Page 11 of Scoring Position

“Yep,” he replies with a nod. “Turned it in at eleven forty-five, and I’m officially an expert on the female orgasm. Seriously. Quiz me.”

“Okay,” I say, turning my body toward him. His arm falls from my shoulder, and I immediately regret not staying still, even though it’s probably better that I didn’t. “How long does the typical female orgasm last?”

“I’m glad you asked,” he replies confidently, straightening himself and angling toward me. “Generally, they last anywhere from three to fifteen seconds. However,” he says, pointing a knowing finger in my direction, “if you incorporate acts such as edging, regular exercise of the Kegel muscles during and after sex, and stroking of the upper left quadrant of the clitoris, you can achieve extended orgasms, which have been known to last minutes.”

My brows shoot up. I honestly didn’t know that last part. He must’ve done very in-depth research. “Wow,” I reply, trying to contain my surprise. “Good job. That’s very…informative.”

He clicks his tongue, nodding his head with a cocky grin. “It is, isn’t it? I definitely learned a lot.”

“I’m sure you did.” I snort a laugh. “I bet the next girl you bang will be very grateful.”

His expression goes solemn, and I fear that I may have overstepped. I probably shouldn’t have said that, but all this talk of being friends has me acting like I can just blurt out anything. I shake my head. “I’m sorry. That was?—”

“No, it’s good,” he rushes out, putting a cautious hand between us. “It’s just…I don’t really…”

“It’s none of my business, Ace,” I say softly. “I don’t even know why the thought popped into my head.”

“No, it’s not that at all, Lark,” he replies. “I like that you’re joking around with me. I want that.” A sincere smile spreads across his lips as his bright blue eyes connect with mine. “Really.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I should go. I’ll see you after your game tonight,friend.”

He gives me a tight nod. “Yeah. See you then.”

I slide out of bed, gather my belongings, and give him an awkward wave before leaving the room and heading to the elevator. As I wait, I replay the last twelve hours, wondering ifI made a mistake agreeing to be friends with Ace. We’re ten years apart, in completely different places in our lives, and I have no idea what’s okay to say and what’s going to make him uncomfortable. The way his whole demeanor changed when I talked about him hooking up with someone was strange, even though he said it was fine.

I cringe at the memory as the metal doors open, welcoming me to return to my own floor, where I should’ve gone last night. Instead, I’m doing a walk of shame that has a whole other meaning.

Fuck my life.

EIGHT

ACE

“Your fastball is hot tonight,”I tell Riggs as we jog into the dugout after the sixth inning. We’re down by a run, but not because the pitching is off. The infield made a couple of costly errors in the second, but he hasn’t allowed a man on base since. He’s had a handful of strikeouts and easy pop outs—and to be honest, I think he has another inning or two in him before our manager, Clyde, takes him out.

“Too bad I can’t get my cutter under control. We’d be up if I could.” The man is an absolute legend as far as I’m concerned, but he’s his own biggest critic. If we lose on a night he’s pitching, he’ll carry it with him for days, obsessing over what he did wrong and how he can fix it next time.

“Your cutter is fine. Jacks missed that one that hopped wrong. Then Hawk bobbled the ball before making the throw to first. Both of those were off changeups, so there goes your theory.” I smirk, making him shake his head in faux annoyance.

“How’s school going?” he asks as our center fielder, Tyler Cruise, heads to the plate.

I shrug. “Pretty good. I hired a tutor to make things easier, and the team agreed to let her travel with me. You’d know thatif you unlatched your lips from your girlfriend long enough to catch up.”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah. That’s me.The obsessed boyfriend. Anyway,” he implores, rolling his eyes sarcastically.

“She showed up last night after our game. I was so fucking beat, we both ended up falling asleep in my bed. I woke up with my mouth inches away from her nipple, then shit got weird. Now I have to see her again tonight for another lesson, and I don’t know how to act. It’s hard enough talking about sex with someone you barely know, but she’s so fucking hot, dude. She’s got these perfect curves and she’s soft in all the right places. She should be locked up for being so goddamn sexy, and I have to sit there like everything is fine while she talks about erectile tissue.”

“Talks aboutwhat?” he chokes out, laughing as Cruise smacks a line drive right to the other team’s shortstop. I side-eye Riggs, who continues to take enjoyment in my misery, doubling over as he loses his shit. “Did you sayerectile tissue?That’s really what you’re learning about?”

“Yeah,” I reply, scrubbing my hands down my face as the crowd roars in both cheers and boos for Hawk Mason. I don’t know why they bother with all the fanfare for the guy, to be honest. It’s not like he’ll ever crack a smile. He’s the best third baseman I’ve ever had the honor of playing with, but unless you’re our second baseman and his best friend, Jackson Blake, the likelihood of him acknowledging your existence is slim. “I wish that was the worst of it,” I continue. “I had to write an entire essay on the female orgasm as she slept with her head on my shoulder. Some of the research I did was so detailed that it took everything in me not to imagine it was her I was trying it all out on. How the fuck am I supposed to do this? She’s thirty-one, and I had to pull out all the stops just to get her to agree to be my friend.”

“So, make a move,” he says matter-of-factly. “If you’re attracted to her, what’s stopping you?”

I whip my head in his direction. “My grade in this class, for starters. And did you miss the part where she’s definitely not interested? She’s not some random girl at a bar that would sell her soul for five minutes with one of us because we play ball. She’s different.”

He looks into the stands beyond third base, where his girlfriend Monroe would be sitting if this were a home game. Even though they look like they want to kill each other sometimes, I know he misses her when we travel. “I hear that,” he says quietly as Hawk sends a deep ball past center field, sailing over the wall as the crowd voices their disappointment at the now tied-up score.

Our shortstop, Dante Cole, walks up for his turn at the plate. I put on my helmet and grab my bat off the wall, heading toward the on-deck circle. I watch him get into his stance, and I do the same, not willing to waste a single minute of my time here. The pitcher waits for the signal, nodding before winding up and firing a low slider right at Dante. When it passes the plate, I swing, visualizing my bat connecting with the ball and sending it out of the park. I repeat this with every pitch until Cole hits a single, leaving me with the opportunity to put us ahead by three runs if I can just slam one out of here. It’s not uncommon for me to hit a home run, but it’s also not the easiest part of the job.

---