Chapter Thirty-Three
Ryker
I ’ve never felt like my balls could shrivel up inside of me until now. Because sitting beside me is my agent, Ben Andrews. He knows the game of baseball better than any agent out there and is respected by every single sports team for the talent he acquires for them.
I was more than grateful when he approached me at the end of my freshman year here at RLU, and that same sentiment still stands now as he sits beside me before our Zoom call with the Detroit Panthers’ owner, Mark Suby.
I took Cami’s advice and wanted to get ahead of this thing in case Travis decides to leak the story somehow.
Mark Suby appears on the screen, looking less like a dominating businessman and more like a friend you might be meeting up with on the golf course with his polo and baseball cap.
“Ryker and Ben, what a pleasure to speak with you today. What can I do for you? You know we still have a few more weeks before our final decision on the draft,” he reminds us, his voice curt since we had to beg for this meeting because of how busy he is .
“We’re aware of that,” Ben speaks up. “We wanted to talk about something that needs to stay between us.”
That attracts Mark’s attention, and he sits up straighter on his side of the screen. “You have my word. What’s going on?”
I take over, wanting the information to come from me. “When I was in high school, I got into a fight defending my friend’s sister. It resulted in an accidental broken arm for the other person and I was arrested, but ended up never charged with anything. However, I did do community service, so it was never put on my record.”
Mark remains quiet, as does Ben while I continue.
“I’m telling you this because someone is threatening to go to the press with the information, with hopes it’ll deter anyone from drafting me. While I understand the severity of something like this and how it can affect your organization, I hope there’s something we can do to overcome it. I was just a kid, and it was an acc—”
“I’m going to stop you right there.” Mark holds up his hand, making my body freeze in fear. “If some punk thinks they’re going to sell this story, then let them. There’s no recorded proof, and we will work with our head of PR to put out a statement to address it. When we tell our own stories, it gives us the power back.”
I let out a breath, my entire body relaxing as the tension fades away.
Ben knocks his shoulder into mine. “I told you, kid, everything will be fine. You did nothing wrong.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Suby. I appreciate it,” I tell him, expressing my gratitude for his grace.
“Not a problem. Shit happens in life.” He shrugs, then types away on his desktop computer. “I’m going to have a meeting with our PR department in a moment, and they will be in contact with you shortly. I know we haven’t signed you yet, but I’m extending this service as a kindness. I don’t want to see you lose out on a career in baseball because of some idiot who wants to tear other people down.”
Ben and I chuckle at that and share our appreciation once again. Then our screen turns black.
I slump back in my chair as waves of emotions wash over me.
Relief. Thankfulness. Happiness.
Thank fucking God that is over with and went well. Now all I have to do is make a post explaining what happened with the help of their head of PR, if Travis decides to sell the story. I swear, if I knew it wouldn’t upset Camille that I kicked the shit out of Travis, I’d have done it two times over already. He deserves it for ever thinking he could come after what’s mine.
Yeah, mine . I’m done pretending like it’s not true anymore, because she is.
“What do you want to watch?” I ask Camille, who’s snuggled under the blankets in her bed. I’d bet anything that she’s going to fall asleep within the first twenty minutes.
“ The Aristocats ,” she offers, setting her tea cup on the bedside table.
I find the movie online and then throw the covers back and climb under with her.
Our bodies instantly move to be closer to one another’s, my arm around her waist while she rests her head on my chest. My hand gently strokes her hair, playing with the strands as the famous castle appears on screen.
Camille lets out a contented sigh, snuggling in even closer.
“How was your day?” I ask softly.
“It was busy, but good. I spent the day going over interior decorating ideas for Jasmine’s bakery with her, and then I had to edit a bunch of videos to post,” she tells me, never failing to impress me with how hard she works. “How was yours?”
“I had the meeting with Mark Suby and it went well as you already know. After that, I went for a run and worked on some final assignments.”
“Sooo was it good or…?” She trails off, looking for my final stamp of how my day was.
“It was okay, but it’s better now.” I tighten my hold on her, pressing my lips to her forehead for a small kiss.
We watch in silence as the movie begins, my hand still working through the silky strands of her long hair. As I predicted, within twenty minutes, she’s fast asleep on my chest.
