Moonshot
Page 25
“That’s not high school. That’s just … being young.” I hated that I was five years younger than him. I wanted to have this conversation on an adult level, one where we were equals.
He leaned back, resting his elbows on the row behind him. “I would have loved to meet you back then.”
“When you were in high school?” I wrinkled my nose. “You would have ignored me.”
“No.” He sat up, tucking some hair behind my ear. “I would have fallen for you the minute I saw you. You would have been the star of our softball team, and I would have stayed after practice and offered to help you with your batting.”
I snorted. “And I would have told you where to stick it.”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “I was a stud in high school. You might have tried to play hard to get, but you would have been all over me.”
“You know … you’re still a stud.” I looked over at him, his eyes lifting off the field and back to me. “I think you’re probably more of a stud now than you were here.”
Something in his eyes dimmed. “High school’s funny. It builds gods out of those who don’t deserve it. Makes them feel invincible just because they can hit a ball, or score a goal.”
I heard the catch in his voice and knew he was thinking of Emily. Of the late practice and distractions that had cost her life. And I distracted him the only way I knew how, throwing my leg over his and straddling his lap, my hands settling on either side of his face. “What would you have done, if I had let you coach my swing?”
He ran his hands slowly up the back of my thighs, caressing the skin before he got to the edge of my cutoff shorts, his fingers carefully sliding under the edge of them, hot points of contact that squeezed my ass. “I would have gone to first base.”
“Which is?”
His hands pushed further, and I lost my breath, his mouth lifting to mine as he pulled me down, harder on his lap, the rough fabric of my shorts almost painful as he lifted his hips and pressed against me. His mouth was greedy, his kiss ragged and deep, my hair falling around our lips as they battled. His final kiss slowed the tempo, his hands sliding out of my shorts and I panted, my body craving his, craving more, and never wanting to stop. “That’s first base?” I asked. It felt enormous for something so minor, yet nothing between us had ever felt ordinary.
“A Chase Stern first base.” He smiled at me and swept my hair behind my shoulder, his hand on my neck as he tilted it back and kissed the delicate skin there.
“Would you have tried for second?” I closed my eyes, his hold on my neck comforting, his mouth on my throat the most sensual thing on the planet.
“With you, I’d have tried for anything.”
I pushed gently on his chest, his lips leaving my neck, and pulled at my T-shirt, the thin material stretching over my head, everything Yankee gray for a moment before it was off, and he was staring at me, and if I could have taken a photo of his face right then, I would have saved it for eternity.
“Don’t even think about third,” I said. Then, I reached back and unclasped my bra.
He hadn’t tried for third. He’d been a perfect gentleman, even when I could feel him rock hard in his jeans, his expression painful when he went to stand. I had reached for his jeans, ready for more, but he’d stopped me, his hand firm on my wrist, his voice solid when he’d spoken. Now, in the light of the next day, my arousal calmed, I was glad he’d had the strength when I didn’t.
I yawned again, forgetting to cover my mouth, and heard Higgins chuckle. “Shut it,” I snapped, both of us straightening to attention when there was a pitch—strike. The third strike. I pushed off the wall and joined Higgins, both of us jogging for the dugout. I caught Dad’s eye from the pitcher’s bullpen and waved.
“Want to come out with us tonight?” Higgins offered. “Shawn and I are hitting the local casino. Watching us win at blackjack might wake you up a little.” He threw an arm around my shoulders and squeezed.
“Nah.” I smiled up at him. “But thanks. I’m gonna head to bed early.”
We approached the dugout, and he motioned me ahead, my eyes quick as I came down the stairs, scanning the bench, looking for anything that needed to be done. Behind me, a wave of men took the stairs, the area filling up quickly, spirits high, the air rough with masculinity and competitiveness. Still, I knew the minute Chase walked past. I felt the soft touch of his fingers as he brushed them against mine. I felt his presence, then ached for it as soon as he was past, as soon as his butt hit the seat of the bench, and I had only his eyes—burning contact that I had to avoid, had to look away from, lest we get caught. I turned toward the field, stepping up to the fence, and watching the outfield settle into place, but couldn’t stop my smile.
51
New York
“Chase, baby, how is life?” The fast crone of his agent took him right back to Los Angeles, to that big glass office full of ambitions and regrets.
For a rare moment when speaking with the man, Chase smiled. “Life is good, Floyd.”
“Really?” The skepticism was high, and Chase had to laugh. “The Yankees are treating you well?”
“I think they’re still warming up to me, but the home runs are helping.”
“How many COC lectures you gotten?”
Code-of-Conduct. The Yankees were big on everything, especially image. No facial hair, other than mustaches. No fighting. No drunk-in-public behavior. Nothing that would flutter the perfect hair of Maxine Grenada, the PR tycoon who kept the Yankee’s reputation squeaky clean. Chase winced. “A few.”
The man lowered his voice. “I really want you to think about stopping any powder. Every stupid thing you’ve done—”
“Already ahead of you,” Chase interrupted, opening the sliding glass door of his hotel room and stepping onto the balcony.
“Meaning what?”
“I’ve stopped. I could piss in a cup right now and be good to go.”
“Keep that up through the season, and you’ll make me a happy man.”
“I’m done with that shit. Permanently. Like you said, it gets me into trouble.”
The man was silent for a long, suspicious minute. “What about girls?”
“I’m dating someone.” The thought of her made him, for the hundredth time that day, smile. “Exclusively. So stop worrying. I’m behaving, I’m happy, I’m playing like God.”
