The Lineup Read online

  “You think we’re cuter than Milly and Carson?” Emory asks.

  “Of course. No competition. Milly is gorgeous but Carson is bringing down the team. I surpass them without even having a girlfriend, hell, if I were coupled up with my nightstand, I’d be a better couple.”

  “I’ll be sure to spread the news on to Carson.” Knox laughs to himself.

  “Not the best idea, you know how sensitive he is.”

  “I think you’re referring to yourself,” Knox points out.

  I chuckle. “True, I’m very sensitive and if he finds out and comes after my ass, I won’t recover easily, which means I’ll be over here at your place, begging you to nurse me back to health so my lady friend doesn’t have to see me in such a weak state.”

  Knox scratches the side of his jaw and says, “Have I ever told you how much I really don’t like you?”

  “Almost every day.” I wink at him.

  “What does this all mean? Can we go on double dates?” Emory asks with excitement.

  “I would LOVE that,” I say just as there’s a knock at the door. Knox gets up to welcome their visitor while I lean over the armchair and say to Emory, “We can take one of those couples cooking classes I hear people raving about.”

  “Yes, that would be so much—”

  “Look who it is,” Knox announces to the room as Dottie steps into view, and fuck, does she look good. She’s wearing a tight red dress, nude heels, and her hair is pulled up into a well-polished bun on the top of her head.

  Dottie smiles at Emory but when she sees me, her smile falters. I know why. She’s probably wondering what I’ve said to our friends.

  “There she is,” I say, standing and walking to her. “You’re out of work early.”

  “I . . . I’m going back—” I plant a giant kiss on her lips and when she doesn’t kiss back, I grip the small of her back and plaster her against my chest. I lightly part her lips with my tongue and before I know it, her mouth opens to me and I give her a gentle, sweet kiss, loving the way she melts into my body. Fuck, I love kissing this woman.

  Whispering, I say, “You look amazing.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers back as Emory claps her hands and comes up to the both of us.

  “Oh my God, this is so exciting. Look at you two. You’re so cute.”

  “See, told you,” I say to Knox, elbowing him in the stomach.

  We are cute.

  * * *

  After Dottie dropped the keys off and gave Emory a rundown on the plants, I snagged her by the hand and pulled her into my apartment.

  “I have to get back to work if I’m going to go to the amusement park with you tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine, just let me have a second with you.”

  She bites her bottom lip and the usual hard tone of her voice disappears when she says, “Okay. Just a second.”

  Smiling, I bring her to my living room where we both take a seat on my couch.

  “What did you tell them?” Dottie asks, sitting next to me but keeping a distance.

  “Just that you’re my girl, that we’re dating, and that I’m in like.”

  “In like?”

  “Yeah, the stage before love. I also might have announced something about babies but that’s neither here nor there.”

  “I really think you need help.”

  I chuckle and entwine our hands together. “Probably. So, you’re going back to the office? Probably for the best, as I have to hit the cages this afternoon. One of the pitchers wants to meet with me, get to know me, maybe toss a ball around a little.”

  “Are you nervous about being on a new team?”

  “Nah, I’m excited. Tampa was awesome, but Chicago is home. Even if I’m playing for the Rebels, I know they’re a great group of guys and we have some amazing prospects in the farm system. I feel good about it.”

  “You’re so positive, all the time. It’s infectious.”

  “Yeah?” I tip her chin with my finger. “Find yourself smiling more often?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  With the sun shining through my floor-to-ceiling windows, playing with the light and shadow on Dottie’s beautiful face, I know these are moments I’ll appreciate with her, where she drops her impenetrable shield and becomes vulnerable. She allows herself to enjoy the moment, to feel, to experience.

  She isn’t guarded, she isn’t trying to put on a strong face, instead she’s sitting here with me, hand in hand, taking a second to breathe.

  “Kind of wish I didn’t have to go to work.”

  “I know, but it will be worth it tomorrow.” I tug on her hand, forcing her to fall into my chest. Her free hand lands on my pec and I lift her chin just enough that we’re a breath away from connecting.

