading romance.”
“That and because you’re nice to look at.”
I scoff at her. “Give them more credit than that.”
“True. Apparently the first book you recommended is a well-known start of a series. Many comments from readers looking for a space to talk about it. Which is why I need to set up a date with you that would work to have a book club night. We’re also coming up with merch that we can ship out to the first one hundred members who join your Patreon. ”
“Don’t people have to pay for that? I don’t want to make money off anyone.”
“Technically no, but we’re going to have a pay tier.”
“What? No.” I shake my head. “I’m not taking money from people.”
“Calm down.” She plops in the seat in front of me. “All proceeds will be donated to one of the foster care charities you work with. I just need you to pick which one, or you can divvy up the money to all three. Up to you.”
“Oh.” I lean my forearms on the table in front of me. “Will they be told that’s where the money will be going?”
She nods. “Yes. If you would like to add a backstory, you can. Up to you. I know you like to keep that side of your life private, although I think it would be helpful to bring awareness, but again, that’s totally up to you.”
See, just when I start to think that Gretchen is the bad guy, she really isn’t. She wasn’t the bad guy when it came to Maple and Graydon, and she’s not the bad guy here. Under all those black pantsuits and slicked-down hair, she really does have a heart.
“Let me think on it.”
“Fair enough.” She clears her throat. “Now, I plan on partnering up with a local bookstore, preferably indie, so we can also support small business. I’m still looking around, trying to see which one would be the best fit but—”
“I have one.”
“Really?” she asks, crossing one leg over the other. “Which one?”
“Uh, well, it’s still kind of in the works, but I know it’ll be amazing.”
“What do you mean…in the works?”
“Don’t worry about it.” I stand from the table and rap my knuckles on the surface. “Good talk, though. Have to get ready for the game.”
“When will you tell me the store? I have to keep this going. We have traction, Bennett.”
“I know. Just…let me feel it out first. I can chat next week.”
And then without another word, I take off and pull my phone from my pocket as I head toward the locker room. I didn’t think this thing was going to blow up, but now that it has “legs,” I think we need to run with it, and I have the perfect way to do that.
I shoot off a text, my smile growing wider as I think about how great this could be.
Bennett: I need to talk to you tonight. Coming to your apartment after the game. Super important.