Page 56 of Strike Zone

“I’m sorry. Linc, I…”

“Seriously, southpaw, I have to flush the contents of this trashcan before I fill it myself. You must have had something nasty for lunch. Fuck me.” He grabs the can and disappears into the bathroom. There are some weird gagging noises before he returns a few moments later looking decidedly pale.

“Sorry.” I’m mortified. “You sure you want to be my friend?”

“It takes more than a little vomit to deter me. So, do you want to watch some TV? What floats your boat for binge-watching?”

“I can’t tell you. You’ll judge me.”

“Of course, I will. People judge each other all the time. Why is it a dirty word? Fans judge me on performance.”

“That’s fine and dandy when you’re winning. Would you be so nonchalant about it if you’d missed that final hit?”

“Who are you kidding? They’d still adore me.”

“Dream on, Nash.” He pulls the remote out of my hand and starts flicking through streaming apps until he lands on The Vampire Diaries. “Seriously?”

“Judge away. Vamps are my guilty pleasure.”

“I didn’t have you pegged as a fan of teenage fantasy.”

“I love the judgment dripping from every word, thirty seconds after you chastise me for judging you.”

“Ugh. I’m a total bitch, aren’t I?”

“Your words, not mine. I like to think of you as feisty. Come on, admit it. The vampire thing is hot. The intimacy of sinking your teeth into someone willingly offering themselves to you. Heightened senses that amp up arousal, making an orgasm ten times as intense.”

I can’t concentrate on anything other than his lips as he makes my mouth water. “Mmm.”

“The Vampire Diaries it is.” He settles in next to me, stretching his legs, his thigh brushing mine as his imposing frame takes up half the bed. There’s a sly grin creeping at the corner of his lips. He knows I’m watching in disbelief, desire unfurling deep in my core, turning into an ache that may never be sated.

“You’re a nightmare. You know that, don’t you?”

“More like your favorite wet dream, southpaw. Now, be quiet so I can hear the Salvatore brothers fighting over Elena.”

He gives my shoulder a little nudge as we fall into an easy rhythm. “I’m sorry about… well, everything. I should’ve told you sooner, and you’ve been great about it.”

“You’re a walking, hormonal babymaker right now. I’m trying not to hold it against you.”

“And about the other stuff…” I can feel my cheeks flush, but I need to say it if we’re going to forge some kind of friendship.

“What stuff? Our fuck-buddy stage? The best orgasms of your life? One and the same, really. The pre-puke days? Good times.”

“Your ego is so big…”

“And yet pales in comparison to the size of my anaconda.”

My sides split as laughter erupts from my chest, causing a searing pain to spread throughout my body. “Oh God, you call your penis the anaconda?”

“Don’t knock it because you’ve tried it. Big, hard, thick, and deadly. You would take a ride right now if I let you.”

“I’ll be going Hans Solo for a while. No one wants to bang a projectile-vomiting pregnant chick. Not even you.”

He keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the screen without turning to face me. “Stop throwing yourself a pity party. It doesn’t suit you. And FYI, I have the worst case of blue balls. Fucking agony. You got me all worked up in the Hamptons, and then you just left me hanging. Like you were actually hanging off my cock. If it weren’t so disturbing, it would’ve been funny.”

He can’t look at me, his jaw tightening as he focuses his attention anywhere but on me.

“Was it disturbing? I don’t remember anything, being the one who passed out.”

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