Page 61 of Sideline Play

Slowly lavishing her with retreating kisses as she catches her breath in the space between us, I whisper, “I love you too, baby girl.”

TWENTY-SIX

REMINGTON

If there’sanyone who holds doubt about how genuine Scar’s down-to-earth, unfussy personality is, they need only see her as I am. Frilly poofy skirt, tailored cashmere coat, custom diamond and emerald rings stacked on her finger, $900 designer shoes on her feet—I heard some woman commenting on them to her friends as they sneered at how she was dressed for a festival—and a Frito bag filled with taco meat and toppings in one hand while she points to a greasy paper cone filled with fried mac and cheese balls with the other. Then, making the booth owner’s entire night, she pulls her phone out from a hidden pocket in the waistband of her skirt and excitedly takes a selfie with him and the fried creation prominently displayed between them, no doubt getting the hashtags and account name of his food truck to share with her followers the moment we sit down. It’s something she’s been doing all evening with every food she tries and vendor she shops. Her enthusiasm for their creations and artistry is contagious.

Skipping around a slick section of mud, the caps I helped fit over her heels before getting her out of the Jeep keeping her from sinking, she bounds up to me and openly kisses me, theflash of a phone’s camera catching the corner of my eye as she steps back down and beams, “Thank you, Remi. I’m having so much fun,” before flouncing off to a bench.

Further proof she’s none of the nastier things people have said about her, she’s wonderfully oblivious to those staring at us and pointing as they whisper before taking another picture. It’s something I had immediately become concerned about when we first arrived and she got sucked into an animated conversation with the security guard about Colt, Roman, and surprisingly even myself. I wanted to take her out, show her off—the poor trailer park kid who sometimes still lives inside me proud and a little boastful that baseball’s princess had chosen him—and most importantly soften the jagged edges that remain inside her from her first date and show her how she should have always been treated, how I plan to always treat her. I hadn’t fully considered that this is baseball country though, and while some people are snide, condescending, and so incredibly crass that I now understand why Roman is always so quick to threaten violence the moment a man comes within fifty feet of her, she is very much Tennessee’s darling. And with that comes the byproduct of our first date playing out before the fans of her father, her brother, and the team, further displaying her life to the world and opening it up for evaluation. Through it all though, she remains exuberant and effervescent as she experiences the sounds, lights, smells, and tastes of the festival as free and unencumbered as she is at home with me, offering up anecdotes about what it was like growing up with Colt.

Giving the people watching us a short wave of acknowledgement as I hear my name, I follow her, making sure the giant Stitch and Angel she won when kicking my ass at the milk bottle toss and then basketball—all while wearing her heels—are safely tucked under my arm. The treasures she’s collected, ranging from jewelry to candles to a contract withan artist she needlessly begged me for, saying she wanted the woman to do custom pieces for when we take ownership of our Brentwood home, dangle in bags from my wrist. Sitting down next to her and unloading my arms as she hums and wiggles while interchanging between eating her walking taco and mac and cheese bites, I pull her feet into my lap and slip her shoes off, beginning to press my thumbs into the ball of her foot.

“You still doin’ good?”

“Uh-huh,” she smiles, holding out a fried ball for me. “You have to try these. They aresogood.”

Taking a bite, I agree, “Yeah, that’s really good,” nipping her fingers as I claim the rest before she can steal it back.

“Right? I told Anthony that if he and Della don’t work out, I’ll marry him for the low price of making me these for dinner at least twice a week.”

Narrowing my eyes in the direction of Anthony’s truck, I growl, “Sorry baby; you’re taken.”

“I don’t know,” she sing-songs, popping a jalapeno from her taco bag in her mouth. “I have quite the weakness for greasy food. You just haven’t gotten to see it until tonight because your cooking is so… clean and healthy. He could just steal me away.”

Slapping a hand over my heart, I cry, “And now you’re attacking my cooking.”

Taco bag still covetously in hand, she scoots closer until her thighs are draped over me and her arms are around my neck. “I love your cooking, Remington. It really is delicious—for no sugar, no dairy, and no pasta. But you were the one who said you can’t be wholesome all the time, gotta have a little naughty thrown in to keep it interesting.” Jabbing the fork in the bag, she scoops out the last bite and wickedly smiles. “And this is downright sinful,” she says before eating it.

