Chapter Thirty-Six
Taylor
Spring break passes by in a blur. As March Madness begins, Todd and I trade off traveling with our respective teams, which is good since the apartment’s crowded with Chase and Emma staying there.
When I’m not at away games, Adam and I meet at the practice field to work on his pitches.
It almost reminds me of the days Todd and I would meet at our old diamond back in high school, when I was avoiding my mom instead of my brother.
We had a standing date every Monday, but we usually met more often, throwing the ball back and forth while we talked about our hopes and dreams.
As I recall those carefree afternoons with Todd, the weight of my current responsibilities settles heavily on my shoulders. Now, standing at the practice field with Adam, the pressure of expectations is a stark contrast to the simplicity of those high school days.
“How the hell are you hitting these?” he asks, pulling me from my memories as I get my bat underneath a particularly low one and manage to foul it off.
“You’re putting them exactly where I want them.” I step away from the plate. “If you want me to miss, you’ve gotta throw them inside. You know I like to go after the outside ones.”
His eyes narrow. “Show me.”
“So you know how your sliders move to the outside corner? Curve them inside instead,” I say, waving my hands over the plate to demonstrate.
“Like this?” Adam asks, going into his windup.
I get ready, tracking the ball as it comes at me. I wait for it to shift, but it stays dead center over the plate, and I slam my bat into it.
“No. Definitely not.”
“That would’ve been a strike, though!”
“Yeah, if it hadn’t been a home run.”
We keep going like that. He refuses to give up until he gets the pitch right, but he barely makes any progress, either throwing them exactly where I want them or so far out of the strike zone that I don’t even try.
After a couple of hours, I’m starting to feel it in my shoulders, and I’m ready to call it a night. Adam looks how I feel, his control starting to slip, so I raise my hand to suggest we stop just as he snaps into his windup.
The ball comes flying toward me, and it looks like it’s going to hang on the outside corner—my perfect pitch. I prepare to swing, but instead of the ball connecting with my bat, it hits my left hip, and I drop to the ground in excruciating pain.
“Shit!” He runs toward me, dropping to his knees beside me. “Taylor, I’m so sorry—are you okay?”
Stars blur my vision as I grimace, trying to get up. “Get back over there.”
“What the hell? You could be seriously injured, and you want me to throw again?”
“Yes!” I breathe. For a second, I think the pain’s fading, but then I take a step, leading with my left foot, and it comes roaring back. “That’s the pitch I’ve been trying to get you to throw all afternoon.”
“Still, I think we should stop.” He gently removes the helmet from my head and offers his arm to steady me. “If I injure you before playoffs, Coach will wring my neck.”
I don’t want to admit it, but he’s right—I’m in no condition to keep swinging. We’ll have to wait and see if he can throw that pitch again another day.
I sigh. “Fine.”
We part ways at the locker room where I grab my bag, slinging it over my right shoulder, but I’m still limping when we meet back up in the parking lot.
“Here, let me,” he says, taking the bag from me.
I open my mouth to protest, but it’s easier to walk without the extra weight, so I close it just as quickly. When we get to my car, I unlock it and nod toward the trunk. “You can put it back there.”
I figure we’ll say goodbye after that, but he lingers, shifting his weight awkwardly.
“You don’t have to worry about me—I’ll go and ice my hip and be ready to play this weekend.”
“Oh . . .” He runs his hand through his hair. “That’s not—there’s just something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
I lean against my car. “Oh, okay. What’s up, then?”
He folds his lips into his mouth. “Are you and Todd . . . together now?”
My smile wavers, and my gaze drifts downward. Were we? That was truly the million-dollar question, since he kissed me in the middle of the basketball court, followed by the most intense sex I’ve ever had—not that I have much to compare it to, but it felt like we were together.
But we haven’t discussed any changes to our arrangement—as far as I know we’re still just practicing, so I reply, “No, we’re just friends.”
His eyes light up. “Then would you want to go to dinner this weekend?”
“You mean like a date?”
“Yeah.”