This is one of the highlights of our time together, when Camille falls asleep because then I get to look at her for as long as I want and wonder how fucking lucky am I for having gotten to know her.
I get to reacquaint myself with the beauty of her face, from the slope of her nose, to her full pink lips and the crease between her brows when she’s dreaming.
Of all the nights we’ve spent together, she’s only had two nightmares since that very first one in New Mexico.
As much as I’d like to believe that I’m the reason they’ve lessened, deep down, I hope it’s because she’s more confident in the fact that she’s safe now. Not just because of me, and don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t think twice about ending anyone who dared hurt her, but I think she feels safe within herself and her ability to keep herself protected.
Camille stirs on my chest, so my hand drifts from her hair to her back, rubbing soothing circles that will hopefully get her to drift back to sleep.
Her eyes peek open, a look of relief on her face when she looks up at me .
“What’s wrong?” My voice is almost a whisper, so as not to startle her.
“Nothing, just a bad dream.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I hedge, continuing to rub the circles on her back.
“No, tell me a funny story instead. It’ll help me.” She rests her chin on her forearm, staring at me for an answer.
I raise an eyebrow. “Me? Funny?”
She rolls her eyes playfully. “You are when you want to be. I’m sure you have at least one funny story.”
I rack my brain, because of course when someone asks you directly, nothing comes to mind. I now know why contestants on Family Feud choke on the fast money round.
Until finally, a memory flashes in my mind.
“When we were eighteen, Theo and I went to Mexico for my aunt’s wedding. Theo is basically like my mom’s second son because he was always around the house growing up. Anyway, since the legal drinking age is eighteen there, Theo drank for the first time.”
“First time? He never drank illegally in high school?” She sounds surprised, her eyebrows furrowed.
“Theo’s a rule follower, through and through. So he decided to let loose there. We were day drinking at the pool, and there was a dance contest.”
“Let me guess, Theo lost?”
“No, actually, he’s a great dancer. But because of the alcohol in his system, he didn’t register that his swim trunks were falling off…and let’s just say he flashed the entire pool, including my family.”
“Noooo.” She giggles against my chest, the vibration making me chuckle with her.
“Yes, and it gets better. In his rush of embarrassment, he tried to pull them back up but lost his balance and fell into the bushes, ass up, flashing everyone, everything .”
Camille’s laughter fills my ears, the sound easily my favorite as tears begin to leak from her eyes. She wipes at them. “I feel so bad for him, but that is so funny.”
“What was your first drunk experience?” I ask in turn, my interest piqued.
Camille looks away for a beat, then returns her gaze to mine, looking timid. “Well…I was only sixteen. Quentin and I stole the finest bottle of wine we could find from the cellar, and we drank it in the gardens, far away from prying eyes.” She shakes her head, folding her lips together. “We snuck back into the kitchen, and this is where my obsession with hot sauce and popcorn began because I ate an entire bowl of it. I then proceeded to have way too many gougères , which is this delicious pastry that’s made with choux dough. So, mix cheese with the hot sauce and wine, and let’s just say I threw up all over Quentin. The sound woke a maid, who then went and told on me. So not only was I throwing up profusely, I was also getting reamed out by my parents.”
“They sound real shitty,” I mutter, annoyed at her parents for doing that rather than taking care of her.
“ C’est la vie. ” She shrugs. “What about you? What was your first time like?”
“I thankfully don’t have a story to tell really. Me and some buddies in high school got drunk at a party. I passed out on the couch. End of story.”
“ Boooo .” Camille pouts, giving me a thumbs-down.
I grin, rolling my eyes before looking back to her. Our eyes lock amidst the easy conversation, and my fingers grasp her chin, lifting it up so I can gently press my lips to hers, suddenly needy for her.
Before I know it, we’re rolling around under her covers, lips pressing on each other’s bodies anywhere they can reach while our hands squeeze and caress. Camille pushes my sweats down and my cock easily slides into her as she wore nothing but a big T-shirt to bed.
We spend the rest of the night moving slowly together, no rush or urgency. We simply enjoy our bodies moving together, prolonging our releases the best we can to get our fill of one another.
When we come down after our highs, we snuggle in bed together and as we drift closer and closer to sleep, one thought dominates my mind.
I love this girl.