Page 70 of Sideline Play

“And I would miss you.”

“I’d miss you too, baby girl, but I’d wait for you.”

“That’s sweet,” I sigh, my shoulders starting to drop.

“That’s love.”

Puffing up just a bit, I grumble, “I could totally hold my own though.”

“Scarlet,” Remi says, giving me a disbelieving look. “Have you everbeento the parts of Nashville and Chattanooga Ro and I are from? It’s cute you think you could cut it, and while you did lay me out on my ass like it was nothin’, those women in lockupwould eat you for a midday snack—figuratively and literally. And then I’d have to punch a woman and do all sorts of deplorable things to assert my dominance over them which would make my ma roll over in her grave. But I would, because I love you and no one touches my wife.”

Coming around the counter into his open arms, I mumble, “I’m not your wife yet.”

“That’s just ink, paper, and red tape. You’re my wife in all the ways that count.” Then picking me up and putting me on the counter, he asks, “Now tell me, what’d the douche-canoe do this time, and does anyone besides your brother get to do anything about it?”

Raking my fingers through my ponytail, I lament, “I don’t know what I was thinking when I signed up for a lecture with Professor Hastings. When you come into the program you’re warned by the other students about how much he loves assigning group projects and how he grades them. And I mean it’s not as if my being excluded from things is new since starting the semester. So really I shouldn’t be surprised.

“The moment I was assigned to the Nighthawks at summer orientation, Brady made sure everyone who wasn’t familiar with baseball knew exactly who I was and how connected I am to the team and owner. With nepotism in the air, no one in my block wanted anything to do with me after that.

“It didn’t matter that I had a 4.0 in undergrad, had graduated twoyearsearly, was an academic tutor to several athletes who have since gone on to play professionally in various sports, or that I’d been accepted before Boomer and Jennings even enrolled the team in the program. All anyone saw was a dumb blonde with daddy’s name and plastic using both to my advantage, all thanks to Brady fucking Hendrix.”

Sniffling and swiping at a tear, I say, “I’ve been excluded from parties, study groups, dinners out. Hell, I can’t even getsomeone to silently share a table with me while we eat lunch or drink a coffee. It’s lonely and I hate it so much. If I didn’t absolutely love what I do, I would have dropped out by now.” Laughing without any humor to the sound, I smile, “I can’t wait to hear what everyone is going to say when we announce our engagement. That’ll just be the cherry on my shit cake. Father, brother,andhusband, all Nighthawks.” Looking up at Remi, I add, “And just so we’re clear, I don’t care what they have to say. It won’t change anything for me. You just need to be aware that peoplewilltalk and while most of it won’t, a lot of it will be nasty. By marrying a player, I’m fulfilling every stereotype about women in the industry and every preconceived notion about me.

“Anyway,” I sigh, circling back. “All that to say, I knew better than to take a class with Professor Hastings. He likes to weight project grades as 50% coming from our effort and 50% coming from our partner’s effort. I’ve skated by working alone all term but that luck has run out with this assignment. It’s worth 40% of our overall class grade and lucky me, the name I drew from the proverbial hat was Brady’s.

“The end of term is December 13th, and that’s when our project is due. It was assigned shortly after we got here to Gatlinburg, so we’ve had a couple months to work on it, and as of today—which is less than three weeks away from the due date—Brady hasn’t done a single thing.”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be shittin’ me,” Remington draws out. “Seriously, nothin’?”

“Zero. Even went as far as to tell me to get off your dick and do it myself on the classroom’s message board, unless of course I was planning to drop out and make sucking your cock my full time job. Hence the homicidal phone call.”

Taking my phone out, he gently slaps it into my palm and apologizes, “I’m sorry, Scar, I stand corrected, chew his ass out.Or would you rather get in the car and drive down there to kick his ass?”

Glancing at the time, I set my phone down and sigh again, “Later. Professor Maldenado’s class is about to start and she’ll dock himandme if his phone goes off in class since you know he will be too eager to dime me out as the one calling.”

Letting out a heavy breath, I finally stop to take in Remi’s sweaty, shirtless state. Despite what he says about eating too many cupcakes and spending too much time lounging about—especially in the first days following surgery—when I’m working him out, his body hasn’t suffered one bit. Every inch of him is as cut and defined now as it was back in August when I saw him getting into an ice bath in only his boxers. His dedication to the game and his health is abundantly clear, not only in how he looks but in how quickly he’s recovered.

I think it’s that dedication and drive he has for the game that first attracted me to him. Or rather re-attracted me to him. He wasn’t simply just lucky. He got to where he is—ranked amongst the top ten catchers currently playing—through hard work and dedication. Nothing is ever too much—no workout, no practice, no game review. He lives and breathes baseball, will one day be in the Hall of Fame for his skill, and will no doubt receive countless offers to transition to coaching when he decides to hang up his pads and glove.

He works for what he wants, is relentless in his pursuit of it. Wholly dedicates himself to achieving whatever he desires. And that drive, that ambition, has turned to me. He’s given me that same attention, that same nurturing, in order to make me his. And even though he now has me, he hasn’t stopped. He keeps me at the center of his universe, reshaping everything else to accommodate me and us and our future together. It is so incredibly attractive and intoxicating. I’m hopelessly devoted tohim now because of it and should have known from the start that I was helpless to any other outcome.

Tracing my fingers along the ridges of his pecs and down the center line of his abdominal, I slide off the counter and begin lowering myself to my knees. My helpless state of stressing over something I can’t control is an excellent excuse to stoke the slow building arousal I’ve been experiencing all afternoon. As my fingers hook on his athletic shorts, his knuckles start to caress down my cheek, his other hand wrapping around my ponytail, as I pull his half-erect cock free. Licking my hand, I wrap it around the base of his shaft, his sharp intake of breath making me excited as I begin to pump his dick.

“Are you hungry for my cock, Scar?”

Nodding my head, I peek my tongue out to lick the bead of moisture coming from his slit, humming, “Mhmm,” the vibrations making the fist in my hair tighten.

Using his hold on me, Remi guides my head back so I’m forced to meet his eyes as he asks, “What are my rules?”

Unable to resist, I run my tongue along the underside of his head before answering, the quick sting of my hair getting pulled only working to make me more defiant.

Voice growing deliciously dark, he warns, “Scarlet.”

Pouting, I pull away from him and answer, “Your cum goes in my pussy.”

“And?”

“And if it gets to be too much, squeeze your thigh.”

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