The Dugout(82)

“I’m going to head out,” Jason says, thumbing toward the door. “Thanks for the subs, Milly.”

“No, thank you.” I go to give him a hug but he holds out his hands.

“Sweaty, really fucking sweaty.”

I back up slowly. “Ah, yes, I don’t think we’re that close yet.”

He winks. “Not yet.”

Carson pushes his friend in the shoulder, shoving him closer to the door. “Get out of here.”

On a shout-whisper, Jason says, “He’s jealous of us.” With a genuine smile, he gives me a quick wave and then takes off. After spending some time with him, Jason is most definitely my second favorite Brentwood baseball player. I’m going to miss him when he leaves to do great things.

Door shut, closing us off from the world, Carson looks around the apartment, giving it a quick scan. “I can’t believe you convinced Cory to go with the studio. You know he was texting me, asking me to convince you to at least choose the one-, if not two-bedroom.”

I roll my eyes—the bromance developing between Carson and Cory is getting a little ridiculous. They’re trying to gang up on me. At least Carson was smart enough not to get in the middle of the argument.

“What would I do with two bedrooms?”

“As Cory said, to let me have a place to sleep when I’m visiting. He wasn’t subtle about us sleeping together.”

“Please,” I scoff. “He has no place to make that decision for me. Not only is it my body, my decision, but he’s had his fair share of sleepovers even in high school. My parents were completely clueless.”

“Still, the studio? I’m going to have to pretend I sleep on a dog bed in the corner you purchased for me.”

“Or you can stop trying to appease my brother and tell him you’re giving me the good dick.”

Carson buckles over and starts coughing from laughing. Hand to chest, he coughs it out and laughs. “Jesus Christ, Milly.”

“What? Guys can say it but girls can’t? Please, the things I’ve heard over the years will make you blush.”

“I believe it, but I wasn’t expecting that, also . . . you think I give you the good dick?”

I look over my shoulder at his bright smile and flirtatiously say, “You know you do.”

With lust in his eyes and determination in his steps, he makes his way over to me but I stop him with my hand to his chest before he can do anything. “Get that look out of your eyes. You’re sweaty and I need to unpack.”

“Aww, sweat has never stopped you before. Remember Friday night, after the batting cages . . . in the locker room?”

I slap my hand over his mouth but his smile peeks past my fingers. A knowing smile. A smile full of so much meaning that I don’t even know what to do with it.

Yes . . . Carson invited me back to the Brentwood baseball locker room and I followed him, not because of the stupid legend, but because I was curious what it looked like inside.

I really was.

The facilities at Brentwood match any major league team, and I wanted to see if the locker room lived up to the hype.

My intentions were simple: we’d just finished in the cages, I was going to let him shower, and then we were going to go out to eat, his treat. I was going to hang out on the plush leather couches, catch up on some SportsCenter, and then leave. But Carson started stripping in front of me and it was impossible to stay away, to not need the masculine and beautiful man in front of me.

I let him take my hand and guide me back to the showers where we did it.

Yup, I’m one of the locker room girls.

If I wasn’t so startled from the meaning behind the entire night, I would feel excited, but I now know Carson takes the legend seriously, that taking me into the locker room, to fulfilling one of the biggest superstitions around campus, means something to him and that was . . . eye-opening.

I know Carson likes me, he’s said it more than enough times, but to actually think I’m the girl he plans on spending the rest of his life with, that’s something I wasn’t exactly expecting.

It’s a few days later and I’m still reeling from the idea.

The sex in the locker room is also oddly hanging between us like a giant pink elephant, because we both know the seriousness of what happened but neither of us have talked about it. Also, just putting it out there, not sure if it was because we could have been caught, or if there really is some magical power within the locker room, but being fucked against the tiles of the locker room shower was by far the most provocative and mind-blowing sex I’ve ever had.

I’m surprised someone didn’t bust through the doors from my feral cries.

I blush just thinking about it.

Carson said it was really fucking hot, and I thought it was incredibly embarrassing.

I remove my hand and turn back around, starting to unpack a box labeled Tupperware. No apartment is complete without Tupperware.

I don’t get far before Carson comes up behind me, his sweaty chest touching my bare shoulders that peek out past my tank top. His strong arms circle my midsection, and he kisses the side of my neck.

“Are we ever going to talk about what happened Friday night?”

“We had sex,” I say, “like every night since we had sex for the first time.” It’s true, we’ve been relentless, and I’m pretty sure there’s no way I’ll ever be able to stop myself from wanting this man.