Chapter 7
SETH
The Surf Rats are up against their bitterest rivals, the Rattlesnakes. And the fans are rabid for blood.
The private box where Madison and I sit has comfortable chairs, a loveseat, and a table with barstools set up at one side of the room. It would easily hold ten people, but today it’s just the two of us.
“This is amazing.” Madison keeps looking around at the room, ignoring the players as they warm-up.
I’m half-watching her, half-watching the Surf Rats shortstop, Greg Faraday. He’s been involved in some drama, and Redactible gossip says the drama has gotten to his head, making him a shittier player.
Even in the warm-ups, I can tell that the Redactible gossips are correct. He’s playing worse. I can see it in the way he hunches his shoulders, the way he hesitates before throwing the ball. It’s like his confidence has evaporated.
“So, we can take any of these snacks and drinks?” Madison holds up a wine cooler that had been chilling in a bucket of ice.
“Yes, it’s all included.”
She whistles under her breath, impressed. Her delight is childlike and adorable. “Do you want a wine cooler? Beer? Champagne?”
“I’ll take a beer.” I’d rather watch Madison, but she’s too sexy, too tempting. I return my attention to Faraday. He shouts something at the pitcher, Lex Bryant, who scowls back at him. Hmm. Trouble among the players. Redactible is going to be filled with posts about this later.
“Is this stuff for us, too?” She points to a pile of merch arranged on the table. Foam fingers, flags, and jerseys and hats from both teams.
“Yeah.” I keep my eyes on Faraday. “Take whatever you want.”
Madison brings me a beer and moves to stand right in front of me. I reach for the bottle and she tugs it just out of reach.
I snap my gaze to hers. “Madison. Hand it over.”
“Fine. But you know this is a social thing, right? Talk to me. What’s going on out there? What’s so important? Aren’t they just warming up?”
“Yeah, they are. But you can tell a lot about their mindset by how they warm up.”
“How so?”
“See the shortstop?”
She nods.
“Watch him.”
She eyes Faraday. “He’s kind of hot.”
I laugh. “That’s what you’re getting from this? Watch how he pauses before everything he does. He isn’t at the top of his game today.”
“I guess.” She gasps. “He just flipped off his own pitcher!”
“See? Do you think this is a team that will win?”
“Depends on what kind of drama is happening with the Rattlesnakes.” She laughs.
I stare at her. “You think this is funny? This is serious, Madison.”
She laughs harder. “Um, you’re joking, right?”
“No. These are professional players, and they’re acting like immature middle-schoolers.
I’ve been watching the Surf Rats since I was a kid.
They’re my favorite team despite their years-long losing streak.
When they brought in Faraday, I thought he could turn things around.
But the way he’s acting? He’ll be lucky if he isn’t traded at the end of the season. ”
“Okay, okay.” Her voice is soothing but sarcastic and patronizing. “Let’s sit down and watch this very serious baseball game.”
“Brat,” I say under my breath.
“Why, thank you.” She straightens her shoulders and sits taller.
The Surf Rats finish their warm-ups, which means the game is about to begin. After the national anthem is performed, the Surf Rats take to the field. Lex Bryant heads to the pitcher’s mound and glances around at each of his teammates—his pre-game routine. Faraday notably doesn’t meet his gaze.
Whatever blood is between them, it’s bad.
“They really don’t like each other, do they?” Madison grips her wine cooler. “Like, damn. They hate each other. What did the pitcher do, steal the shortstop’s wife?”
“He isn’t married.”
She shoots me a look. “So you know about their personal lives, too?”
“Just a few things.” No way will she get me to admit the hours I spend on Redactible, reading up on these guys. I criticized Flesh and Teeth for being like a soap opera, but the private lives of the Surf Rats would rival any kind of soapy melodrama.
Madison’s skeptical side-eye distracts me from the first pitch. She is a brat. This isn’t the first time I’ve wanted to haul her over my lap and spank her for her sassiness. And given the way she behaved at Low Vice with Damiano and me, I have a feeling she’d enjoy a good spanking.
“Bryant seems like a good pitcher,” Madison remarks as he strikes out the first Rattlesnake player, Jimmy Vega.
“He is.”
“He’s kinda hot, too, like that shortstop guy, Faraday.”
