Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Nate
“Think! How the hell are you gonna think and hit at the same time.”
Yogi Berra
The final out came on a lazy pop fly to left, and the stadium cheered like we’d just won the World Series.
Lauren hustled us into a quick line-up at home plate, handing over a massive, comically oversized check to the hospital foundation.
Fifteen thousand dollars raised today which wasn’t bad. I cared about charity, I really did, but I was fucking heated. I couldn’t stop thinking about Cassidy. Of course her team won. Garcia and Pavin made their celebration real clear with how often they put their arms around Cassidy and cheered.
By pure chaos, dumb luck, and sheer force of will, they squeaked it out 7–6.
I blamed Garcia and Pavin for half of it, but deep down? I didn’t really give a shit about the score.
Because all I could focus on was Cassidy.
Cassidy with blood dripping lightly down her scraped elbow. Cassidy laughing too hard, hair tangled, jersey stained with dirt.
Cassidy smiling like the world hadn’t tried to wreck her two nights ago and like some idiot named Wilson hadn’t just played white knight in my place.
I clenched and unclenched my fists as I watched her high-five a group of kids lined up along the dugout fence. She was light. Electric. Untouchable.
And the only thing I wanted in the entire fucking world was to touch her anyway. Lauren gave a quick speech about the check, about the donation, about how proud she was of the players and staff.
People clapped. Cameras flashed. I didn’t hear any of it.
I only saw Cassidy, tugging her sleeve down to hide her bleeding elbow, smiling like she wasn’t hurting at all.
We needed to clean her wound, put a bandage on it.
Make sure it didn’t sting or get infected.
She wasn’t used to the rough and tumble life, and when she smiled at Pavin, she winced for a beat.
I sure as hell noticed. Plus, I needed to touch her. Remind her that it was me she was tied to, fake dating. Not fucking Garcia or Pavin.
I caught up to her near the dugout, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly.
“We need to clean that up,” I said, nodding at her arm.
“It’s fine, O’Brien,” she said, rolling her eyes, voice pure sass and sunshine.
“I’m tougher than I look.”
“Of course you are. You’re all bark no bite and tough as shit. I still need to clean that up for you.” My eye twitched when she tried pulling away from me. That wouldn’t do.
“Nate,” she said, voice low. “I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding,” I growled. “You’re wincing before you smile.
Now, come with me.” I took her hand in mine, waving off some of the catcalls from my teammates.
If I didn’t want to get another contract with them so badly, I’d contemplate punching them for how much they flirted with Cassidy.
She smiled so easily for them, laughed so freely.
She never did that with me and I needed to rectify that.
“Nate, I’m—”
“Don’t finish the sentence. If you say fine, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“I heard that happens with aging,” she mumbled, and I stopped.
We stood in the tunnel leading from the dugout to the clubhouse, where staff workers walked back and forth, crackles of radios echoing in the cement walls.
All of that drowned out as I stared down at her, torn between yelling or kissing the shit out of her.
“You. Are. Driving. Me. Crazy,” I said threw gritted teeth.
“Maybe that was the plan.” She winked, and my hand moved on its own, trailing up her arm, over hers shoulder with my thumb dragging over her collarbone and those damn freckles.
I cupped her chin, touching her bottom lip as all the breath left my lugs.
Her lips were so fucking red and perfect, her eyes wide and curious.
Her pulse raced at the base of her neck and I moved my thumb there, my entire body heated with a need to taste her.
She’d let me. Her eyes heated and she wet her bottom lip with her tongue, leaning into my grip—like she wanted this as much as I did.
“Oh my god, that was a money shot.” Lauren appeared out of nowhere, her voice like nails on a chalkboard, intruding on the moment. “Seriously, the chemistry between you both is gorgeous. Perfection, actually.”
I refused to let go over her. Lauren could fuck right the hell off. But Cassidy either wasn’t as affected as I was, or was a better actor, because she slid her fingers over my hand and removed my touch from her throat, smiling over at Lauren.
“They say the line between hate and love is a dangerous one.”
“That they do.” Lauren beamed. “I was thinking, Cass, when the team is out of town the next week, we can set up that coffee. You’ll have no official PR stunts set up for 9 days.”
She calls her Cass now? Coffee?
“Oh, that sounds good.” Cassidy smiled, almost shyly, before ducking her head from me.
Did she not want me knowing about this?
“I need to take care of her injuries, excuse us, Lauren.” I tugged Cassidy further down the hallway, running into one of our trainers. “Got an extra first aid kit?”