Putting her shoes back on her feet as she chews, I concede, “Fair enough, though just between you and me, I wasn’t talkingabout food.” Sweeping her hair to the side and kissing her exposed collar bone, I brush my lips along the shell of her ear and murmur, “I was talkin’ about my depraved need to ruffle up your pretty innocence and feel the sharp sting of your heels digging into my back as I fuck you full of my cum.” I scoop her legs off me as her breath hitches. Throwing her trash away, I hold my hands out to help her up and smile, “Now come on. I need you to win me the giant ass Snowball fromThe Secret Life of Petsthey have at the ring toss. I think he’s Winnie’s favorite,” chuckling as I kiss the brightly colored flush that’s creeping across her cheeks.

She finally might win our game, however, as she steps into me and pulls my head down so I feel the heat of her words along my skin as she whispers, “If you want to ruffle me up, you need to stop making me wait already and take me home to our bed and love me and fuck me until all I can feel is where you’ve been and your cum as it trickles out of me.”

Tangling my fingers through her hair and tilting her head back to search her eyes, I ask, “Are you sure? Because I need you to be absolutely sure about this. I know how important this is to you, and I’ll wait as long and as patiently as you need.”

“I already told you, I want forever with you. I love you, trust you, and want to give myself to you. You’re who I’ve been waiting for, Remington. You’ve stolen every piece of my heart and I don’t want a single one of ‘em back.”

“Then start looking for a dress, baby girl, because if we do this, I’m not gonna want to wait to marry you any longer than it takes for you to plan your perfect wedding day,” I say, securing the upper hand back as I kiss her stunned lips. “But seriously, our baby needs the bunny, so come on. Ring toss, giant Snowball stuffie, home.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

SCARLET

Though his eyesremain fixed on the road, Remington’s hand has spent nearly the entire drive home up my skirt, only retreating when he has to change gears. When he comes back, his fingers resume gliding along my damp panties, pressing between my lips to circle my clit before drifting back down to pet my opening through the lace. By the time we make it home, my breath is gone, the glass of the passenger window is fogged over, and my lip is poorly abused from fighting back the urge to beg him to pull over. I don’t even think he’s secured the brake of his Jeep when I unbuckle my seatbelt and crawl back over the console to return to his lap, a relieved sigh escaping me as I feel his hard cock between my thighs, his belt having been undone at some point on the drive, along with the button and zipper of his jeans.

All night, things between us have felt more expectant, deeper. But his words, my words… they’ve changed the atmosphere. Every thought we each quietly keep to ourselves is now out there. My too quick and irrevocable love for him; his equally hard and fast fall for me; the promise and acceptance of more, of forever being what we both want; the unquestionableactions that back up and fortify his words to me. He may have been clear of his intentions, of what he sees as his endgame every step of the way but now… it’s real. I see it, feel it, want and crave every offhanded comment and alluded to wish for the future with him.

The surreal cloud that has kept me waiting for all this to be over has passed. This, with him, is my reality. The passion, lust, love, comfort, safety, trust, vulnerability—they’re not just whispered words and hopes or fleeting emotions when we get caught up in a moment. They exist. He brings it all to life within me and somehow I breathe it back into him. Somehow this man who has claimed my very soul as effortlessly as breathing is as recklessly in love with me as I am with him.

He sees the broken pieces I can’t love and finds beauty in them, loves them enough for the both of us. He sees beyond the smile to the loneliness and wraps me in his arms. Sees beyond the name to who I am, what I want from life, and finds it to be enough. He sees me and wants me, loves me.

Tugging his sweater over his head and throwing it into the backseat to land amongst Stitch, Angel, and Snowball, I leave open mouthed kisses along his neck as I work to free each of the buttons of his shirt, demanding, “Say it again, Remington.”

“Say what?” he groans, hips jerking up to meet the roll of my own, his hands kneading the bare muscle of my ass as he draws out the grind of my cunt along his cock.

“The dress,” I answer shortly, running my palms down his chest. “That I should start looking for one. That you don’t want to wait to marry me.” Resting my head against his, I press my nails into him to mask their sudden trembling, my voice giving me away as it quietly breaks. “Please tell me again.”

Cupping the back of my head, he pulls me away just enough to meet my eyes and murmurs, “Come inside with me. I want to show you somethin’.”

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