CHAPTER 41
Part of me had really hoped to ride the bench this entire series. There’s a whole host of reasons I don’t want to face my former teammates, and the fact that this line-up has all seen me pitch up-close and personal is the least of my concerns.
I started sweating the moment Skip sent me to the bullpen. Every single one of my warm-up pitches was wild–half of them landing in the dirt, the other half hitting everything but the strike zone. I half-hoped the coaches would take one look at that and change their minds, but here I am, walking out in a stadium that I used to call home.
The lights are too bright, the air is oppressively hot, and the noise from the stands rattles deep in my bones. These fans are no stranger to my face; whether they were disappointed to see me go or wished I’d been traded sooner, nearly everyone donning a Scorpions cap seemed to have an opinion of me. As people jeer, cheer, and boo, I force one foot in front of the other, feeling like I’m headed toward the executioner’s platform instead of the mound. Every step holds another memory. Another bad interview, another condescending reporter, another angry fan, another mocking post-game show.
My damp shirt clings to my lower back by the time I set foot in the dirt. I have to swipe my face on my sleeve and adjust my ballcap just to keep nervous sweat from dripping in my eyes. The diamond is blurry enough without the sting of sweat and the threat of tears adding their haze to my vision.
Reyes takes advantage of the pitching change to run up while the starting pitcher and I exchange positions. I know I can’t rely on him to hold me together under stress like this. Even if neither of us royally screws up whatever this is, he won’t always be the man behind the plate for me. He can’t be my strength and be my greatest weakness by a flip of the same coin. For now, I’m glad he’s here.
“It’s another stadium. Another game. Alright? Same thing we do every other night of the season. Tell me what we do, rookie.”
“Trust each other and ignore the crowd,” I mumble into my glove.
“What else?”
“I focus on you.”
“And?” he prompts, still holding onto the ball.
“And have fun.” I inhale deeply, letting the scent of old leather and lanolin oil soothe me. “We need this win–” I start to argue, as if he doesn’t know as well as me where we stand in the wild card rankings.
“We don’t win alone, and we don’t lose alone, right?” He sets the ball in my glove and squeezes my shoulder. The touch is short. Fleeting. Not enough to draw attention or start rumors. A friendly teammate alternative to the swat on the ass that’s so common in our sport. “Trust me, mami.”
I have to lower my face because I can’t help smiling at that. Staring at the ball in my glove, I chalk my pitching hand. By the time I stand, Reyes is back behind the plate, my jaw is set, and it doesn’t matter that my old catcher is standing in the batter box.
“Where’d all that come from?” Castillo asks from across the table. There’s nothing but empty plates and crumbs left between us, and a few of our teammates have already headed off to the showers or the hotel. “You killed it tonight.”
“Everyone did,” I say, loving their approval but eager to have the attention off me.
“Only had to have Daddy Reyes come to the mound to baby-sit you a couple times tonight, too,” Williams says from where he sulks in the corner. “At this rate, they might just make a real ballplayer out of you.”
“Did you have to take classes to perfect being this insufferable, or were you just born talented, Williams?” Dante asks. To my relief, where Williams didn’t get a single laugh from our teammates at my expense, chuckles and murmurs of agreement ripple through the room in response to Dante. “It ain’t her fault you rode the bench.”
“You sure about that? She couldn’t pitch to me to save her life last series, and look which one of us got the spotlight and who had to sit out tonight,” Williams argues.
“Sounds like a you problem. Her pitching was fire tonight, and you can’t pretend it was her fault you racked up errors the last two games when she was on the injured list.” Castillo comes to my defense, too, and I almost cry.
Almost. There’s no way I’m letting anyone see tears in this locker room.
My phone buzzes while my teammates drop their argument and go back to life as normal on the road. Yamada and Pe?a have already set up a gaming system, not ready to go to the hotel yet. Kitt’s already showered and dressed up, heading out to find some lucky fan to fill his bed.
Reyes:
You good?
Me:
Sure you don’t mean, you good, mami?
Reyes:
It worked, didn’t it? I’d have called you mami months ago, if I’d known it would get you out of your head like that
Me:
You were ready to call me mami months ago?
Reyes:
Do you want to get out of here, or do you want to keep bullying me?
Me:
?Por que no los dos, viejito? You need to see Alejandro first?
Reyes:
I need an ice bath and a massage, but I don’t think I need him to take care of that for me
Reyes:
Or are you gonna make me beg for that too?
I could not ask to have a more beautiful man sprawled naked on his back in my bed, with his hair still damp from the shower and his body glistening in the lamplight. Even if he does break all of my rules.
Well, he doesn’t. I’m breaking all of my rules having him here, but Reyes himself submits like it’s what he’s been waiting for years to do.
“Good boy. What’s my rule?”
He keeps his long arms spread wide to the corners of the headboard, and his legs spread just as wide. The mattress dips beneath me as I sit on the side of the bed to check my playlist and connect the speaker.
“No touching without permission,” he answers. “You could tie me up to make sure I obey. If you wanted to.”
It’s tempting to turn. To look at him with wide eyes and ask if he’s done kink before. To wonder if I’m wrong for not having the kink consent talk with him before getting this far.
I take my time pulling the CBD and eucalyptus massage oil from the nightstand. Once my face is calm, my reaction hidden, I turn and climb into the bed, resting on my knees beside the lean line of his torso.
“Are you telling me you can’t follow the rules unless I tie you down to make you?” I ask.
“No. I guess I didn’t know how to come right out and ask you to tie me down because I want it, mami.” Reyes stares at me with a heat that says he’s dying to touch, but his hands stay glued to the headboard. “Have you ever heard of BDSM, rookie?”
“Yes. Are you into that?” I ask deadpan, working hard not to give anything away, even while a part of me is screaming that this is my chance to open that door and tell him everything.
“I didn’t think I was. Oliver tried to get me into it a few times. We checked out a couple clubs. Went to an event or two. He even surprised me one time with a whole get-up and toys he wanted me to use on him.” He shrugs with his arms still extended. “I wanted to make him happy, but it just didn’t click for me. I couldn’t anticipate what he wanted; I always felt like I was badly acting out some weird script.”
“He wanted you to be his Dom,” I say. Reyes nods and hums confirmation. “Did you ever look into submission?”
“I researched it when I was trying to understand what he wanted and how to give it to him. Trying to understand why he would want that from me.” The way he says it, like he’s incredulous that anyone would ever want to be dominated, cracks open my chest and leaves me raw, but he keeps going. “I never actually tried it until I was with you, though.”
“You–what?”
“That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Dominating me?” He licks his lips, and for the first time since we started this conversation, his gaze flicks down my body. “I get it now. Why he wanted it so bad.” He shrugs. “Guess I understand why I couldn’t give it to him, too. If you don’t want to put labels on this, that’s fine. All I know, is I love being on my knees for you, Sierra.”