32. FRANKIE
THIRTY-TWO
FRANKIE
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise, Jackie. You do realize that means I can’t tell you, right?”
I catch him making a face at me from my periphery, and I chuckle. He’s so relaxed now. Almost feels like a whole new person.
“Fine. Tell me something. You made me pack a bag, which makes me think we’re staying overnight somewhere?
Though what you told me to bring was really confusing.
Athletic wear. Swim trunks. Something nice—no jeans.
A baseball bat, helmet, and glove. Sweats.
Multiple pairs of underwear. Why would I need extra boxers? ”
I stifle my laugh. “I don’t know. But always best to be prepared.”
Oh, but I do know. And I have plans that will have him needing those extra pairs. Is it even considered a successful vacation if you haven’t come in your pants?
I take the exit off the highway and then turn onto the main road. Almost there. Almost time for phase one.
I got an idea, a fabulous idea. Jackson wanted to experience firsts with me. Then it came to me—we’ve been covering quite a bit, but all in secret. There’s something else I can give him that I have a feeling he wouldn’t get to experience for a while otherwise.
I drive down a few side streets until farms and rolling green replace overcrowded neighborhoods.
“Okay. I’ve got it. You’re taking me out here to kill me. You told me to pack a duffle, so people think I went away.”
“You got me.”
I pull into a parking lot, and the secret is now out of the bag.
Jackson leans forward and gasps. “No.” He swings to look at me, those blue eyes the brightest I’ve ever seen them. “We’re going to the batting cages!”
“That we are,” I say, fighting my grin. I pop the trunk. “Grab your stuff, sweet thing. Frankie wants to see your sexy ass crush some balls. It may not be Triple-A level, but these pitching machines can get up to 85 miles per hour.”
Jackson practically dives out of the car in his excitement.
I follow him and lean casually against my Acura as he rifles through the trunk to get his stuff.
It’s adorable. I’ve reduced this wall of muscle to an over-eager twelve-year-old.
He’s exactly like how Pao Pao would get when Dad would take us here.
Jackson pops back out of the trunk and frowns down at the two helmets in his hands. “You have a baseball helmet?”
“I do.”
He cocks his head. “Do you go to the batting cages that often that you need your own helmet?”
I slowly slink over to him and stop right before him. My pulse skitters in my neck. I can’t wait to drop this little bomb. Because I think Jackie-boy is going to love it. I snatch his baseball cap from his head and put it backward over mine.
“I played baseball growing up, boo.”
His jaw drops.
I walk backward and shrug out of my light jacket, leaving me in a white, skin-tight, sleeveless Underarmor shirt. Can you see my nipples and chest hair through it? Girl, you better believe it.
“I was damn good too.”
His pupils flare, and he rakes his gaze over me. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. Dio mio. I shiver. That’s a look. Hungry, heavy-lidded, harboring a storm of desire. He throws his gear bag over his shoulder and stalks after me.
I let him catch up to me. He towers over me, and I love it. “Another great thing about this place,” I whisper. “We’re two hours from Providence. In the middle of nowhere.”
Those lust-filled eyes widen.
“Only if you’re comfortable, babe. But if you are…this weekend…you can be free.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and he glances around.
“That’s what I wanted to give you this weekend. Fun.” I sweep my hand across the batting cage dome. “A bougie hotel. Which we can or cannot leave, depending on what you want. But I thought…”
I take a chance and settle a hand on his chest. He doesn’t move away.
“I’d take you on date—a weekend full of them. I could hold your hand… Do the whole one milkshake, two straws thing… Kiss you in public…”
“Damn.” His whisper comes out thick and choked with emotion.
“Or…we can just be two guys hanging out during the day. Crushing pitches. Grabbing some grub. And head back to the hotel where we can be in private.”
He drops his gear bag, grabs my face with both hands, and slams his mouth down on mine. And my heart takes flight.
“Fuck,” he says against my lips. Then he’s kissing me again.
I grip his shirt and hold on tight. Hold on to the joy bubbling over in my chest. It’s small. One weekend. But I want him to feel what I feel every day. Freedom. Self-acceptance. Confidence.
He finally pulls back, breaths puffing over my lips. “Thank you,” he whispers.
I lift on tiptoes and kiss his nose. “Anything for you, dolcezza.”
I step back and smile through the odd tightening in my chest. “Now those athletic shorts hug your thighs in a way that should be illegal. So let’s get you in the batter’s box. I want to see that ass and those shoulders in action.” I smack said ass and head for the machine that will give us tokens.