10. Indecent Verdicts
10
INDECENT VERDICTS
Zane
The next night in Miami, I’m feeling pretty good when I field a scorching throw in the fifth inning, stretching so far to tag out the runner that I’m doing a split.
Highlights reel, here I come.
The night becomes even better when I get ahead in the count off Hoffman—thank you, Maddox—and whack a single into left field in the seventh. Then, I’m downright great as I steal second against the Miami Aces pitcher.
And fan-fucking-tastic is the word when Declan sends me home on a double.
When I reach the dugout, I smack palms with Gunnar. “You’re almost as good as me,” he says.
Them’s fighting words. “Bet you a cool grand I finish the year with more RBIs and runs.”
He scoffs. “Double or nothing.”
“You’re on,” I say. We shake on it, then lean against the railing and cheer on our team. I pump a fist when Declan slides into third on a wild pitch.
I catch Gunnar staring at my daiquiri tattoo. “I should bet you a Pina Colada tat. You’d look hilarious with matching cocktails. And you really can’t resist a wager,” he says.
“Not when it’s a sucker’s bet. You’re an easy mark, Gun,” I say. “I will finish the year with better stats and happily take your money.”
He rolls his eyes. “Someday, that cocky attitude is going to bite you in the ass.”
“Ooh, scary. That’s only one of my favorite things,” I say.
He laughs. As he should—he walked right into that. We go back to watching the field, cheering and high-fiving when Declan scores. Then Gunnar says to me, “So, what’s the latest with the endorsement deal?”
I cross my fingers. “Maddox is on his way back from London. He should be back in”—I glance at the time on the scoreboard in centerfield—“about three hours. He’s supposed to call me. I can’t wait.”
And fuck. I did not mean to say that last part.
Gunnar’s eyes widen. “Someone’s counting the minutes until his sexy new agent lands,” he says as Declan passes behind us in the dugout, then stops in place, clearly intrigued by our convo.
“Got a hot new agent, Zane?” Declan asks.
Gunnars nods on my behalf. “Yes, Zane sure does.”
“The plot thickens,” Declan remarks, then joins us at the railing. “What’s the deal? You’re eager to see this guy?”
I scoff, making light of my earlier I can’t wait remark. “Because this morning he met with the company we’re courting.”
Gunnar cups his ear. “I didn’t hear you deny your agent’s sexy.”
Declan joins in with, “Is there a denial coming?”
I adopt my most stoic expression. “No denial. You met him, Gun. I told you then I think he’s gorgeous. But I’m not foolish enough to act on it.”
My gut churns because I’m lying to my best bud, and now to Declan too.
I have acted on it.
And I could tell them. They’d both understand. Especially Declan. He’s married to the catcher for our rivals — the Cougars. But I don’t say a word even though the rest of what I said is true.
Maddox’s texts have become a favorite part of my day.
After the game, my phone buzzes with a message as I head into the hotel on South Beach. Weaving through crowds of the skimpily dressed and even more skimpily dressed, I glance at the screen, and a rush of warmth goes through me when I see his name.
Maddox: Whoever says first base is easy never did a split while fielding a hard throw.
A group of young guys in colorful Speedos rushes past me, heading to the beach just outside the lobby. Dance music plays from an outdoor club. But I’m too busy replying to care about the scene.
Zane: Some agents would lead with a compliment on my bat. You lead with a compliment on my glove.
Maddox: First, I’m not just some agent. Second, I didn’t think you’d need compliments on your bat.
I smile as I head for the stairwell, bounding up the steps as I reply.
Zane: Have you met me? I love bat compliments.
Maddox: Ah, if only I could give you the bat praise you truly want. But here we are. Your hitting was stellar, and your fielding was legendary. There. Are you satisfied?
Zane: Not in the least when it comes to you. But I’ll accept your praise for now. Also, thank you big time for the Hoffman tip!
Maddox: Glad it paid off. That was a helluva single. Oh hey, there’s your bat compliment.
Zane: Finally. Anyway, stop being so cagey. Give me the details of the meeting this morning.
Maddox: Yes, Zane, I was holding back. Keeping it all from you.
Zane: I know you were, man. You like to tease me.
Maddox: Is that what I do?
Zane: Yes. You tease me and toy with me and torture me.
Maddox: I sure sound fun.
Zane: The most fun. Trust me on that.
Our chemistry has me so riled up I don’t even feel bad about skirting the line of professionalism. When I hit the fourth floor, I push open the door and head down the hall and finally into my room, clutching my phone. I’m stoked to hear about his meeting, but I’m also excited to keep talking.
Maddox: Can I call you?
Zane: Anytime.
The second the door snicks shut, my phone rings. I frown as I answer. “What? No video call?”
A laugh comes from the man. “Did you want a video call?”
“From you? Hell yes.” I’m feeling feisty tonight. Maybe a little demanding. A highlights-reel-worthy game will do that to a man.
Maddox is quiet for a few seconds. “For real, Zane?” His question is both vulnerable and legit curious.
A video call is a risky step.