“Yeah, need me to look at something?” His eyes moved toward Cassidy. “Oh, Cassventures, hi.” The dude blushed.
People needed to fucking stop it.
“Hey, Pete.” She eyed his name tag. “We’re okay, actually. Old man Nate is worried about a little cut.” She held up her elbow to show him, and thank god, he winced. “Oh, that face wasn’t good.”
“That’s pretty deep, actually.” Pete pointed over her his shoulder. “I can help you—”
“I’m doing it. Just give me the supplies, please.”
“Sure thing, O’Brien.” Pete stood taller and jogged toward a cabinet in the hall. “This should cover it. Let me know if you need help.”
I won’t.
I was done watching other people touch my fucking girl.
“You’re a little tense, O’Brien. Did losing get to you?”
“You damn well know it wasn’t that.”
I needed a private room, a suite or a place without all these people asking questions or interrupting or flirting with her.
God, this was fucked. I couldn’t focus. She probably thought I lost it with how I grunted and stomped around, but after what felt like fucking hour, I found a small training room and ushered us inside.
“On the table.” I locked the door and pointed to the training table. We used it to get iced or tapped sometimes.
“I take it now is not the time to push your buttons.”
“Smart girl,” I growled back, my rational thought lost somewhere between her injury and here. She took too long to move, so I gripped her waist and set her on the table, the movement causing her breath to hit my face. Fuck. She was so fucking pretty, staring at me with wide eyes and parted lips.
My ears buzzed, my skin was too tight, my breathing erratic with her perfume tickling my nose. “Fuck, I want to kiss and suck the attitude right out of your mouth.”
She sucked in a breath and squirmed on the table, the motion causing her legs to hug the outside of my thighs. She leaned back, a wicked, sexy as hell look crossing her face. “Mm, not sure you could handle me.”
I cupped the back of her neck, admiring how her pupils dilated and her pulse raced.
My menace of a girl tried to hide her reactions, but it was pointless.
I saw everything. The tight beads of her nipples straining against her tank top, the sweat pooling between her breasts, her eyes widening and her breathing growing heavier.
Plus, she kept moving her hips—like she wanted me to press into her.
I bent low and licked her neck, needing to taste her skin and sweat and perfume, dragging my tongue up her to her ear before biting down on it.
Fuck it. I knew I wasn’t thinking straight but for the first time in my life, I threw caution to the wind.
“I can handle everything about you, Cassidy. You can give me all your attitude and fears, but never say I can’t handle you. I absolutely can.”
She trembled, her hands coming out and gripping my forearms. “Nate…”
I kissed her softly under her jaw, captivated by the need in her voice. It took all my will power not to kiss her then and there. I would’ve, if I didn’t see the dried blood on her arm. “Take off your jersey for me, hon.”
“Wh-what?”
I grinned, meeting her gaze before dragging my finger over her wound. “I don’t want to get blood on it and stain. This would needs cleaned up.”
“Right, yeah.” She gulped. “Thanks.”
She reached for the hem of her jersey, fingers fumbling for half a second.
I stood dead still, jaw clenched so tight it hurt, watching every inch of skin she revealed as she tugged it up and over her head.
She was breathtaking. Her shoulders and those damn freckles were even more prominent.
I grabbed the antiseptic wipes first, hands steadier than I felt, and peeled one open.
The smell of alcohol and sterile cotton filled the air, sharp and clean, cutting through the haze of heat between us.
She sat there so still, so trusting, watching me with those wide blue eyes like she didn’t even realize what she was doing to me.
I braced her elbow lightly with one hand, careful not to jostle her more than I had to. “Hold still, sunshine,” I muttered, voice gruff even to my own ears.
Then I swiped the wipe gently across her scraped skin, slow and methodical, every wince she gave slicing me straight to the bone.
When she hissed through her teeth at the sting, I bent lower, pressing my forehead lightly to her shoulder for half a second. “I know, baby,” I said under my breath, not even sure if she heard it. “Almost done.”
I wrapped a clean bandage around the wound next, fingers brushing her skin with every careful tug of the gauze.
Once I finished wrapping her elbow, I caught sight of her knee—and my stomach twisted. Blood streaked down her shin, trailing from an ugly scrape just below her kneecap, and small pieces of gravel and dirt were still embedded in the raw skin.
Fuck. She hadn’t even noticed, too busy smiling and laughing and pretending like she wasn’t bleeding.