Chapter 4
arlo
The sun is already cooking the field by the time I jog out to the mound, glove tucked under my arm and cleats kicking up little clouds of dirt.
My body still feels loose and satisfied from last night and every time I catch a whiff of peach-vanilla-citrus drifting across the diamond, my dick twitches like it’s got a mind of its own.
Parker is already at second base, stretching those thick thighs in her tight practice shorts and a sleeveless Knotlocke baseball tee that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide how fucking gorgeous she is.
Her dark hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail, a few curls sticking to her neck from the heat.
She glances my way, cheeks already pink, and quickly looks back down at the dirt like she didn’t just flood my apartment with slick twelve hours ago.
Fox is crouched behind the plate, mask pushed up on his forehead, tattooed arms flexing as he adjusts his catcher’s mitt. He catches my eye and gives me that tiny, barely-there smirk, the one that says he’s thinking about the same thing I am.
Practice hasn’t even started, and the air already smells like the three of us.
God, it’s always been just the two of us, but the moment Parker stepped onto the field a few years ago, we couldn’t let go of the idea of her between us, on us, and under us.
Coach Ramirez blows his whistle. “Let’s go, ya’ll!
We beat Ridgeview once. Doesn’t mean we get to coast. Arlo—warm up.
Fox—put your damn mask on. Parker—stay at second and right field today, we’re working on relays.
” He continues through the rest of the starters before signaling the last of the team to follow suit.
I roll my shoulders and start my wind-up, but my eyes keep drifting to Parker.
She’s crouched in ready position at second, glove open, weight balanced on the balls of her feet.
Every time I throw a pitch, she moves like water, smooth, quick, that curvy ass popping as she fields a grounder and fires it to first. Perfect fucking form.
My next pitch is a little wild on purpose. Fox catches it clean and stands up, tossing the ball back to me with a raised eyebrow.
“Focus, pitcher,” he calls, voice low enough that only I can hear.
I grin. “Hard to focus when our girl looks that good bending over for grounders.”
Parker’s head snaps up. Her cheeks go from pink to full-on red. I see the exact second her scent spikes, sweet peach blooming bright and warm across the infield. A couple of the guys on the bench notice too.
“Yo, Ellis,” our shortstop Jamal calls from the grass. “You good? You’re looking a little flushed over there.”
Parker flips him off without looking, but she’s smiling. “Mind your own business, Jamal.”
I throw the next pitch, a clean strike right into Fox’s mitt. He stands slowly, pulling his mask off, and glances toward Parker again. She’s jogging toward right field now, ponytail swinging, thighs flexing with every step.
Fox walks out to the mound during the next water break, glove under his arm, and stops right in front of me. His cedarwood-leather scent mixes with mine and Parker’s until the whole infield feels like it belongs to us.
“How long do you think it’ll take to convince her last night wasn’t just one night?” he asks, voice low. He leans in a little, his lips inches away from my jaw. I resist the urge to melt into him because I would absolutely not stop at a quick kiss.
I laugh under my breath and adjust my cap. “You’re the one who’s been pining over her since sophomore year, man. Don’t act like I’m the only one who wants more.”
Fox’s jaw tightens, but there’s no real heat in it. He rubs the back of his neck, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. “I was trying not to spook her. She didn’t grow up with shit. Gets nervous about anything that feels too good to be true. Figured if we pushed too hard, she’d bolt.”
I bump my glove against his chest. “Well, she didn’t. She took both of us like she was made for it. You saw how she lit up this morning when we fed her pancakes.”
His eyes flick toward right field, where Parker is shading her eyes against the sun. “Yeah. I saw.”
Coach’s whistle cuts through the air. “Wolfe! Martinez! Less gossiping, more baseball! Ellis—get your head in the game!”
Parker straightens like she’s been caught. Her scent spikes again, a fresh burst of vanilla-citrus that makes my mouth water. I wink at her as Fox walks back to the plate, and she bites her lip, trying not to smile.
The rest of practice is torture in the best way.
Every time Parker makes a play, I make sure to yell something just loud enough for her to hear.
“Nice ass on that dive, baby!”
“Looking real good out there, Parker—keep bending over like that and I’m gonna need a cold shower.”
The guys eat it up. Jamal and our first baseman Theo, start cat-calling too, but they keep it light. They’ve seen the three of us orbiting each other for months; this is just the first time we’re not pretending anymore.
Parker blushes harder with every tease, but she fires back too, throwing a ball at my shin after one particularly filthy comment and shouting, “Focus on the strike zone, Arlo, not my ass!”
Fox catches the next pitch and stands up, shaking his head at me. “You’re gonna get us all benched.”
“Worth it,” I call back.
Coach finally has enough after Parker fields a pop fly in right field, and I wolf-whistle loud enough for the whole diamond to hear. He storms over, clipboard in hand, face red under his cap.
“Wolfe! Martinez! Ellis! My office. The rest of you, water break. Now.”
Parker’s eyes go wide. Fox just sighs like he expected this. I’m still grinning when we jog off the field.
In the dugout, I bump shoulders with Fox while Parker grabs her water bottle a few feet away. Her cheeks are flushed, thighs pressed together like she’s trying to hide how much my teasing affected her, her scent thick in the air with peach and slick and pure want.
Fox leans in close enough that only I can hear. “We’re not letting her think it was one night. Not after the way she came apart for us.”
“Agreed,” I murmur, eyes locked on Parker as she takes a long drink. “We just gotta show her we’re serious.”
Fox’s hand brushes my lower back for half a second. “Doesn’t mean we can’t tease her a little more at practice tomorrow.”
I laugh softly. “Deal.”
Coach’s voice booms from the tunnel. “Wolfe, Martinez, Ellis—now!”