Page 25 of Curveball

She giggles. “I figured it out.”

“It was the first time that had happened since I was a horny preteen. That was the mark you left on me, Shortcake.”

Our faces break apart as reality appears to set in. She looks around in a bit of shock. The guys aren’t looking. I’m sure they saw, but ballplayers making out with women in clubs isn’t exactly new and exciting for them. They know not to stare, just as I wouldn’t stare at them.

Ripley is clearly mortified though. Her smile completely drops. Her playful attitude is gone. She starts to stand but I hold her on my lap. “Relax.”

“Let me go. This was a mistake.”

“Come home with me. I want to touch you with nothing between us.”

“No.” When she again tries unsuccessfully to stand, she grits out, “Let me go. Now.” Tears begin to sting her eyes.

I relent and she stands, straightening her skirt. “I’m not going down this road. Keeping this secret all these years has been hard enough. Goodbye, Quincy. I’ll see you around.”

CHAPTER FIVE

QUINCY –AGE 27 {RIPLEY – AGE 22}

Isaw Ripley in the stands at my game last night. She was there the last time I pitched too. She wasn’t with anyone. She simply came to watch me play.

It’s been two weeks since that night in the club. I’ve contemplated reaching out to her but seeing her come to my game last night convinced me I should. That, and I can’t be bothered with other women. There’s only one on my mind.

I have her address and find myself knocking on her door the next morning. She opens it red-faced while wiping tears streaming down her face.

Her shoulders fall when she sees me. “I’m not up for this, Quincy. Not today.”

I push my way in and close the door. She throws her hands up in exasperation and sarcastically snipes, “By all means, come in.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing that impacts you.”

I don’t like seeing her upset. “Tell me what’s happening. I’m not leaving until you tell me who has upset you. If it’s a man, just give me a name and an address and I’ll take care of it.”

She narrows her eyes. “Whoareyou? Everyone sees you as laid-back, carefree, and chill. You’re anything but.”

I lift my backward baseball hat and run my fingers through my hair before replacing the hat on my head. “I don’t give a fuck about anyone else right now. Tell. Me. Now.”

She plops down on her couch and leans back, letting her shoulders fall. “Let it go. It’s not a man. That’s all you need to know.”

I have this innate need to look out for her. I’m not leaving until she tells me, even if I have to coax it out of her.

I sit down near her and pull her bare feet to my lap.

She pinches her eyebrows together. “What are you doing?”

“If you won’t share it with me, at least I can help you relax. I’ll rub your feet.”

She skeptically lays back on the pillow before a small smile finds her lips. “Does the great Quincy Abbott have a foot fetish? I didn’t know this.”

I let out a laugh. “No, not in the least. Your feet are ugly. I’m just being a nice guy.”

She feigns shock. “My feet aren’t ugly.” She grimaces. “Though once a season starts, I can’t say they’re beautiful.”

I chuckle. “At least they’re not smelly. As someonewho shares a locker room with a lot of sweaty men, I value feet that aren’t smelly.” I pull them closer to me. “Let me help you relax.”

I start rubbing her feet, and she lets out a moan. “Oh god, that feels good.”

---