He leaned back, resting his elbows on the row behind him. “I would have loved to meet you back then.”
“When you were in high school?” I wrinkled my nose. “You would have ignored me.”
“No.” He sat up, tucking some hair behind my ear. “I would have fallen for you the minute I saw you. You would have been the star of our softball team, and I would have stayed after practice and offered to help you with your batting.”
I snorted. “And I would have told you where to stick it.”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “I was a stud in high school. You might have tried to play hard to get, but you would have been all over me.”
“You know … you’re still a stud.” I looked over at him, his eyes lifting off the field and back to me. “I think you’re probably more of a stud now than you were here.”
Something in his eyes dimmed. “High school’s funny. It builds gods out of those who don’t deserve it. Makes them feel invincible just because they can hit a ball, or score a goal.”
I heard the catch in his voice and knew he was thinking of Emily. Of the late practice and distractions that had cost her life. And I distracted him the only way I knew how, throwing my leg over his and straddling his lap, my hands settling on either side of his face. “What would you have done, if I had let you coach my swing?”
He ran his hands slowly up the back of my thighs, caressing the skin before he got to the edge of my cutoff shorts, his fingers carefully sliding under the edge of them, hot points of contact that squeezed my ass. “I would have gone to first base.”
“Which is?”
His hands pushed further, and I lost my breath, his mouth lifting to mine as he pulled me down, harder on his lap, the rough fabric of my shorts almost painful as he lifted his hips and pressed against me. His mouth was greedy, his kiss ragged and deep, my hair falling around our lips as they battled. His final kiss slowed the tempo, his hands sliding out of my shorts and I panted, my body craving his, craving more, and never wanting to stop. “That’s first base?” I asked. It felt enormous for something so minor, yet nothing between us had ever felt ordinary.
“A Chase Stern first base.” He smiled at me and swept my hair behind my shoulder, his hand on my neck as he tilted it back and kissed the delicate skin there.
“Would you have tried for second?” I closed my eyes, his hold on my neck comforting, his mouth on my throat the most sensual thing on the planet.
“With you, I’d have tried for anything.”
I pushed gently on his chest, his lips leaving my neck, and pulled at my T-shirt, the thin material stretching over my head, everything Yankee gray for a moment before it was off, and he was staring at me, and if I could have taken a photo of his face right then, I would have saved it for eternity.
“Don’t even think about third,” I said. Then, I reached back and unclasped my bra.
He hadn’t tried for third. He’d been a perfect gentleman, even when I could feel him rock hard in his jeans, his expression painful when he went to stand. I had reached for his jeans, ready for more, but he’d stopped me, his hand firm on my wrist, his voice solid when he’d spoken. Now, in the light of the next day, my arousal calmed, I was glad he’d had the strength when I didn’t.
I yawned again, forgetting to cover my mouth, and heard Higgins chuckle. “Shut it,” I snapped, both of us straightening to attention when there was a pitch—strike. The third strike. I pushed off the wall and joined Higgins, both of us jogging for the dugout. I caught Dad’s eye from the pitcher’s bullpen and waved.
“Want to come out with us tonight?” Higgins offered. “Shawn and I are hitting the local casino. Watching us win at blackjack might wake you up a little.” He threw an arm around my shoulders and squeezed.
“Nah.” I smiled up at him. “But thanks. I’m gonna head to bed early.”
We approached the dugout, and he motioned me ahead, my eyes quick as I came down the stairs, scanning the bench, looking for anything that needed to be done. Behind me, a wave of men took the stairs, the area filling up quickly, spirits high, the air rough with masculinity and competitiveness. Still, I knew the minute Chase walked past. I felt the soft touch of his fingers as he brushed them against mine. I felt his presence, then ached for it as soon as he was past, as soon as his butt hit the seat of the bench, and I had only his eyes—burning contact that I had to avoid, had to look away from, lest we get caught. I turned toward the field, stepping up to the fence, and watching the outfield settle into place, but couldn’t stop my smile.
51
New York
“Chase, baby, how is life?” The fast crone of his agent took him right back to Los Angeles, to that big glass office full of ambitions and regrets.
For a rare moment when speaking with the man, Chase smiled. “Life is good, Floyd.”
“Really?” The skepticism was high, and Chase had to laugh. “The Yankees are treating you well?”
“I think they’re still warming up to me, but the home runs are helping.”
“How many COC lectures you gotten?”
Code-of-Conduct. The Yankees were big on everything, especially image. No facial hair, other than mustaches. No fighting. No drunk-in-public behavior. Nothing that would flutter the perfect hair of Maxine Grenada, the PR tycoon who kept the Yankee’s reputation squeaky clean. Chase winced. “A few.”
The man lowered his voice. “I really want you to think about stopping any powder. Every stupid thing you’ve done—”
“Already ahead of you,” Chase interrupted, opening the sliding glass door of his hotel room and stepping onto the balcony.
“Meaning what?”
“I’ve stopped. I could piss in a cup right now and be good to go.”
“Keep that up through the season, and you’ll make me a happy man.”
“I’m done with that shit. Permanently. Like you said, it gets me into trouble.”
The man was silent for a long, suspicious minute. “What about girls?”
“I’m dating someone.” The thought of her made him, for the hundredth time that day, smile. “Exclusively. So stop worrying. I’m behaving, I’m happy, I’m playing like God.”
