15. Bridger
15
brIDGER
K nock, knock.
I look up from my phone at the door and then at my sister sitting on the couch and roll my eyes.
“You could get that, you know.”
“I could,” she confirms, “but it’s not for me.”
“Then who—” I don’t have time to work through the possibilities before my hand is turning the knob and pulling open the door.
My breath catches as my eyes lock on Saige, her lips painted a shade of red that has my mind wandering to what she’d look like on her knees, her mouth wrapped around my cock.
“You should change,” she says, amusement dancing in her gaze. I start to respond and then stop myself as I take in the baseball jersey she’s wearing with leggings and white sneakers.
“For what?”
“I got tickets to the game and thought you’d like to see your team play right here in the Lowcountry.” She says it nonchalantly, but her expression is hopeful instead of full of her usual confidence.
My team is the Illinois Blues, a baseball team I started following in college that I’d mentioned offhandedly to Saige.
“Do you even like baseball?”
She plucks at the jersey she’s wearing and God, just thinking about peeling it off her has me half hard. None of this is helpful considering I promised myself I wouldn’t give in so easily, but here I am, folding like a lawn chair in a light breeze.
“If you’re asking if I had this already in my closet, the answer is no, I don’t normally frequent the stadium enough for apparel.”
“So what? You were feeling festive?”
“Something like that.”
“And the tickets?”
“I know people who have season tickets on the third base line, right behind the visitors’ dugout.”
My eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”
Shaking her head, she grins. “So, do you want to go with me?”
“Definitely.” I nod, a smile stretching across my face. “Let me grab a different shirt.”
Stepping inside, Saige walks past me into the living room, and I can’t ignore the way my sister smiles at her like they share some kind of secret. The idea is mildly terrifying, but I can’t dwell on it now.
Instead, I hustle down the hall and pull my shirt over my head as I enter my bedroom, tossing it in the hamper as I grab my favorite Illinois Blues baseball tee. It’s worn and faded with gray sleeves that used to be a lot darker. Grabbing a hat, I’m almost out the door when the bottle of cologne on my dresser catches my eye.
I don’t wear it often , but this feels different.
This feels like a date.
But more than that, she’s trying and that means I should too.
Here goes nothing.
SAIGE
The Illinois Blues are ahead in the bottom of the sixth, and it’s damn near impossible to concentrate with Bridger sitting so close to me. Somewhere around the top of the third, he draped his arm over the back of my seat, the movement bringing me closer to him. He smells delicious, the scent of his cologne doing something to me that we are very not ready for.
“Who is that again?” I ask, pointing at a random player on the field to distract myself from jumping the man in the seat next to me.
“That’s Colt Harrington. He’s the shortstop and he— Oh, hey,” he whispers as he motions toward the video screen. It takes me a second to realize what I’m looking at.
Oh shit.
“We obviously don’t have to,” I say quietly, turning toward him. I’d only meant to look at his face—try to get a read on what he’s feeling, what he’s thinking. But the movement brings us nose to nose, and all I want to do is throw myself at him.
The roar of the crowd is deafening, people cheering and shouting things I can’t make out over my pulse pounding in my ears.
“Just kiss her already!” someone behind us yells as my eyes drop to Bridger’s lips and the way they’re curved up into a smile.
“I think I will.”
With his arm around my shoulders, his other hand cups my face as he slants his mouth over mine, his lips soft and enticing and gone far too quickly.
“I can’t kiss you like I want to in this stadium,” he murmurs when he pulls away. “And now it’s all I can think about.”
Me too.
“How many innings are there?” I ask, the words breathy and full of need even though I know we shouldn’t rush into anything .
But maybe I can get away with some heavy petting while we make out somewhere with a lot fewer eyes watching us.
“We can leave now if you?—”
“No,” I say firmly, his eyebrow arching slowly at my quick response. “I just mean we’re here and it’s great—they’re playing great.”
“So, it’s great?” he teases, and I roll my eyes as we settle back into our seats, his arm still draped over my shoulders.
“Definitely great.”