“Should you be ogling the players, Madison? Or should you be paying attention to the game?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I haven’t ogled them yet, but if I were supposed to, I guess their tight pants would make it pretty easy to do. Hardly my fault, right? Isn’t that what asshole creeps say about ogling women?”
“Behave yourself,” I mutter.
“Make me,” she mutters back.
Is she pushing my buttons on purpose? It’s starting to feel like it. Or maybe I’m pushing hers.
The first inning goes by without any runs from either team. Bryant strikes out all three Rattlesnakes in their line-up, then it’s the Surf Rats’ turn at bat.
Faraday is up first. Madison leans forward in her seat next to mine. Her shirt rises up slightly, baring a tantalizing sliver of her lower back. God, I’ve never wanted to touch any part of a woman more than I want to touch that pale strip of skin.
I completely miss Faraday’s first swing. Foul ball.
“You’re right, there’s something going on with that guy,” Madison says. “His heart’s not in it.”
His next swing is a hit, a grounder that goes right between first and second. It’s only because the Rattlesnake right-fielder fumbles the catch that Faraday makes it to first.
“Lucky,” Madison says.
“Very.”
When the next batter sends the ball sailing far into left field, Madison grabs my knee and shakes it. “Go, go, go!” she shouts.
Faraday makes it past second and almost to third, but the Rattlesnakes get there first. He’s out.
“Fucking hell,” Madison shouts, leaning back in her seat and looking utterly disgusted. “He could’ve run faster than that.”
I agree, but it’s funny how invested she has gotten. “He’s doing his best.”
“I’ve had enough of this.” She removes her pink Surf Rats hat and goes to the merch table, where she grabs a Rattlesnakes hat. “I’m switching teams.”
“What?” I gape at her in shock. “Don’t you dare put that hat on, Madison.”
“Why? Faraday’s doing his best, but his best sucks. The Rattlesnakes are more worthy of my support.”
I don’t point out that neither the Rattlesnakes nor the Surf Rats can hear, or even see us, in this private box. “Don’t. Do not put on that hat, you little turncoat.”
She sticks out her tongue and jams the dark green hat on her head. The brown rattler on the front mocks me. “Don’t worry, I’ll stand over here so you don’t have to feel like you’re associating with the enemy.”
She parks herself at the table at the front of our box, overlooking the field. The little minx doesn’t realize she’s put herself directly in my line of vision, and I fucking like what I see.
I want to spank what I see.
And when the Rattlesnakes pitcher strikes out the next two Surf Rats, Madison cheers. She actually cheers.
“That’s fucking enough.” I stand up and crowd her against the table.
Madison looks over her shoulder at me. “What?”
“We’re here for the Surf Rats, not this other trashy team. But you’re standing here in their hat, cheering for them. I forbid it, Madison.”
She laughs. “You forbid it? I don’t think so, Mr. C.”
“Mr. C?” I sputter. “What?”
“What—you’re acting like a…like a disapproving professor. So yeah. Mr. C. Or should I call you Sir?”
Okay, she’s doing this on purpose. My palms itch to smack her tight little bubble butt.
At the sight of what must be a thunderous expression on my face, her eyes widen into large pools of green.
“Are you asking for some consequences, Miss M?” I ask. “Some punishment, for antagonizing your superior?”
“My superior? Hardly.”
I get right behind her and push her forward against the table so her ass sticks out. I shouldn’t do this. I really shouldn’t do this. But I can’t fucking stop. The only thing that could make me stop is a safe word. Otherwise, this is happening.
“Seth,” she gasps.
“That’s Sir to you.”
Her soft sound of dismay goes straight to my dick. “Sir.”
“Is there a problem, Miss M?”
She shakes her head. “Well, maybe. Um, there’s a million people right outside this box.”
“These are one-way windows. We can see out; nobody else can see in.” I give her a knowing smile. “Except you’d probably like it more if people could see in, you little exhibitionist.”
She wiggles against me, her ass rubbing against my cock.
I groan. “Yeah, you like that.”
“Wait.” She starts to stand up straight. “Damiano.”
“He won’t mind.”
“I can’t—we haven’t talked—”
I’m sure they have, but if she wants to be certain of his feelings on sharing, I have no problem with that.
“Let’s call him.” I push my hips forward, enjoying her curvy ass. “I bet he wouldn’t mind watching whatever we do.”