My chest tightens and I fiddle with my keys. Part of me wants to say yes—it’s what I’ve been wanting, to go on dates and be a normal girl—but I don’t see Adam as anything more than a friend, so it would be wrong to lead him on.
“Adam—”
“It’s okay.” His shoulders slump. “I get it—you don’t have to say anything.”
“We can always go out as friends,” I say, touching his wrist. “And we need to see if that pitch was just a fluke, so I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” He forces a smile. “Tomorrow.”
When I get home, the apartment is blissfully empty—just a Post-it stuck to the microwave: At Emma’s prenatal.
I grab a bag of peas out of the freezer and collapse onto Todd’s bed.
I’m staring at the ceiling when I hear the telltale friction of a key in a door and then Todd’s hulking shadow fills the doorway.
He tosses his duffel on the carpet. “So, rough day?”
I rub at my hip absentmindedly. “Could’ve been worse.”
He flops down beside me, sprawling until our shoulders touch. “I thought you could walk off anything.”
“Not when Adam’s pitching like he’s on a mission.”
Todd snorts, but his voice goes soft. “Want me to take a look?”
“I’m not sure there’s anything left to see except a future bruise shaped like a baseball.”
He reaches over and lifts my shirt just enough to reveal a red, swollen circle. Lowering his head, he kisses it gently. “Does that hurt?”
“A little.”
“I’ve missed you . . .”
I pull him up by his shirt. “It’s okay, I’m used to practicing through the pain.”
I say it jokingly, but he cringes like he’s the one who was hit with an eighty-seven-mile-per-hour breaking ball.
“Hey, what’s the face?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing . . . nothing.”
I open my mouth to insist he give me a better answer, but he silences me with a kiss, and it doesn’t take much more for me to forget my question altogether.
My fingers slice through the hair at the nape of his neck as he consumes me, body and soul.
“Todd . . .” I moan, heat pooling in my core.
Now I understand the distance makes the heart grow fonder cliché.
I’ve always missed him when our schedules don’t line up—his company and our conversations—but now my body misses his when it isn’t on top of me, when his hands aren’t holding me.
The bed is just colder when he isn’t on the other side.
“Taylor,” he says, ripping down my shorts and underwear. “You’re already soaked.”
I stroke his cock through his jeans. “And you’re already hard.”
“Maybe we should do something about it?”
“No maybes about it—we should definitely do something about it.” I swallow a scream as he thumbs my clit. “And quickly because I don’t know how quiet I can be.
He chuckles. “It’s not like we’ve been hiding this.”
“No, but I don’t particularly want to broadcast how good you’re fucking me to my siblings either.”
He leans in and whispers in my ear, “And how good am I fucking you?”
“I don’t know . . .” I grind against his hand. “You’re not fucking me yet.”
He growls, releases his cock, and thrusts inside me without warning. “Oh yeah? What about now?”
“Good!” I shout. “So . . . good.”
“Damn right.”
He continues thrusting deep, his hands on my breasts. I take over rubbing my clit, wanting to come so badly, then all of a sudden, he stops.
“Wha—” I ask, reaching for him, but he’s rolling onto his back and taking me with him.
“Ride me,” he says. “Use me for your pleasure.”
I grimace. “Actually this position doesn’t work for me tonight. My hip.”
“Shit, Taylor, I’m sorry I forgot.” He rolls us back over. “Maybe we should—”
I wag a finger at him. “Don’t you dare say stop. We stop when I come.”
“I thought I was supposed to be the bossy one.”
“I don’t know, you might have lost your position because I’m enjoying this too much.”
He thrusts back into me. “Are you?”
My eyes roll back in my head. “Not as much as this, though.”
“Thought so.”
It’s not long before I’m back on the edge, my pussy tightening around him. Knowing what I need, he reaches for my clit and strums.
I fall apart and take him with me, my fingers running down his back, making him shiver.
He presses his forehead against mine, still inside me. “You’re getting too good.”
“I owe it all to you, coach.”
All at once the spell is broken. He pulls away, and a chill runs down my spine.
“I’m gonna go shower,” he says, leaving me staring at his retreating frame walking through the door.