Page 54 of Sideline Play

Scooping her up, I say, “Baby girl, you’re already gettin’ my first born. Second, third, and fourth too,” before jumping into the pool with her.

Coming up in the rippling waves of our splash, her legs wrap around my waist as I brush her wet hair out of her eyes.Cupping her ass while she rests her hands on my shoulders, I ask, “Anything else, Scar? Name it. It’s yours.”

“I want to try oral. Giving and getting.”

Playfully biting at her neck, I say, “Too fuckin’ easy. Though I warn you, once I get my mouth on your cunt I may never want to leave.”

“Oh the sacrifices I’ll be making for you. How ever will I survive?” she laughs, thickening her soft city lilt into the lyrical cadence of a southern belle accent. “I guess there are worse lots in life than to have you worshiping me from between my thighs. Now get outta this pool. You’ve delayed us long enough and we’ve got work to do. I want you starting on that All Star team again next year and voted as comeback player of the year, so chop chop.”

“Definitely in need of an exorcism,” I decide, dunking her under the water the minute she’s untangled from me.

TWENTY-THREE

REMINGTON

“Why weren’t you wearing a cup?”Scarlet demands for the umpteenth time, her fingers laced and resting across her forehead as she continues to cry and pace in front of me. “I can’t believe I injured you further. My dad’s gonna kill me. Jennings is gonna cut me from clinicals and the program’ll kick me out.” Taking a step closer only to back up right away, she repeats, “God, I’m so sorry, I’m making this about me. What do you need? Is there anything I can do?

“Ice! I’ll get ice. Or peas! Peas would be good. Do we have peas? I can go get some. Oh my God, Remi, I’m so sorry.”

“Scar, come here,” I grunt, untucking myself from where I folded over when her pitch popped up and dick checked me. I try to reach for her as she begins to hyperventilate and spiral.

“No.”

“Baby, it’s okay. This isn’t the first time I’ve taken a ball to the dick. Now come here.”

She takes two microscopic steps towards me, her hands dropping from her face and getting shaken out at her sides. “That’s it,” I coax, sucking in a breath as I finally let go of my crotch. “Come on.”

“Can I please go get the peas?”

Nodding my head as I drop onto my butt, I agree, “Yeah, peas would be good; thank you,” more so that she feels there’s something to do to help than anything. Once she’s gone, I collapse on my back and hiss, “Fuck.”

It’s true, you don’t play my position without taking more than your fair share of balls to the dick. Yes, it still hurts and on a bad, unlucky day can even bring tears to your eyes, cup or no cup, but after so many years you begin to develop a scale of intensity. And nothing against Scar’s pitching skills—because the girl is no doubt the daughter of Colt Jones with that arm and could have gone far in baseball had she wanted to—but her hit ordinarily would have hardly ranked as a three on my pain scale. More dull, quickly fading annoyance than anything. What makes this so painful is the semi I was sporting when her pitch popped up and made contact.

Just when I thought I was reaching the end of discovering all the non-sexual things about her that manage to turn me on, she took to her makeshift mound in our backyard and lobbed a beautiful circle changeup my way. If I wasn’t already in love, the versatility in her pitching arsenal would have sealed the deal. The long extension of her slender arms; the dexterity in her fingers; the controlled power that had the balls hissing through the air before kissing my glove; the incredibly sexy hike of her leg; and the far more proficient than her self-describedpassableswitch pitching skills—they all worked together to create one of the sexiest sights I’ve seen yet.

Running back out with the frozen peas in one hand and the dish towel she purchased that says “Gobble Gobble” when we went to pick out furniture and whatever else she said was necessary for the spare rooms in the other, she announces, “Okay, I broke up the frozen clumps so it should mold pretty easily. If not, I also popped a few ice packs and brought thoseas well as the ibuprofen. Best you just take it now.” Shoving her tumbler at me and the medicine bottle, she orders, “Pants off.” Her earlier shaking finally subsides as she falls into injury prevention mode.

Unable to help myself as she wraps the peas in the towel and presses it to me, I joke, “Scar, if you wanted to play with my cock, all you had to do was ask.” As she glares at me and sharply points at the unopened bottle, I draw out, “There she is—my little boss babe taking charge.”

“Don’t get cute with me, Remington.”

“I would never.”

“You would always.”

Shrugging, I concede, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Why weren’t you wearing a cup? What if it wasn’t just a pop-up? You could’ve been seriously injured.”

“But I’m not, baby. I’ve taken much worse than this; I’m goin’ to be just fine.”

Lifting the ice up, she examines, “Well, it doesn’t look to be bruising though it does look inflamed.”

“Scar,” I say, getting her eyes back on me as my hand comes over hers and guides her to returning the ice. “It’s inflamed because I was getting hard when I got hit. I promise, once it goes down the rest of the way, I’ll be good.” Removing her hand from the ice and taking over, I add, “But I can’t do that with your hands on me, so come lay over here and talk to me.”

Opening up my other arm to tuck her along my side as I stare up at the fluffy white clouds passing over the afternoon sun, she comes to rest her head just below my shoulder, the faint trace of chlorine rising up from her hair as she says, “I really am sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” I dismiss, kissing her still damp hair.

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