Page 48 of Honey Pot

Sharp pain dug into my rib cage in the form of the end of her baseball bat.

“Ow!” I yelped and pulled back.

“An answer for every hit ball,” Clementine breathed out with a mischievous smirk on those pretty, pouty lips as I rubbed the spot she poked. “No kiss.”

“You’re a tease.” I rolled my eyes at her and reluctantly held out my hand. “Ok, deal.”

I grabbed a helmet from the ledge and settled it down over her head. “Just in case.”

“I look like a dork.” She laughed.

“You look adorable,” I corrected her and brushed the loose strands of brown hair off her face. “Turn and listen,” I said, taking her shoulders and angling her toward the pitching machine. “There’s a whirring noise and then a pop. Keep your eye on the ball and swing.”

I gripped her hands gently, showing her the movement. Her ass was pressed tightly to me and I swallowed, pushing my heels into the ground to keep from acting impulsively toward the friction. A deep groan settled in the base of my throat as she rolled her hips from left to right and swung the bat and connected sloppily with the first automated pitch.

“That’s my girl.” I stepped back, clapping forher.

She turned to me, eyebrow raised and on a mission, she pressed a record on her device. “Why shortstop?” She asked.

“That’s cheating, I helped you hit that one,” I argued.

“That wasn’t stipulated in the rules, just that I hit the balls.” She smiled at me and I crumbled like a house of cards. Smart woman.

“Dad…Coach,” I corrected with a huff. “He drilled the fundamentals of baseball into me,” I said, pointing to the machine with the remote to pause the pitches. I hated that she dug like this, asking questions she knew the answers to. It was like watching our life together on repeat and each question she asked left a new, heavy feeling in my stomach. What was she looking for? Something, somewhere. She believed there was a misstep. “I already understood everything. I just needed to be fast, and flexible.” I smirked at her. “Which I am. Very fast and veryflexible.”

Tension rolled over me and hung in the air between us.

“There has to be more to shortstop than that.” Clementine narrowed her eyes at me.

“It’s all about communication. I’m only as good as the outfield, the first baseman, the pitcher.” I shrugged.

“Arlo’s gone now, who’s primed to take his spot?” Clementine asked and I shook my head at her, starting the machine again.

“That’s a question.” I cocked my head to the side. “Better hit a ball,Mary.” I sneered.

She steeled her gaze, jaw clenched, as she turned back to the machine that spat a ball out before she was ready for it. Her laughter filled the batting cages and injected my veins with pure serotonin. I just wanted to reach out and wrap her up in my arms.

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans and counted to ten.

It didn’t work to calm me down because, when the next ball came, she hit it without hesitation. It stuttered for a moment but bounced off the back of the cage with an echo of vibrating metal. Clementine threw her hands in the air, cheering for herself as she turned back to me. With rosy cheeks, and light flooding her eyes like it was coming from inside of her with all the power of the sun, she shook her hands.

“Who’s primed to take Arlo’s spot?” She asked without pause.

“No decision has been made, and if there has been,” I leaned forward and lowered my voice, “I wasn’t part of the conversation.”

Clementine took a beat to consider my answer and turned back to swing before I even had time to pause the machine. The bat cracked against the ball. “What was your dynamic like with King, and why did it work?”

“That’s two—”

Another ball smashed against the cage.

“Silas.” I swallowed tightly. “Doctor Shore,” the formality of his name was weird rolling off my lips, “once said it was like locking a rabid dog in a room with an alley cat. It shouldn’t have worked.”

Clementine laughed at that. It bubbled out of her like honey. Sweet and sticky, it clung to her lips and I wanted to steal the sound straight from her mouth.

“But it did because Arlo never tried to make a dog out of me,” I finished. “He just let me be a cat I guess. We understand…understood,” I ate the anxious emotion that threatened to derail me, “each other. It was always a give-and-take. We have each other's back and that’s really what it boils down to. A pitcher needs his shortstop.”

I tore my eyes away from her, feeling self-conscious under her gaze. I knew I had walked into a trap. She wanted to know more about Arlo leaving and how I felt about it and I had just given her exactly what she wanted.

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