Chapter Ten
Camille
T hat first warm day in March after a harsh winter feels like salvation. Suddenly, everything seems brighter, everyone feels lighter. It feels like the hope of what’s to come.
Winter gives you the time to rest and restore so you can bloom in the spring.
The baseball team is practicing outside today. They’re more rambunctious than usual, laughter and smiles passing around the group of men.
With my camera in hand, I record the action from various angles, honing in on our star players. I capture Noah diving for ground balls at shortstop and Cuddy catching balls in the outfield.
Once I get to Ryker, I find myself in a trance as he whips precise balls over to first base from his spot on third. His forearms tighten, his shoulder muscles bunching at each throw.
His whole persona draws me in, and trust me, it’s not just the tattoos and muscles. Although, they are insanely sexy. It’s the way he stands confidently yet casually at the same time, like he knows who he is, yet isn’t trying to prove it to anyone.
I’m now sitting on the fence, my legs dangling above the red dirt as I look through footage from today while the boys wrap up practice. Today’s content has already been posted—a video of “This or That” with the fan favorite, Cuddy.
Noah has the sweet boy next door charm, while Cuddy is all about the camera. Ryker would rather have no part in it at all, yet fans love the grumpy baseball player, but not quite as much as Cuddy.
My mind is whirling with ideas when my eyes catch on the bin of spare gloves. With a delighted hum, I hop down from the fence and pocket my phone in my crossbody bag. Then I dig out a glove that would fit me.
I’ve always wished I could’ve played professionally, but I never learned how. It wasn’t allowed. Our head of security, Idris, who was more like a father to me than my own, offered to teach me, but trying to find the time to sneak away was nearly impossible, so it never happened.
Just as I find a black glove that fits perfectly, a deep voice startles me, forcing me to turn around.
“What are you doing?” Ryker asks, his arms folded across his chest, his own glove on his hand.
“Doing a quality check on the gloves, you know, making sure everything’s a-okay.” I wink, but internally, I want to cringe.
His eyebrows rise in curiosity as he stares at me down the brim of his RLU green-and-white baseball cap. “And did they pass inspection?”
I salute him. “With flying colors. Everything is A-plus okay, more than plain old a-okay,”
Why did I salute him?
“What were you really doing?” he prods.
I huff and swing my braid over my shoulder, fiddling with the end of it. “Don’t laugh, but I wanted to try it on, maybe throw a ball or two up in the air. I’ve never done it before, and I’ve always wanted to try.”
Ryker’s fingers wrap around my own on my braid, stilling my nervous fidgeting. “I can teach you.”
My eyes widen and my breath stops short as I take him in, the one responsible for my most severe case of whiplash.
“You’d do that?” I deadpan.
“I might be an asshole, but not enough to let you do it alone and hurt yourself,” he gruffs, letting his hand fall away from my hair.
“ Ah oui , let’s go now.” I tug on his arm, pulling him toward the field that’s now empty since the boys have already left to shower, I guess.
“First thing, you need to show me how you plan to catch a ball.” He gestures toward my glove, and I hold it up excitedly.
I put my hand inside the worn leather and do my best not to think about the various sweaty hands that have been in here before. “Open.” I show him, then close my thumb and fingers together, “Closed.”
“Good, now I’m going to show you how to throw a ball,” he tells me, taking his glove off and placing it on the artificial grass. I do the same with my crossbody bag.
Anticipation rolls through me, wondering exactly how he plans to do that.
Ryker steps in my space, his dark blue eyes looking down at me. “I’m going to have to touch you. Is that okay?”
“Yes.” I lick my lips without thinking, and his eyes darken in response.
“Turn around,” he orders.
My body listens and I turn my back to him. A chill runs down my spine at his proximity. Ryker nudges his leg between mine, pushing my left leg out until my feet are shoulder width apart.
“You want to be standing like this to start, then you’ll step forward when you throw it,” he instructs as he moves around to face me with a ball in his hands, which he drops into my opened glove. “You’re going to want to grip the ball with your middle and index fingers on top and your thumb underneath it.”
I take the ball out of my glove and do as he says. “Like this?” I hold it up to show him.
“Yes, once you have your aim and are ready to throw it, you’re going to want to take a step with your left leg. At the same time, your right arm will be cocked back, elbow up.” He demonstrates the movement for me, and I watch attentively. “Then you want to lean your body forward as you throw it, while twisting your hips to face forward.”
I go through the motions slowly with him, observing and watching each step.
I stand confidently. “Okay, I think I got it.”
“All right then, throw it to me,” he says as he jogs about fifteen feet away.
I do as told and adjust my stance, finding my aim and going through the motions of my throw. Except I know I messed something up because the ball goes right into the ground once I let it go.
I cover my face with my glove as laughter spills from my lips. When I take a peek at Ryker, he’s jogging back toward me and scooping the ball up in the process.
“I was awful.” I giggle, meeting his eyes once he’s close enough.
“You’re learning,” he corrects, then drops his glove on the ground and puts the ball in my right hand. “Put your arm up like you’re about to throw it.”
I do as he says, holding my arm up and back. Ryker’s body brushes against my back, his warmth searing my skin with how close he is. His hand wraps gently around my elbow, pulling it up a bit .
“Keep this elbow up higher, and”—he pauses, dragging his fingers slowly up my forearm, then wraps them around my hand—“release the ball here.” He moves our hands forward, stopping just past my face. “Not here.” He guides our hands further, nearly toward the ground like I just did before.
My heart beats wildly, and I’m pretty sure the sweat on my forehead has nothing to do with the oddly warm spring day.
His other hand grips my hip and twists it forward, making me gulp as I attempt to keep myself together. I wish I had the courage to take control, to turn around and press my lips to his like I would’ve years ago, but I don’t. A part of me has this gut feeling that I could be that way with Ryker, that he’d let me take charge. But another part of me is aware of the fact that this is nothing more than a silly crush and I shouldn’t let myself want more.
“Make sure you twist your hip forward when you throw, okay?” he asks, and I nod in response because he’s left me with the inability to utter any words at this point. Having his hands all over me and his deep, rich voice in my ear sends heat blooming in my core when it shouldn’t.
He moves back to his previous spot and I do as he says this time. The ball goes right toward Ryker, who catches it with ease. I jump up and down with the biggest smile on my face.
I did it. I finally learned how to throw a baseball. It might be a simple goal, but it’s something I wasn’t allowed to do before and always wanted to.
“Nice job, princess,” Ryker shouts from his spot. “You ready to catch one now?”
“Yup,” I shout back with my glove open, ready to catch.
Ryker winds up, but instead of the quick whips I’m accustomed to seeing him do, he throws me an easy toss. It’s aimed right at me, making it easy for me to throw my glove out and close it around the ball. I throw my hands up in the air and do a little dance, shaking my hips in a circle as I twirl around.
Once I stop, I find Ryker closer now, staring at me, his arms crossed over his chest and any warmth he previously had gone.
“What?” I ask, breathless.
“Practice is done,” he says harshly, a scowl on his face as he stomps away toward the dugout.
“Thank you, Ryker the biker,” I call after him with a smile on my face. Not even his sudden grumpy mood could dim my high. “But what about hitting?”
He stops and looks at me over his shoulder. “Another day. I need to go.”
Then he’s gone, leaving me on the field with my head in the clouds.