I floated the option to razz him. But now that FaceTiming is on the table, I crave it. The more I have of him, the more I want. That’s getting to be a problem, but I don’t want to find a solution tonight.
“I mean, if you’re decent.” I stride to the orange couch and flop onto it, the ocean behind me.
He laughs softly, a sexy sound. “Depends what you consider decent.”
My dick goes semi-hard in two seconds. “I better check you out to determine if you are, then.”
“You sure you can handle it?” Challenge marks his tone. “My possible indecency?”
Whoa. He’s tangoing more than usual tonight, pushing the line. But I’m not one to back down. “Damn sure.”
“If you insist…” he says, inviting me to insist.
I sit up taller. Maddox loves orders, so I do the decent thing and give him one. “Yes, I insist. Do it now.”
“Only because you demanded nicely,” he says, his voice a raspy taunt, and oh yeah. I’m fully hard now.
Seconds later, the phone rings, and when I answer the video chat, I regret and rejoice. It’s twilight in Los Angeles, and my sexy-as-sin agent is lounging in his pool. He floats on a yellow raft, bobbing gently in the shallow end of a long pool, wearing only black swim trunks. His phone must be sitting in a holder on the deck. Water glistens on his abs, revealing he’s toned and cut. His torso is smooth everywhere.
“Hello, eight-pack,” I say, a rumble in my throat.
With a grin, he lifts a hand, runs it through his wet hair. “I just got home, and I wanted to go for a dip,” he says, as if he needs to explain anything right now.
“Feel free to go for a dip any time of the day or night so long as you call me,” I say, mesmerized.
“I’d be calling a lot,” he says.
“Good,” I say, before considering the implications of that one word and its promise of more of us. I sit up straighter, staring hard at the screen like that will let me crawl into the phone and land in his home, where I can lick every last drop of water from his chest, abs, happy trail. “I want to go for a dip,” I murmur.
His gaze drifts down his body. “So, what’s your verdict, your honor?”
“Verdict?” I can’t think straight with the way he looks.
“Decent or indecent?” he prompts.
My pulse races at the innuendo. He’s kicked things up a notch tonight. At the rooftop party, he was uber professional, in the car ride to my hotel he was friendly, and when we texted, he was caring, but a touch dangerous at times. Tonight, though? He’s full-on flirt, and I am here for it.
I don’t mince words. “You’re too damn decent for me. Take those shorts off and I’ll be better able to judge.”
He laughs lightly, then his smile fades. “Is that just a suggestion?”
Holy shit, he’s fiery. I need to know why. “You doing good? You’re kind of acting like…” I take a beat, trying to put my finger on it. “The night we met.”
Concern flashes in his eyes. “In what way?”
“You’re not holding back so much.”
He scoots up higher on the raft. “I had a successful trip. I’m in a good mood. I guess it wound me up a bit. I’ll stop.”
I hold up a hand. “Don’t stop. I am not complaining.”
“I can be businesslike,” he says, that cool tone returning.
“Whoa. I was just checking in. Making sure you were good. And there’s a whole country between us. Don’t stop,” I say, imploring him. “I like the way you were the night we met.”
“Yeah?” A hint of a smile returns.
I lean closer to the screen. “Maddox, flirt with me,” I command.
A shudder moves down his body. Dear God, this man is responsive.
“So, Zane. What did you want to talk about?” he asks so damn innocently as he stretches his long limbs, looking like sex on a raft.
No idea. My head is a haze. “Anything. We can talk about anything. Just don’t get out of the pool,” I say.
He drags his fingertips against the placid surface of the dark water, ripples forming in his seductive wake. “If you were here, you could join me…”
I like this game. “Mmm. And swim up to you on that raft. I’d park my arms there on the end.”
“Your hair would be all wet,” he muses. “Your chest, your abs.”
I groan. “You like that? A hard, wet man?”
He shudders out a breath. “When I’m in the shower, I picture you joining me, water sliding down your body,” he says, voice low and smoky as he drags a finger down his chest…between his pecs…along the grooves of his abs.
Holy fuck. Are we going to get it on via FaceTime? I’m not sure I could stop tonight if we started a little video sex. Especially since that bulge in his swim trunks is mouth-watering.
“Down my abs and straight to my cock,” I say, going for it.
Maddox swallows roughly. “Your hand on your dick. You staring at me,” he says as he follows me across the line into the danger zone.
Heat swarms my chest. “I wouldn’t stop looking at you. I can’t stop looking at you,” I say, then rub my palm against my aching erection.
“Good. Don’t stop,” he says, and his voice trembles with need. “I like when you look at me.”
“You’re so fucking sexy,” I say as lust consumes me. Screw caution. “Put your hand in your shorts.”
Maddox’s hand slides to his waistband, then he hesitates, closing his eyes. He’s at war with himself. Shit. I can’t push him.
“You don’t have—” The rest of the sentence dies on my tongue when his hand disappears inside his trunks.
He opens his eyes, locking those whiskey-colored irises with mine. “You like?”
I fucking love it, and I’m about to tell him so when there’s a loud knock on my door.