  And I wait.

  I don’t close the distance. No, I wait for her to do it, giving her the green light to make the final move.

  There isn’t much waiting because she dives in, her mouth connecting with mine, her hand sliding up my chest to my neck where her fingers play with the short strands of my hair.

  She shifts and I bring her closer with my hand directly on her ass, gripping the round globe just tight enough to let her know I will own her in the bedroom.

  “God, I want you,” she says, moving her lips to my cheek, to my jaw. “I want you so bad, Jason.”

  I suck in a harsh breath when she moves to my ear and plays with my lobe. “Don’t you want me?”

  “More than you’ll ever know,” I admit, getting lost in her touch. “But you have work, and I have batting practice. Our first time is going to be an all-night event.”

  She huffs in disappointment and pushes off me. That was painful. It’s even more painful watching her stand and pressing her hand to her forehead as if she can’t believe I’m actually turning her down . . . again.

  I can’t believe it either, but I meant what I said, I want a night with her, an entire night.

  “I’m sor—”

  Dottie faces me and from her side, slowly unzips her dress until it’s a puddle of fabric on the floor. Standing before me in nothing but a matching black lace thong and bra is the most absurdly sexy woman. “Dottie . . .”

  She lifts her heel-covered foot and presses it against my chest, forcing me to lean back into the couch and before I can protest, she works her hands to my thighs, slowly climbing with deep pressure until she reaches the button and fly of my pants.

  “I want you too.”

  She undoes the button.

  “Like really fucking bad.”

  There goes the zipper.

  “But shouldn’t we . . . oh fuck.” My head falls to the back of the couch as she pulls my rock-hard cock out of my briefs and jeans. She shimmies my pants down along with my briefs with little help from me, and then grips my cock.

  A look of awe and nerves scatter through her expression as she pumps my length up and down.

  “Hey, Dottie, that feels— Ahhh fuck, that feels good,” I say when she rubs her thumb over the head, playing with the tip. Jesus fuck, I nearly fly out of my jeans from the sensation. Just as I start to get comfortable, she stands up and straddles my legs before sitting down on my lap. She reaches behind her and undoes her bra, letting it fall to the ground with her dress.

  There is no stopping me now, not when I get sight of the most perfect pair of breasts I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life.

  Holy shit, Dottie.

  Round and plump with dark nipples, they sway and bounce with her every move, perfect for her body size. I reach up and cup one, feeling the weight in my palm before I cup the other. She brings her thong-clad center to my dick and then leans back, placing her hands on my thighs.

  And then, she rocks her hips and I just about blackout from the sensation, from the position, from the feel of her in my hands, from just how wet she is through her underwear.

  “Shit,” I grunt, taking hold of her hips and giving her a better angle on my cock.

  She must like it because her mouth fall
s open, a silent moan floating into the air. Her hands grip tighter on my thighs as she undulates with my help. Up and down, up and down, the friction building and building between us, the heat in the room skyrocketing, this moment branded on my brain.

  “Right there, right there,” she says, her stomach hollowing out, her hips rocking faster. “Yes, Jason. Oh my God, yes.” Her chest lifts. I hold her up with one hand while I keep pressing down on her hips, intensifying the experience for both of us. “Oh . . . fuck,” she groans just as her pleasure takes over. I watch as she falls into bliss . . . from riding my cock. God, she’s incredible. I love that she took exactly what she wanted, however she wanted. So fucking hot.

  “Shit, that was—” Her hand falls to my erection and she starts pumping feverishly, her hold so tight that I need to focus on how to breathe as air escapes my lungs at a rapid succession.

  Her breasts rest against my legs, and I wish I was free of my pants to feel her hard nipples rubbing against my skin. Not strong enough to even consider taking my pants all the way off, I go for the next best thing. I reach out and cup her breast, passing my thumb over her nipple. Hard, like a pebble, I relish in the contradiction between her soft breast to her erect nipple, the feeling so erotic I can already feel my impending orgasm.

