Page 25 of Scoring Position

“We have to stop,” I say against his lips, making his entire body go still before he sighs in defeat. He presses his forehead to mine as we catch our breath, eventually lowering me to my feet as I giggle quietly.

“What?” he says, adjusting his erection under his sweatpants.

“Nothing,” I reply, righting my clothes and doing my best to brush the hay from my back and butt. “I just realized how young you are. You go from calm to feral in seconds. Only a twenty-one-year-old dick gets hard that fast.”

He takes a step forward, crowding me against the bales before bringing both hands up to my face. “This doesn’t happen with anyone else, Lark. I’ve kissed and let girls grind against me while we danced a million times. Never once has my cock wept at just thesightof a woman. I went from being terrified of sex to wondering how much longer I’ll be able to restrainmyself. I won’t say you’re different, because that’s such a cliché expression—butwe’redifferent. I think you feel it too.”

I swallow thickly because,yes, I do, but I’m still struggling with some of it. Obviously, the age gap is a thing. Maybe not to him, but being an entire decade older makes me feel like I’d be slowing him down. I’ve already lived through those younger years. I was in a relationship for a lot of them, but my nights of drinking and dancing at clubs until two in the morning seem like they happened ages ago. I don’t want to stop him from enjoying that time. He already spends half the year holed up in hotel rooms or going to bed early on game nights—there’s no way he wouldn’t resent me for my strict bedtimes and weekend cramming sessions during midterms and finals weeks.

I know Ace doesn’t want just a physical connection. He’s not like that. He might think he wants more with me, but it’s hard to explain all the things that would come along with it without sounding like I’m making excuses. If I’m completely honest, I wish we could be more too.

“I do,” I say, giving him a weak smile. “But your best years are ahead of you. You don’t want to spend them stuck to an older woman who wouldn’t know a good time if it smacked her in the face.”

He puts a hand up between us. “I’m gonna stop you right there,” he says sternly. “First of all, my entire life has revolved around playing baseball. If I go out, it’s with my team after a win, and I always leave alone. I spend most nights reading or watching TV until I fall asleep so I can be up early for practice. Being with you is the most I’ve truly lived in twenty-one years. We don’t have to tell anybody what we’re doing, but please just open your mind a little bit, okay? I won’t push you into anything more if you don’t want it, but if you’re trying to preserve my youth by pushing me away, don’t.Thisis what I want,” he says, gesturing between us. “We could be so good together, Lark.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying to think of an argument, but I just can’t find one. Everything he’s saying is right. And it’s not like he’s pressuring me to be in a relationship with him right now, or even to define what we are. He just wants me to consider it as an option.

“Okay,” I say quietly. “I’ll keep an open mind. I like you, Ace…a lot. But I also needyouto be realistic. We live completely different lives, and you can’t deny that. So pleasesee it.”

He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into him. “I see it, baby,” he says. “But so far, there isn’t a single thing about you that I’m not obsessed with.” He kisses the top of my head before stepping back and weaving his fingers through mine. “Now come on. I want you to meet my friends.”

I nod, smiling nervously as he leads me out from behind the hay bales. He must notice my hesitation because he looks down at me, and I can see the understanding painted across his expression. “They’re nice, Sweets. I promise they’re going to love you. Trust me.”

“Okay,” I reply, holding my head high as the others come into view. I’m still worried about not being accepted because I’m new to them, but I believe Ace. I don’t think he’d lead me into a group of people who were going to judge me.

“I swear to God, Riggs,” a dark-haired woman says loudly as we approach, “if you pick me to be on your team, I’ll be pissed.”

“Jesus, Mayhem,” the man next to her replies, “if you think I’m going to willingly put myself in harm’s way by giving you a weapon and permission to shoot me with it, you’re wrong. You’re coming with me and staying right by my side where I can keep an eye on you.”

I look at Ace, confused, but he just rolls his eyes and chuckles as we stop in front of them before making introductions. “Everyone, this is Lark. Lark, this is Jackson, Hawk, Riggs andMonroe. If you’re wondering if they’re always like this, the answer is yes, and I’m pretty sure it’s a sexual thing.”

I try to hold back my laugh but fail miserably as I reach out, shaking each of their hands one by one. Everyone is smiling except for Hawk, who I’m pretty sure only has the one expression. He doesn’t look mean—he’s just…broody. I notice he doesn’t say too much unless Jackson is speaking to him. It’s almost like they have their own little language as they quietly talk to one another.

“Glad to have another girl around,” Monroe says, keeping my hand clasped in hers and pulling me her way. But a thick arm snakes around my waist, restraining me.

“Nope. My tutor, my team,” Ace says, pulling me back toward him and lifting his chin to Riggs. “Make your pick, Val.”

He crooks a finger at Monroe, and she throws her head back in annoyance. “Come on, Mayhem. You heard Acey Boy. It’s my pick, and you’re with me.” She huffs a frustrated breath before stomping over to him, mumbling something that sounds a lot likeBig mistakeas he laughs quietly. But he ignores her, pulling her in and leaning down, biting at the skin of her neck. She gasps loudly before halfheartedly pushing him away.

“This is one of those things where I’m going to turn a corner and see someone’s bare ass, isn’t it?” Jackson says. “Is anybody going to actually try?”

I raise my hand. “I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m not opposed to engaging in some shady shit in order to win.”

“Ooh,” Jackson says, a boyish grin crinkling the corners of his bright green eyes as he steps our way. “Riggs, no offense, but your girl looks like she’s plotting your demise, so you can take Hawk. I’m with these two.”

“Whatever, dude,” he replies. “We’ll take him.” He holds his arm out, pointing. “Look at the guy. He’s a stone-cold killer, aren’t you, Mason?”

“Sure,” Hawk mumbles. He really is a man of few words, but I have to admit, I’m intrigued by his personality. He’s quiet, covered in tattoos, and hasn’t cracked even a hint of a smile, but there’s something in his eyes that tells me there’s more to him than what I’m seeing.

“Alright,” Jackson says with a clap, walking over to where several paintball guns are lined up on the picnic table. “Come here, Lark.” He extends his arm in invitation, and I step toward him. “You get first pick since you’ve never played. They’re all the same, but I have a good feeling about this one. Looks extra powerful.” He points to the weapon on the far left, and I reach out to carefully pick it up. It’s much lighter than I expected, but that’s probably because it’s not fully assembled.

He bends down, picks up a shiny black can, and screws it onto the back of the gun while I hold it out. “This is your compressed air. It’s what propels the balls out of the barrel. We’ll load up this hopper,” he says, pointing to the empty container on the top of the unit, “and it’ll feed them down into the marker as fast as you can pull the trigger. Do you want to try on a target first?”

I look at Ace, and he gives me a gentle nod. “Please,” I say back to Jackson as he leads me over to another stack of hay bales with white and red bullseyes painted on them. He takes a plastic jar of pink paintballs from a nearby cart, opens the top of my gun, and pours them in before closing the lid and toggling a switch on the side of it.

“Okay,” he says, moving to stand behind me. “What you want to do is hold it up and look down the side of the barrel. Make sure to keep both eyes open, and when you feel like you’re in the center of the bullseye, pull the trigger.”

I do as he says, holding it far enough away from my face that it isn’t touching, but close enough that I can at least kind of see where I’m pointing. When I think the placement is good, Isqueeze, carefully adding pressure with my finger until the ball leaves the barrel with a quietpop. It startles me at first, but excitement washes over me when I see pink splatter onto the hay just to the right of the red dot.

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