Long Ball(22)

We settle on a bench under a cove of trees and share the ice cream cone, passing it back and forth. She presses her body next to me as she sits, and my free hand instantly curls around her, remembering the feel of her body from our first night together.

What we talk about, I don’t remember. It’s small talk, things of no consequence, because all I can see are her lips, and the heavy-lidded way she looks at me when she licks the cone. She leans in for another lick of ice cream, so I lean in at the same time. Our tongues graze one another, and it’s magic.

Megan stares at me for a long time, and I worry I’ve done something wrong. I bring the cone over to my mouth to take another bite, but she stops me and tilts her head slightly, leans in for another bite. Slowly, I mimic her, and this time, our tongues don’t just pass each other like foul balls. My tongue runs the length of hers, tasting her and the ice cream together. Her hand cups my face and kisses me over the ice cream cone again, this time closing the gap with her lips. I toss the ice cream over my shoulder, she giggles, and I pull her in as tight to me as I can get her.

Kissing her feels like the first time I hit my first major league home run. I thought no feeling would ever top that… until this kiss. I tie her hair in my hands and hold her close so she won’t slip like sand through my fingers, and her fists ball up my shirt so I can’t do the same.

Seconds and minutes disappear like they don’t even exist. Nothing else on this planet matters besides Megan. All of my hopes and dreams are confirmed in this kiss. She’s the woman for me. She’s the next Bonilla abuelita. We will tell our kids about our first dates and embarrass them by kissing all the time, because there is nothing more I want more in this world than to kiss Megan Holt for the rest of my life.

“Wow,” she whispers against my lips.

“Wow,” I repeat, because I don’t know what else to say. I know what I want. I want to take her back to my place and kiss and lick every inch of her body until my tongue and lips go numb. I want to relish the feel of against my mouth. I want her mouth on my cock. I want to disappear with her for days, with nothing but pizza and wine and ice cream as sustenance while I devour her body.

Instead, I take her home, our fingers entwined. She tells me about her work, about her classes, and I tell her about some of the guys from the team. We laugh, we steal kisses at stoplights, and I can’t get the vision of her naked out of my mind. I want to see her like that again, so badly. The first time, it was dark. This time, I want to savor it.

We pull into her driveway and sit, neither ready to end it.

“This was really nice.” Megan squeezes my hand. “I didn’t expect much, but it was really nice.”

“Thank you for giving the chance. I was hoping… can I tell Cora good night?”

Megan stiffens just a bit and starts to shake her head. “Jamie…”

“No, listen. I get it, this is new. I just, I really want to get to know her. When you’re ready. When you’re both ready.”

I take her face in my hands and kiss her goodnight, tenderly and full of intent. She seems reluctant to pull away and looks so sexy in the dim light. I want to take her in the truck. I want to take her inside and break her bed.

Instead, I say, “I’m glad to know I’ll finally be able to see you again.”

With a coy grin, Megan says, “I’ll have to think about it. Good night, Jamie.”

She shuts the door and disappears into her house with a little wave. For a few minutes, I just sit there, savoring in the feeling she left me with. Those are the last lips I will ever kiss, and that is a promise.





7





“Bonilla!” Coach Halstead barks from across the field. “What are you doing?”

I shove the phone back in my pants and give my bat another swing. “Sorry, Coach. My sister is having a hard time in school right now, and—”

“No phones at practice. You know the rules.” He points at the dugout scowling and goes back to lecturing George about who knows what. He’s been up his ass for weeks, and George actually looks grateful I took the heat off of him for a minute.

My phone vibrates as I trot off the field, a text from Kemp. He’s getting married soon and asked me to be a groomsman, which means he’s been up my ass about the bachelor party for a while now. I’m happy for him, truly, but I miss the hell out of him. The team isn’t the same without him.

And I can’t even have drinks with him, because he’s slummin’ it in Arizona.

That said, I haven’t told him about Megan or Cora. Everyone still thinks I’m going out with Shelbie. I haven’t talked to her since I met Megan at her house. I also haven’t formerly broken things off with her, and she’s still my standing date for the charity ball. I should probably talk to her about that, but my thoughts have been so consumed with Megan that I just forget. Until moments like now.

But hey, Coach said no phones.

I sneak another glance at my phone before throwing it in my helmet cubby. Megan hasn’t said anything about me on her Facebook page, but it doesn’t stop me from checking again. And again. And again. And again.

“Texting your girl?” George goads as I hit the dirt. I guess Coach finished with him.

“Texting yours?”

“I’m not the one with the phone on the field.” He points at me with his bat and then leans against it. “Octivio keeps bragging about talking to Shelbie. I thought you should know.”