15. Ace
FIFTEEN
ACE
“Why do you look so nervous?” Jackson asks as I fasten my chest protector. We’re in the locker room, getting ready to take the field for our first game of a new series. Usually, I’d be going over what dance moves I’m going to do during my walk-ups, but right now, I can barely even dress myself.
“Lark’s coming,” I grunt out, tightening the strap around my waist. “This’ll be the first time she’s seen me play. What if I fuck up, and she thinks I’m awful?”
His brows shoot up. “Do you like your tutor?”
Oh, fuck.
I told Lark we could keep things between us for now because I understand her reservations. If she doesn’t want people to know that we agreed to see where things go until she’s sure, I respect that. I meant what I said when I told her I saw the differences in our lives, but I also meant it when I said none of it bothered me. If it were up to me, I’d be telling anyone who’s willing to listen that she’s my girl, even if she technically isn’t yet. But I want her to know that I’m serious about moving at whatever pace she needs to.
“No,” I rush out. “It’s not like that. We’re friends and we have a good time together. But I still don’t want to play badly in front of her when it’s her first game. It’ll ruin the experience.”
“The experience,” he echoes as if he didn’t believe a single word of what I just said. “Riiiiight.”
I throw my arms up in exasperation, huffing an annoyed breath and walking away before he asks any more questions. I’m not a great liar as it is, so allowing myself to be grilled by my teammates about the whole thing won’t end well. I have to keep deflecting until I can convince her that it’ll be okay if we decide to be together in public. Or at the very least, in front of my friends. I know they wouldn’t judge, and they’d offer whatever support they could. They may think I make my way around the women who approach us, but they also know I haven’t had a girlfriend since I was drafted. I haven’t told any of them about my past or why I never go home with anyone, but I assume they think it’s just because I’m focused on my game—which is what I had convinced myself it was. That was a hell of a lot easier than admitting my trauma had such a negative impact on my life. I didn’t even realize how much it had until Lark came along and brought all those feelings to the surface. It’s good, though, because it’s made me think long and hard about what I need in order to move forward.
We head toward the dugout, setting up our gear as fans clap and cheer from their seats. I got Lark a ticket just to the left of home plate, about ten rows back from the field. I told her it was because she’d be able to see all the action, which isn’t a lie, but my motives for wanting her so close were a bit more selfish. I want to impress her…and maybe giving her a decent view of my ass as I squat will work in my favor too.
“Let’s fucking go, boys!” Riggs yells, bouncing around like he always does before we take the field for warm-ups. Normally I’d be getting in on the action and hyping up my team, but I’m so busy scanning the stands for Lark that I barely even register what’s going on around me. Fans are still slowly funneling down the steps, making sure to stop by the concession stands to load up on all the amazing ballpark foods before the first pitch is thrown.
“Hello?” Riggs says loudly, waving a hand in front of my face. I snap my eyes to his, giving him my attention as his brows furrow in confusion. “You okay?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” I can’t tell him I’m obsessing over her being here. After our day at the paintball park, when he asked me about things, I told him that she and I were still just having fun and that I didn’t want any distractions while I finished up my course. The truth is, I’ve been even more focused on my assignments lately, because I want to learn everything there is to know about making her feel good. Ever since she agreed to open her mind to the possibility of us being more, I haven’t been able to get the thought of fucking her out of my head.
Sure, I’ve considered doing it with other women before. But when the time came, I froze up. As soon as they made it clear that they wanted to take things somewhere private, I ran like a little bitch, afraid that they were baiting me to carry out some terrible plan that would violate me all over again. My brain didn’t care how unlikely it was—it still refused to let go of the past in order for me to say yes.
The funny thing is, I haven’t had those thoughts once with Lark. Not only have I opened up to her about the things I’ve been through in ways I never have with anyone else, but I’ve also done more with her physically than I have with other girls since my first time. The idea that she’d hurt me is the furthest thing from my mind when we’re together. The only thought that goes through my head when she’s in my arms is how desperate I am for more.
“Jesus Christ, hello ?” Riggs says in exasperation, bringing me back to reality again. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I swallow, squeezing my eyes shut to recenter myself. I need to get my shit together so I can focus on doing my job. It won’t be very impressive to her, the fans or my team if I’m fucking up left and right because I can’t keep my head in the game. “Nothing. Sorry,” I reply, turning my hat backwards and picking up my mask from where I set it on the bench. “I didn’t sleep great last night, but I’ll be good.” I hate lying, but it’s a hell of a lot easier than telling him I’m all twisted up over my tutor after I already claimed it wasn’t like that.
We step onto the field, and I head straight to home plate to warm him up. It takes all my self-control not to look back into the stands again, because whether she’s there or not, I know I’ll end up distracted. I squat down, extending my mitt out in front of me while Riggs fires a few throws my way. I cycle through the signals, wordlessly telling him what to pitch next as we fall into an easy rhythm, just like we always do.
I may be a rookie—and we have several pitchers on our roster—but from my very first day playing for the Fury, Riggs and I just clicked. He took the time to get to know me on a personal level, which made me feel a lot more comfortable behind the plate. That's why I know that if there ever comes a time when I need advice regarding Lark, he'll be the one I go to. It may not be the soundest advice, but still—he’d be there for me.
We finish warming up, and I turn back toward the dugout. My eyes immediately find a familiar head of golden-blonde waves blowing gently in the warm Daytona breeze. My heart squeezes in my chest, and I lock eyes with the most beautiful girl in the world as a soft smile blooms across her face. I raise my hand in a wave, which she returns before pushing her wild hair back and almost knocking me on my ass with how fucking gorgeous she is. I notice that her hands and cupholder are empty, which just won’t do—especially since I made sure all purchases to her seat were billed to me.
I step into the dugout, walk over to the corner where I left my bag, and reach inside, discreetly lifting my phone from the side pocket just enough to pull up my texting app.
ACE:
Where are your snacks?
LARK:
Why are you texting me? You’re going to get in trouble!
ACE:
You’re in trouble. I remember telling you to get yourself some candy on your way in. You know how seriously I take your sugary treats, Sweets.
LARK:
I’m fine. I don’t need anything. Now will you please stop texting me before you get caught?
ACE:
Ok, but if you want to be a bad girl, I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.