The Dugout(63)

“I wouldn’t wear them for any other reason. I saw an opportunity to prove you wrong and I took it.”

“Testing my will. You are one good fucking coach. But I’m much stronger than you think.”

“Okay,” I say casually, feeling better when I step away and Carson’s eyes immediately fall to my legs. I chose these shorts along with a tighter-fitting T-shirt and clearly kept my hair in braids since he likes them so much, but I wasn’t counting on this reaction.

I move to the tee and say, “Are you already warm from practice? Did you do your tee work?”

His eyes snap up to mine—caught staring. Winning. “Uh, yeah, we fielded grounders.”

“What?” I ask, laughing. “I asked if you did tee work.”

“Oh, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Isn’t that what I said?”

“No. You told me you fielded grounders.”

He nods slowly, his eyes scanning me. “Yup, we did all the things.” His voice is lazy and drawled out.

“Oh my God.” I roll eyes and go to my backpack where I pull out a pair of warm-up pants and start to slip them up.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“As much fun as this is, I need you to focus. You’re in the second half of your season. We need to make sure everything about your swing is perfect.”

“Or”—he says, taking a step forward just as I pull the pants up to my waist—“we can play strip baseball. Every solid hit I make off your slider, you take a piece of clothing off.”

I reach out and pat this cheek. “It’s cute how delusional you are. I am not taking any clothes off in a public place.”

“What does it matter? You were practically naked in those shorts.”

“Oh yeah? Is that right? I didn’t know I was practically naked.” I clutch my heart. “How humiliating. Do you think everyone saw my privates?”

His brow creases and his lips flatten. “I don’t see how this is a funny matter.”

I push his face away with my palm and point to the tee. “Get to work, Stone. If you have a good practice, I might let you come up to my dorm afterward. We can order pizza and watch Friends.”

“Now that has my attention.” He taps me on the side with his bat. “Let’s get to work, Coach.”





Pizza is ordered.

Carson took the quickest shower known to man.

And I changed back into the bike shorts, because Carson begged.

I shut the door to my dorm room and set my backpack down as Carson flings his large body onto my bed. His long legs stretch a few inches past the mattress, his shoes dangling off his feet, his backpack is tossed on the floor, and his partially wet hair makes a wet spot on my pillow, but I couldn’t care less. Having him here, in my room, stretched across my bed means more to me than any mess he might make.

“Make yourself at home,” I joke.

But he takes me seriously and kicks off his shoes and then reaches over his head and pulls his shirt off, tossing it on the floor next to the bed.

Uhh . . .

Wow.

I mean . . . WOW.

I’ve seen glimpses here and there of Carson’s abs when he lifts his shirt to wipe his brow, but I’ve never seen his entire naked chest.

It’s, uh . . . it’s really chiseled. His pecs alone are something to marvel at, but the way the muscle wraps up around to his collarbone and then his shoulders to his . . . oh God, look at his arms. Bulgy and carved. Those arms have held me, tightly. They’ve captured me, made me feel safe.

And then there’s the V in his waist, so narrow that his sweats are actually lifted off his waistline, allowing his white boxer briefs to make an appearance. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more sexy, and seeing him like that is firing up the temperature in my body.

“Get a good look, Milly?” He puts his hands behind his head, and I swear, every muscle in his chest flexes.

Hand on my hip, I say, “So you can stare at my legs but I can’t take in the goods?”

“Never said that.” He smirks. “Just wanted to make sure you got a good fill or if you need me to stand and flex for you.”

“It’s really not necessary.” I reach into my dresser, grab some clothes, and then head into my bathroom where I quickly change. I can play that game too.

Growing up with three brothers made me incredibly competitive, which means I never back down from a challenge, and Carson taking his shirt off was him throwing down the gauntlet.

I quickly freshen up, put on a pair of cheekies, chuck my bra, and slip on a camisole that I usually wear under shirts. I let my hair out of the braids, spray my fingers with some nice-smelling hairspray and makes the waves in my hair less frizzy and more pieced out, like I just came from the beach. Learned that one from a YouTuber.

Happy with my look, I take a deep breath and casually walk back into the room. Carson’s staring at the TV but the minute his eyes focus on me, they darken at least three shades. He sits up on his elbows, taking me all in.

I pretend not to notice and start working my way around my room, putting things away, grabbing drinks for us, and getting plates ready for when the pizza will be here, which will be in forty-five minutes.

Even though I’m busying myself, trying to stay away from the bed as much as possible, it’s a demanding task, because I can feel his heated gaze igniting every inch of my skin.