11. Baseball Daddy #3
I burst out laughing, unable to keep a straight face at his look of genuine confusion. “It’s from Miss Congeniality.”
“Oh, I’ve never seen it before.” He chuckles.
“Maybe you should fix that,” I reply with a shrug.
“So, what’s your real answer?”
“I don’t necessarily have a perfect date planned out, but I prefer things that are active in a way.
An activity. Going to the movies is a cop out, you know?
It’s dark, you’re not able to talk. Part of going on a date with someone is to get to know the other person.
And a movie theater setting completely defeats the purpose.
But I also love a good meal. I don’t know if that really answers the question, but it’s the best I can give.
” I snap my mouth shut, realizing I rambled on about first dates for much longer than I would’ve liked to.
He laughs, unfazed by my rambles. “No, that makes sense. You want to enjoy yourself but also be able to get to know the other person. I think I’m the same.
A nice meal out can also be good.” I let out a soft noise in affirmation.
“Alright, your turn.” He puts his free hand behind his head, settling in further.
“Who in your friend group would last the least amount of time in a zombie apocalypse?” I ask with a smirk.
“Wow, coming in hot with the hard-hitting questions! I really need to think about this one.” He hums as he thinks, and I can’t fight off the heat that rises in my veins at the rumbling sound.
It may be one of the hottest sounds I’ve heard a guy make, and it’s only an innocent hum.
I hate the fact that this simple sound alone is turning me on.
I fidget in place as he continues, completely oblivious to the fight I’m going through over here.
“God, thinking through the list of pros and cons for all the guys, I think it’s me.
I’m the one who would die first,” he groans and scrubs a hand down his face which causes me to burst out laughing.
He pulls his hand away and pins me with a fake glare.
“Do not laugh at me during this difficult time.”
“I’m sorry,” I gasp out, covering my mouth with one hand in an attempt to smother additional giggles. “I can’t help it.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “What about in your group?”
“Liz,” I answer without hesitation.
“Ouch, poor Liz. You’ve clearly given this some thought.”
“Obviously. She knows where she stands in the apocalypse and she’s come to terms with it,” I reply solemnly.
His low, rumbling chuckle adds to the building pulse of heat that his hum built up earlier. He really needs to stop. He doesn’t know he’s doing it, but still.
“Alright, firecracker. I think that’s enough for tonight. You look like you’re about to pass out. And I’m probably not far behind you since we gotta be up early for the last game tomorrow. Here’s hoping we can pull out the series win.”
“Mhmm, alright. In bocca al lupo, Fletch.”
“Ah, there you go not speaking English again. Gonna tell me what that means?” he asks. “Did you curse me out?”
I let loose a soft laugh. “Not this time. It means good luck in Italian.”
“Oh! Well thanks, bestie,” he says with a wink.
“Not your bestie,” I whisper back.
“That didn’t sound so confident to me. I’m your bestie, aren’t I?” He smiles, and I don’t know how he’s doing it, but every smile he’s given me since we’ve met have slowly started to chip away at the walls I built to keep him out.
I roll my eyes. “Goodnight, Fletch.”
“That’s not a no!” He sits up and his smile spreads wider.
“We’re not besties, Ryan.”
His eyes flare at the use of his first name and it almost makes me want to use it more. “But we’re not not friends at least, right?”
“The jury is still out on that one.” I attempt to get off this topic.
“We can discuss it when I’m back, firecracker. Have a good night.” He gives me one last wink before he ends the call.
I roll over to plug in my phone and switch off the lamp. Once I’m settled into bed, I stare at the ceiling and think over that conversation.
I think I might actually let him be my friend.
I shouldn’t, but he brings a brightness out in me that I don’t usually have.
And it’s with those thoughts rolling around in my head that I close my eyes and try to find sleep. Sleep that won’t come.
With a frustrated groan, I let my hand slowly trail down my stomach.
I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t be slipping my hand into the waistband of my panties to images of his damp, post-game hair.
I shouldn’t be dancing my fingertips over my pubic bone to the sound of his raspy, tired voice.
Shouldn’t be running my fingers through the slickness between my thighs to draw quick, small circles over my clit to thoughts of him laid up in bed getting himself off.
Shouldn’t be doing any of these things to relieve the pulsing ache he created.
But I do. I do each and every one of them.
The orgasm that crashes over me is sudden and intense as I come with his name a gasp from my lips. Panting as I come down from the high of my release, I can’t help but realize I’m so incredibly fucked.