  It begins with her stroke, the tight hold she has on me.

  It continues with the little passes of her tongue over the head of my cock. Flicks that travel around in a circle and then focus on the underneath.

  She looks up at me with so much lust that it breaks my self-control.

  And it all tumbles down when she reaches down and squeezes the base of my cock while her mouth takes me all the way in.

  Fuck. I’m gone.

  Like an out-of-body experience, I feel myself floating off the couch, the rest of my apartment turning black, leaving just me and Dottie, together, her swallowing my dick so hard, so fast, that I squeeze her shoulder. The voice that falls past my lips sounds nothing like me, as it’s almost a squeak.

  “Going to come.”

  She pops her mouth off my dick just long enough to say, “Good,” before lowering her head again.

  There’s nothing to grip as pressure builds at the base of my spine. No hair to hold on to, no shirt. Fuck this couch and its sturdy fabric. I reach behind me, hold the edge of the couch, and as she sucks me one last time, hard and long, I come.

  I come like a goddamn king, ferociously, and with a long groan so I don’t realize Dottie is climbing back on top of me until her lips are passing over mine.

  “I have to go.”

  “Wh-what?” I say breathlessly, unsure if I can even lift my head, let alone help her dress. “Just stay for a second.”

  “Can’t. I have a lot to do.”

  I watch like a chump, sitting back on the couch, dick lying against my stomach, still reeling from what just happened as she dresses.

  “You can’t just leave me like this.”

  She laughs and slips her dress over her head. “I think I can. I don’t predict you’ll be getting up in the near future.” She has that right. She zips up her dress and pats at her hair, not a strand out of place. “Thank you . . . for this.”

  “Uh, why are you thanking me? I don’t think I did anything.”

  “You did more than you think.” Her cheeks redden when she lowers to my lap and sits across it. Her hands fall to my chest as she places a soft kiss against my lips. “I will say this. I’m going to text Jessica, my assistant, because I don’t think I have any ChapStick at the office and I’m going to need some.”

  “Ah, now I can do something for you.” I reach into my pocket of my loose pants lying mid-thigh and hand her my Carmex. “Here, take it with you.”

  “Thank you.” She pops off the cap and smooths the balm over the corners of her mouth, wincing for a second.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  She nods and puts the cap back on. “You were just a lot bigger than I’ve, uh, ever seen.”

  “Oh.” I chuckle. “Sorry,” I say awkwardly, not that I can change my dick size or anything.

  “Don’t be sorry. Just need to get used to it is all.” She plays with the collar of my shirt. “I can’t wait to have you inside me, especially after having you in my mouth.”

  Jesus Christ. This woman is like a gift sent from above.

  “Keep saying things like that and you’re never getting out of here.”

  With one more kiss and a pat to my chest, she lifts off my lap and heads for the door to my apartment. “I’ll text you later. Can’t wait for tomorrow.”

  “Can’t wait either. Bye, sweet cheeks.”

  She waves her fingers at me and is out the door, leaving me spent with my dick and balls out. I think I might have to cancel batting practice. She just sucked all the energy out of me. Literally and figuratively. Shit. How did I get so fucking lucky?

  * * *

  Dottie: I miss being across the hall from you.

  Jason: Words I never thought you’d say.

  Dottie: I know, I surprised myself, but despite your annoying tendencies and non-stop chattering, I miss it.

  Jason: You’re making my heart soar like a fucking falcon. A goddamn FALCON, Dottie.

  Dottie: Falcon. That’s pretty serious. Do you know what would have been more serious? An albatross.

  Jason: Pfft, no way. They might have a ten-foot wingspan, but they’re seabirds, so they shit in the ocean. Where’s the fun in that?

  Dottie: As opposed to . . .

