11. Chapter 8
Jax
Her smell is intoxicating. I don’t know how else to describe it. Every time she moves, I get little whiffs of orange and vanilla. It’s a combination I’ve never smelled before, but it’s now officially my favorite.
Her smile and the way her blue eyes sparkled when she ate that fucking Mango Dog, just about had me leaving to go relieve myself in the locker room. I would have done it too, if it didn’t mean standing up with a boner on camera.
The comments were going wild, even the fans watching could feel the chemistry between us.
My favorite comment is from someone called MBFAN21. Something along the lines of “kiss her already.”
I wish.
My thoughts of a future with her are interrupted when she starts talking.
“There’s been a buzz around Mango Bay about some hotshot pitcher the team has been tracking. He’s a big performer in Cirque du Soleil. From your perspective, what does that kind of background bring to the team?”
Her question catches me off guard. I was completely immersed in a daydream thinking about her lips on mine, and then snapped clean out of it by a conversation I didn’t see coming.
Horner mentioned they were looking to bring on another pitcher, but I don’t know if he’d gone public with the information.
Did he go public with that information?
Can I talk about this?
Is he looking for a deeper bench, or a fresh face?
Questions assault my mind as I search for the political answers we are trained to give in situations like this. Vague, and not leading. Confirm and deny nothing.
“I haven’t really heard too much, but imagine someone with that type of performance experience would be great for the fans. This is the greatest show around.” I offer her a halfhearted smile and clear my throat.
My throat feels tight, and beads of sweat gather at the base of my back, around my hairline, and on my palms. This information has me spiraling to the point I stop listening to a word she says.
My answers become short and lack thought and enthusiasm.
If I stay here, I’m going to give fans something to read into, so I immediately plan my exit.
I look at my watch and then at her. “I actually have to get going, Sloan. It’s been so great chatting with you, and you,” I say, winking at the fans on the other side of the screen. “I have to go get ready for my big walkup tonight.”
I wave at the camera and stand up, giving her a hug as she stands with me. I don’t miss the confusion on her face. We were scheduled for 20 more minutes. There were a lot of topics we didn’t cover, and fan questions we didn’t get to, but I can’t sit still any longer. I have to move.
I have to get this anxious energy out before the game.
As I walk away, the past haunts me, my heart quickens, and my mouth runs dry and I slide into a vision of senior year.
“Guys, this is Mitch, he just moved here from Arizona. Mitch was a pitcher on his previous team, so we’re going to give him a shot today,” my coach announced like it was nothing.
So I believed him, and didn’t think twice about a new pitcher.
I took him under my wing and helped him get to know all the guys.
Little did I know those were the words that sealed my fate—all the stars aligned. For Mitch.
The first game after he joined was all it took. I started off great, but something about his confidence and undeniable talent held my attention more than the game on the field.
I walked 3 runners in a row, leading to a walk that gave up a run.
Coach was pissed, and pulled me immediately.
He didn’t even give me a courtesy mound visit before taking me out.
He replaced me with Mitch, and that was it.
Not to my surprise Mitch pitched one of the best games I’ve ever seen on a high school field.
After that, I became his backup and only stepped on the mound when he hit his pitch count.
Baseball’s cutthroat like that. Pros don’t cut it; they go straight to the minors—high school pitchers lose stride, they ride the bench.
It’s a part of the game I love and hate all the same.
There is no way that can happen twice, right?
***
I went for a run, then spent about twenty minutes in the weight room trying to displace the energy, but nothing is working.
Every time I pick up a weight or load a machine, my hands shake and dread pools in the pit of my stomach. I’ve tried to think about the game, rehearse my walkup in my head. Mare, our new choreographer, and I already practiced it enough so I know it by heart, but I can’t calm down.
Horner tells Oz and I everything, but not this. Why?
Fuck it! I have to get these nerves out… this bad energy out.
The game starts in two hours. A few of the guys are practicing a routine with Orbit and Maren, one of them being Oscar, so that means if I run home, our apartment will be empty.
I look at my phone again to confirm the time.
It’s a five minute walk home, three minutes to wait for the elevator on a bad day. That’s 8 minutes… let’s say 10. Plus 10 back. That gives me at least an hour. I’ll be back in plenty of time for the parade before game time. It’s not my day to sign fanfare out front, so I’m good.
Perfect.
There have only been two times when I haven’t been able to get my energy out before a game. Today, and the morning of my first game here as a Moonshot.
When all else fails, I need me, myself, and I… or a hot hookup, but that’s not happening right now—or any time soon. The only one I want is Sloan. No one else even matters.
It takes no more than 30 seconds from the time I walked into the apartment for me to be standing in the bathroom, steam bellowing around me with a vanilla candle burning on the counter.
I don’t remember who gave it to us, but it’s almost exactly what I need right now, it reminds me of the vanilla scent surrounding her.
Orange and vanilla. I have half, I can imagine the rest.
I step into the shower and close my eyes, wrapping my hand around my already hard dick.
I imagine her long blonde hair swaying back and forth as she moves in her seat. The scent of her wrapping around me like a warm blanket. Her delicate lips, smart mouth, and striking gaze on me.
I place some body wash in my hand and slowly glide it up and down my length as I imagine what it would be like to kiss her, taste her lips on mine. They look so soft, warm, always ready to be kissed. Worshiped.
I grow even more breathless as I imagine what those lips would look like wrapped around my dick, stretched in the perfect O as she strokes lazy circles around my balls with her pink fingernails.
That’s the image sending a tingle up my spine and causing my balls to tighten.
Her fingers dancing lazily over my balls as she moves her mouth over me, the sound of her saliva mixed with the heady sound of my moans filling the room, her tits bouncing perfectly as she moves, until I come down her throat.
I release a long moan as cum coats my hand, the shower floor, and my vision begins to focus again.
It’s not as good as I imagine the real thing would be, but it’s the perfect release to re-center my brain and focus on the game instead of the conversation she and I ended the interview with.
Her.
That’s all I want to remember about today.
Her beautiful face, her witty sense of humor, and her smart ass mouth.
Fuck. I want nothing more than to punish that smart ass mouth.