The Trade(89)

“My eyes can smile? Huh, I had no idea.”

“Stop fucking with me,” he teases. “Just tell me the truth and maybe I’ll let you caress my dick in the car again when I drop you off.”

“I drove myself here, remember?”

“Fuck,” he mutters and then looks out toward the lit-up driving range. “I knew meeting you here was going to bite me in the ass.”

“Just kidding, I took a Lyft.”

His face lights up. “Really?”

I slowly nod while running my tongue over my lip. “Looks like someone is just as excited as me about our end-of-the-date goodbyes.”

“You can say more than excited,” he responds, sliding his hand farther up my thigh, making the nerves in my leg twitch and bunch up. Leaning toward my ear, he breathes in my scent, running his nose along my jaw and to my ear. “Now tell me the truth.”

Chills spread all along my arms. He nibbles my ear and the spot between my legs starts to throb with anticipation of the heavy groping that will occur in his car.

“You know you came here because you wanted me to hold you the whole night, teach you how to swing a club.” He bites down on my lobe. “Admit it.”

“Never,” I sigh, even though the thought did cross my mind. Hitting a bunch of balls sounded like a good night but the idea of Cory wrapped around me the entire time was the reason I was fully on board with the date idea.

And the night was everything I imagined with Cory’s strong arms circling me, his frontside against my back, his powerful thighs pressing against mine, and his sweet, warm breath tickling my ear with directions on how to hold the club and swing.

True heaven. And it’s been just like our time at St. Croix. Fun, chatting about anything and everything. Easy.

“You’re such a liar.” He chuckles and pulls away, leaving me feeling empty and needy. He reaches for his drink and casually takes a sip, eyeing me from over the lip. “What?” he asks on a cheeky grin.

“You can’t just turn me on like that and then push away.”

“Oh, I can’t?” he asks with humor as his brows float up to his hairline. “This coming from the girl who loves rubbing her hand all over my hard cock while we’re making out in the car.”

“Hey, I’m not the only one getting handsy. Pretty sure my nipples get hard just from the sight of your fingers now. You’ve trained them to expect pinching when you’re around.”

“As they should,” he says just as he reaches out and pinches one of my breasts.

“Oh my God.” I swat his hand away. “How dare you try to touch my boob.” I act shocked and offended, which only makes him tilt his head back and laugh.

“I’ll remember this when you reach for my zipper later.” He tugs on my hand and pulls me onto his lap, situating me just right so I rest my head on his shoulder. With one of his arms draped over my legs, the other one casually stroking his hand up and down my back, he says, “I leave in two weeks.”

“I know.” I hug him closer. “It’s all moving so fast. I wish I could slow it down. Have more time with you before the season starts.”

“Me too.” He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering. “This feeling I have, churning in the pit of my stomach, it’s what I’ve been trying to avoid all these years when it came to jumping into a relationship.”

“What feeling?” I ask, my hand making small circles on his chest. Some smooth John Legend song plays in the background and off in the distance, we can hear other suites having a good time. But we’re secluded enough to create a good sense of privacy, for us to feel comfortable and relaxed.

He takes a deep breath. “Dread. Dread of having to leave you. Dread of not being able to see you whenever I want. Dread of having long hard days and not being able to give you all of me at the end of the night when I’m tired.” He pauses and takes my hand in his. He twists our fingers together as he says, “Dread that you’ll get sick of it, the schedule, the attention I give to the game, the long nights and short days.”

I bring our connected hands to my lips and say, “The great thing about having a brother as a major league baseball player is that I understand what you guys go through. I know what the season is like, Cory, so you can trust in my ability to be patient, even if maybe I’ve seemed impatient since we’ve been together,” I say on a chuckle.

“Impatient in the best way.” He kisses our connected hands this time. “I just hate that we have to report to spring training the day before Valentine’s Day.” His hand reaches up to my neck where he twists a strand of my hair with his finger, a move I’ve started to become quite familiar with. It’s sweet. “I’ve never had a valentine before.”

“You haven’t?” I asked, a little shocked. Pretty sure if he put up a sign that says looking for a valentine, he would have one hundred offers in under a minute.

“Nope, you would be the first.”

I suck in a sharp, dramatic breath and put a few inches between us, scanning his eyes. “Are you . . . are you asking me to be your valentine, Cory Potter?”

He chuckles and says, “Yeah”—he tugs my hair—“I am. Will you?”

“This is just so unexpected.” I feign shock. “Do I have time to think about it?”