39. FRANKIE
THIRTY-NINE
FRANKIE
We’ve mostly continued on like I didn’t have the most embarrassing of freak-outs while away on what was supposed to be a getaway for Jackson.
I was throwing my baggage around like Oprah.
You get some baggage, and you get some baggage, and—nope, actually, Jackson, why don’t you just hold it all?
And, here, take an I love you and me sobbing while you’re at it. What the literal fuck, Frankie?
I take a sip of my Valpolicella. As the great Moira Rose would say If that’s not cause for alcohol, I don’t know what is.
I gently stir the ground beef and soffritto mixture I’ve had on the stove all day.
The boys had an afternoon game, so I thought I’d surprise them with dinner.
Must keep my boys fed. And fortunately, Jackson showed back up here with them.
Not scared away yet. Though that may be in part because they’re all buzzing out of their skin after that game.
Boy-next-door Thompson threw a perfect game.
A perfect fucking game. The happiness in this townhouse is palpable.
The mixture starts to crisp and stick to the pan.
Time for the cream. I pour it in, and the minute it hits the pan, a hissing sound fills the apartment, steam engulfing me.
And a pair of strong arms do as well. My eyes flutter shut.
He’s given zero indication my freak out freaked him out.
Is it na?ve to hope things can just continue on as though it never happened?
Jackson moans into my neck. “Smells so fucking good. My mouth is literally watering.”
“No one bologneses like Frankie.”
He chuckles and playfully bites my shoulder. “I love how you verbed that. But I was actually talking about you.” He licks my neck, and I shiver. “Yup. Just as delicious as you smell.”
I push away from the stove and walk him backward until he’s resting against the small peninsula counter. I drag my lips over his but don’t give him the kiss he chases after. “Wait until you see what I have for dessert, loverboy.”
His blue eyes search mine, and amusement bubbles up in my chest. He can’t tell if I’m talking about sex or sweets, and I have a feeling he’s torn between which he hopes it is. I’ll help him out.
I kiss along his jawline to his ear. “Let’s just say I have a cannolo that’s ‘specially for you, dolcezza. Complete with cream filling.”
His hands tighten on my ass, and he whimpers. “You are such a tease.”
I push off him and head back to the stove. I smirk as I stir the meat. “Who, me?”
He sweeps his gaze over me and crosses his arms. “Have you looked in the mirror today?”
I hum like I have no idea what he could be talking about.
I may be in the shortest shorts I own. And socks.
And that’s all. I happen to know Jackson has a weakness for me in tube socks.
Am I being more flirty and shameless than usual to distract from all the shit that went down while we were away? Yes.
I don’t know where it leaves us. If it changes us.
A part of me doesn’t want to know. All I know is that I want to keep enjoying my time with Jackson.
While it lasts. Because I know eventually this amazing, beautiful ride will come to an end.
He’s off to bigger and better things, and he can’t risk all of that for the first guy who got his dick wet.
And somehow, I have to figure out how to convince my heart of that before it’s too late. Before I’m left trying to pick up the pieces of something I would be foolish to believe could be mine.
“I’ve brought us a new recruit!” Shaney-babe hollers as he walks through the front door.
A new recruit? I frown as I stir in the tomato sauce I’d made earlier. He can’t mean baseball.
“I-isn’t that dangerous?” a new voice rings through the room. “You could get burned.”
I spin around and find—oh goodness, what a cutie-pie. He’s almost as syrupy sweet looking as Easton. A mass of poofy dark hair. Pink cheeks. Big blue eyes. That are locked on my naked chest.
“What’s life without a little danger?” I murmur. His gaze snaps to mine, and I throw him a wink. “It’s worth it.”
His jaw goes slack. It literally drops open, and he just stares at me. I tilt my head. Well, well, well. Another recruit is right.
“Interesting.” I look over at Shaney-babe. “How many queer guys are on your fucking team? Is there something in the water?”
The new guy—who I know is Trent, their recently called-up third baseman—finally finds his words. “Sorry for staring.” His cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears go bright red. Poor adorable lamb. I do have that effect on the boys. “But, um, isn’t it just me and Michaels?”
A gleeful cackle erupts from Shane. “Oh, bro. Not even close. At this rate, we’re going to be a team of queer BJs.”
I chuckle. Oh, Shaney-babe. But the chuckle falls off my face at the pure panic that just spread all over Trent’s.
What in the world? I follow his gaze—and my my my.
I fan myself. Is it hot in here? I mean, it is.
The stove has been on all day. But the look Jackie-boy is giving Trent is pure murder and, oh, how I love a possessive man.
Especially when he’s possessive over me.
Shane reprimands Jackson, but his mutinous glare doesn’t budge. His biceps flex.
“I don’t like the way he was looking at Frankie.”
Well, fuck me to the left and fuck me to the right. There goes my heart again. Soaring straight to center field. Because Jackson Olander just staked his claim. Came out and said it to Trent, no hesitation. Like I’m his, and he wants everyone to know it.
And it makes me do something so fucking foolish.
It makes me hope.