Page 3 of Stalked By the Umpire

I picture her laughing at something I say, her head thrown back in delight, those lips parting as if inviting me to shut them up with a kiss that could promise the world and deliver hell at the same time. Her body pressed against mine as I explore every inch of her, each curve under my fingers burning my skin with desire.

And then in my mind’s eye, she's pulling me towards her bedroom—the one place in the entire world I want to be right now. In my fantasy, there are no barriers, no Nate to cockblock me. Just Kaitlyn and me, tangled in sheets that whisper secrets with every friction.

Her hands are everywhere, pulling me closer, urging me to lose control. And boy, do I. I forget the rules, the world outside, everything but the feel of her beneath me. My hand moves faster over my length as I imagine driving into her wetness, hearing her moan my name like it's a prayer or maybe a curse.

I'm close now, so fucking close I can almost taste it—taste her.

I tilt my head back against the headrest of my car and close my eyes for a moment. The sound of my heavy breathing mixes with the fantasy echoes of Kaitlyn’s moans.

With a final stroke, my release crashes over me like a tidal wave. I come hard and fast, groaning her name into the night air, filled with nothing but my ragged breaths and the faintest scent of jasmine from the gardens across the street.

I open my eyes slowly. The reality of the dark car interior greets me along with a sharp pang of guilt and frustration knotted together tight in my gut. It’s maddening how much hold she has over me without even knowing it.

I wipe myself clean with some tissues from the glove compartment and tuck myself away. Glancing once more at the silhouette of the Hawkins Mansion under the moonlight makes my heart twitch uncomfortably.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath as I start the car engine. A part of me is disgusted by this obsessive desire, but another part—a darker, much more honest part—whispers that it's far too late for regrets or what ifs.

Tonight was just another night of countless ones spent yearning from afar.

But something deep within tells me it won’t be long before fantasies aren’t enough—before I’m driven to do something about this inferno Kaitlyn unknowingly stoked in me.

CHAPTER

THREE

Kaitlyn

I saunter through the buzzing crowd at Hawkins Stadium, the late afternoon sun casting a lazy glow over the field. The air is thick with the scent of popcorn and anticipation, but I'm not here for the game.

I'm here because it's where life seems to happen in our little town. And maybe, just maybe, because he's here.

"Go, Bulldogs!" someone shouts from behind me, and I can't help but roll my eyes. It's always about the Bulldogs, isn't it? Nate's team. But as much as I want to deny it, my heart skips a beat every time they play. Not for the sport—hell no—but for the chance of spotting him again.

Jake. With his umpire uniform hugging his body in all the right places, he's like an accidental fantasy sprung to life in the middle of small-town America.

"Kaitlyn, over here!" I hear my name and turn to see a cluster of familiar faces waving me down. I flash them a grin and make my way over.

"Wouldn't miss it," I quip, sliding onto the bleacher with practiced ease. My gaze, though, instantly flickers back to the diamond, searching for that familiar stance—the way he holds himself when he's calling a shot.

"Your brother's on fire today," one of the girls comments, her eyes bright with excitement.

"Is he?" I feign interest, my lips curving into a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. Nate's athletic prowess is old news, but Jake...seeing him out there, authoritative and focused, sends a thrill straight through me. It's a dangerous game, this crush on my brother's friend. Forbidden fruit never tasted so sweet, and I've been starving for a bite.

"Come on, Kaitlyn, pay attention!" another friend teases, nudging me playfully.

But I can't, not really. Not when every cell in my body is attuned to him, to the way his arms move as he signals another strike.

It's ridiculous, this pull he has on me. Even though I’m still a virgin, I’ve had boyfriends and crushes before. I mean, guys have come and gone, but none have stuck like this relentless attraction to Jake.

Every stolen glance, every brief conversation with him is etched into my memory, stoking the flames of a desire I'm not sure I can control.

"Damn," I murmur under my breath as he bends over to dust off home plate, giving the crowd a prime view of his assets. A flush creeps up my neck, and I fan myself with my hand, pretending it's the summer heat that's got me all hot and bothered.

"Hot out, isn't it?" I say to no one in particular, hoping my friends attribute my flushed cheeks to the weather rather than my raging hormones.

"Sure is," they agree, blissfully unaware of the internal turmoil I'm experiencing. They chat away about post-game plans, but I barely register their words. My mind is busy painting scenarios that would make even the sultriest romance novels blush. Scenes of tangled sheets, whispered promises, and Jake looking at me like I'm the only girl in the world.

I internally chide myself, trying to shake away the images. But it's no use. He's under my skin, and I can't ignore it any longer. Maybe this time, I'll find a way to breach that invisible line between us.

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