  Jason: Shitting on people’s heads, of course. If I was a bird, that would be my main purpose in life, shitting on unsuspecting people’s heads. Think about it, being targeted by a bird bowel movement is detrimental as a human being. You’re just going about your normal business when all of a sudden, WHACK, white goop drips from your forehead down your cheek. What is that, you think? You carefully touch it, your fingers immediately wet with semi-warm liquid. And when you realize it’s an anal secretion from a flying vertebrate, all hell breaks loose. The horror! The disgust! The SHAME OF BEING SHIT ON. There’s no coming back from that. #DayRuined And as the maniacal bird, there you are, floating around in the peaceful skies, watching idiot humans running around in circles, trying to get rid of the poo-poo. With one flip of the feather—or the bird, hey-o—you’re off to the bird feeder, filling up so you can drop turd once again. A vicious cycle of humans feeding birds only to get shit on unsuspectedly, I AM HERE FOR THAT!

  Dottie: I was wrong. I don’t have to be across the hall to be annoyed by you.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  DOTTIE

  “If you didn’t want to bring attention to yourself, you shouldn’t have forced me to wear matching shirts,” I say as Jason ducks under a plain baseball hat and sunglasses. He’s been spotted once already by a fan. He was very kind, signed the boy’s shirt, took a picture, and then went on his way. But now he’s hunkering behind me, trying to hide. Which is ridiculous, since he’s six two with a chest the size of two of my bodies put together. There’s no hiding him.

  And then the matching shirts. I should have known he was serious. When he picked me up this morning, he handed me a neon-yellow shirt that says “His muscles are mine.” That’s when he unzipped his sweatshirt and puffed his chest with pride. His shirt of course said “Her nips are for my (finger) tips.”

  Mortified doesn’t adequately describe how I’ve felt while walking around the amusement park, noticing people squinting to read our shirts . . . but needing sunglasses to avoid the glare.

  But after a few laughs and many sneers from uppity parents, I’m feeling a little more comfortable.

  “I guess I didn’t think it was going to be this hard to go out.” He brings his arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry, you must be sick of people stopping us.”

  “You didn’t think it was going to be a big deal? Jason, you’re a professional baseball player born and bred in Chicago. You went to Brentwood, so people have been following your career. Of course they’re goi
ng to recognize you. Just because you played for Tampa doesn’t mean they forgot about you, especially since you’re back in Chicago, playing for the home team.”

  “One of the home teams.” He lets out a deep breath. “That makes me feel a little better. To be honest, I was feeling a little apprehensive about winning over the city of Chicago again. I grew up a Bobbies fan, they all know that, so are they really going to accept me as a Rebel?”

  We’re walking along a path to one of the giant roller coasters Jason has been ecstatic to take me on. He wanted to start big—no working me into it—straight to the big guys.

  I’ve been stalling by peering into the little shops, but he’s done. He announced it was time, so now I’m walking as slowly as possible.

  “You’re worried if you’re going to be accepted as a Rebel?” I laugh. “I didn’t grow up here, but I’ve lived here long enough to know how serious baseball fans are. When they announced you were traded to the Rebels, every Bobbies fan out there wept themselves to sleep. Word around the street was, they wanted you to replace Walker.”

  “Oh, come on,” Jason grumbles with an obvious eye-roll. “Walker is one hell of a catcher. He had the second-best batting average on the team last year too.”

  “But he has the worst attitude in baseball. Fans don’t like that.”

  “Lady fans don’t,” he counters. “Men love it.”

  “Not true.” I shake my head as we get in line for the death-defying roller coaster I can’t seem to get myself to look at. I’d rather go in blind. “There are a few men at work who don’t like Walker Rockwell. They think he’s an asshole on the field and not a team player.”

  “He hasn’t been painted in a good light, but he’s actually a really nice guy. A quiet one, but nice.”

  “Do you know him well?”

  “I’m working with him on my charity. His sister passed, not sure how, but she had some disabilities. I knew he was the guy I wanted to pair up with. Plus, I know his reputation is shitty and thought it could help him. Bringing the two catchers for Chicago together. It’s going to be awesome. We have a celebrity softball game planned to include kids with disabilities in the area along with some of the biggest names in baseball. It’s going to be the first weekend in December at the Rebels stadium, my first game there.”