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The hot, humid breeze had done nothing to cool off the players. In fact, the dust mixed with sweat on Hank's face only made him feel worse. The deputies' team, Nook's White Sox, in honor of Chicago's 2005 World Series champs, was playing the pathetic bunch from Raven's Grocery Store. Waiting for his turn at bat, he leaned against the cyclone fencing and fanned himself with his batting helmet. His respiration picked up when, in his peripheral vision, he spotted a black Jeep Laredo drive by, make a U-turn, and come back. So far so good. He'd fantasized that she'd stop and watch, and here she was.
"Hey, Crossman, wake up. You're up, boy," taunted Pete. His knowing grin made it clear that he'd spotted the Jeep, too.
"Just give me a respectable hit," he pleadingly muttered to what he hoped was an understanding God.
"Short! Eyes open," the Raven's third base coach warned.
He liked to drive 'em along the left field line.
Shit, come on, I didn't even see that. Concentrate, you fucker. He planted his feet, practice swung the bat a couple of times.
Loosen up, damnit! Hit it!
CRAAACKK. He tore down the line to first and heard the first-base coach yelling him on to second. Safely there, he panted, swiped a forearm across his brow, and tossed his batting helmet toward the sidelines. The rest of the game was a blur, even his run into home on Pete's triple. Usually secure about his athletic prowess, he was shocked that Nickie Grace's presence had distracted him from the game so completely.
Game over. He didn't give a crap who won. This was when theteams playing that night went on to Nook's for drinks, music, and pool. Sometimes he joined them if he was still feeling restless after playing softball.
Nickie wandered slowly over to the fence behind home plate where he was standing--watching her. Well, well, well, doesn't she look good? Jean shorts showed off her world-class butt. A white, short sleeved T-shirt with a revealing V-neck showcased the spectacular breasts, just as he'd imagined them to be. She seemed to be casually looking for someone. He sneered when she raised her arm and gave a little finger-wiggly wave to Pete. Of course, being an asshole, Pete waved back in the same manner. Fucking idiot.
She's mine. He yanked his bat up out of the grass, knocked dirt out of his cleats, and asked, "Want to hit one?"
Her head swung toward him like she was surprised he was there. "Oh, hi. Um ... Hank. I was just driving by and saw the lights. I didn't know you were playing."
Surprised my ass. "I'll pitch, and you hit. Come on," he cajoled.
"God, I haven't played ball since I was a kid. And wasn't too good at it then." She toed the dirt with her gym shoe and looked at him with lowered lashes. "It might be kind of fun, though."
She stuck her fingers in her back pockets. The position thrust those amazing hooters out.
He licked his lips in anticipation of perky little nipples poking through the thin material of her top, could almost feel the tight little nubs rolling on his tongue. "Come on, then. Try a few swings." He tempted her with his voice while flipping the ball in the air. "I'll toss 'em to ya' easy." When she finally edged around the fence, she kept a few paces between them. Probably a good idea. She looked wholesome and sexy at the same time, and he felt randy and dangerously deprived.
Even under the harsh lights, her skin looked silky soft. His lips hummed with the desire to trace the firm line of her jaw down to the round chin, then over those lush lips ... and...
Mentally shaking himself out of his X-rated haze, he took her by the shoulders and settled her at home plate. Closing her hands around the bat and lining her up with the pitcher's mound, he instructed, "Swing a few times. Practice, Nickie." Pretending that he was only appraising her swing, he gazed his fill at her body while advising her to keep her head up and shoulders back. "Bounce a little on the balls of your feet." Yeah, bounce a little, baby.
She bounced, swung at the air a couple of times. "Well, okay, let me have one."
"Be happy to," he muttered meaningfully under his breath as he headed to the mound. Sweat trickled down the side of his face. He scrunched his shoulder up to swipe it off and threw his first pitch.
A swing and a miss.
"Yikes!" she cried. Running to pick the ball up and toss it back, then breathing heavily, she pointed the bat toward the ground and tapped it on home plate. "Can't you do any better than that, big guy? Afraid to get it anywhere near the plate, huh?" She taunted and air swung again, twisting at the waist, showing off sweet, smooth thighs and plump little knees.
What the hell? She's trash talking? "Oh, ho. Feeling cocky, are we?" he laughed. "You're in my ballpark now." He lobbed one in, harder this time.
A swing and a miss.
"I heard that, sugar," he crooned musically.
"Don't sugar me. Throw a good one, and I'll hit it," she demanded, settling a serious expression on her face.
"Problems, honey?" he goaded. She looked so cute with her front sticking out over the plate and her ass jutting out behind. His cock twitched and lengthened as he envisioned coming up behind her, bending her over, and sliding his dick home right into her cunt.
"Hey, I told you I haven't done this for a long time," she hollered back. "Give me a break." She swung again as the ball whizzed past her and bounced off the backboard. Squinting her eyes in irritation, she picked the ball up and stalked it out to him on the mound.
He grinned broadly, taunting her. "That's three strikes. You're out, cookie."
"Sugar, honey, cookie? What are you doing out here?" Her eyes sparkled even as she growled, "Your weekly baking?" Then she hauled off and shoved the ball into his stomach.
He doubled over playfully, then straightened up to tower over her, giving her his most seductive smile. The need to touch her was overwhelming, and he pressed the back of his forefinger into the sweaty space between her upper lip and her nose. She gave a little shocked "ah," and suddenly his fingertip landed on her plump, moist lower lip, dragging it down. He sobered, held his breath as his gaze clashed with her deep blue eyes. He recognized the same deeply blue, sensual gaze from last night at her house.
The heat steaming off them, around them, from the hot lights of the ball field in the sultry, humid Iowa summer night unraveled him, played havoc with his breathing. She looked pretty winded too, her breasts rising and falling unevenly, almost touching his chest. They hadn't been playing that hard.
"I don't like those cutesy names," she hissed fiercely, but breathlessly. There was a discomfort in her gaze. A vulnerability along with the anger.
His head spun with how turned on he felt. Damn. "Get back there and hit one." He sounded a little breathless himself, a little husky. "I'll throw it easy." Things had turned weird, and why he needled her, he had no idea.
"Don't bother." Her voice shook, too, but challenged him. "Just get a decent one over the plate, and I'll slam it," she promised. Back at the plate, businesslike, she balanced the bat on her shoulder and glared at him, daring him.
At least she wasn't running away from him. "Ok, here goes." He lobbed the ball faster than the previous ones and was rewarded with a loud crack as it sailed over his head into the outfield. "Youch, that's a beauty. Good one," he yelled admiringly as he sprinted out after it.
She jumped up and down, squealing, "I did it. I did it!"
"Run to first base!" he shouted from the outfield, then just about tripped over his big feet watching her breasts bounce when she took off down the base line.
By the time he belatedly snatched up the ball, she'd tagged first. He cut her off short of second, snaking an arm around her waist and sweeping her up off her feet. Pulling her back tightly against his front, he fanned his fingers wide across her midriff.
"Put me down, you oaf!" she shrieked when they collided. She squirmed in resistance, and when her feet hit the ground, her backside wriggled over his groin.
Oh, yeah. He thrust his happy cock against her soft ass, growling low, his lips brushing her ear. His head reeled at her lemony scent made more potent by sweat. One arm around her middle, the other trying to tame her flailing arm, he snuggled her back, crushed his hips into her enticing bottom, and his breath blew hot and harsh over the skin of her neck. Fuck, she smells good. And feels better.
She stiffened, went completely still except for her own rough breathing, then burst out of his grasp with arms batting at his. "What're you doing..." Her elbow slammed into his gut.
Posted June 4, 2011
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