Page 146 of How to Win the Girl

Bending my knees, I bend my elbows, too, gripping the bat just above the handle, my dominant hand on top.

It’s not so heavy that I can’t easily—

The ball whizzes out of the machine without warning, buzzing past my face—and my bat—at lightning speed.

“Hey!” I shout. “I wasn’t ready!”

“You literally just said you were ready.”

I hadn’t meant it. And I hadn’t thought the damn ball was going to fly so fast.

“Another one is on its way. Get ready.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, not excited about this activity. Surely, he chose it because he’s good at it and wants to show off.

Thwack.

The ball zooms out and hits the chain-link fence behind me, caging us in with the balls and equipment and each other.

“Do you want my help?”

“No. I need you to adjust the speed.” That would be helpful.

“It’s already set on the lowest speed.”

Shit, that’s not going to help me. “I’m not sure how you’ll be able to help me but have at it.”

Drake leans his bat against the chain-link fence, moving so he’s behind me. Leans in. Stops. “Mind if I put my hands on your hips?”

“Uh. Sure?”

His hands go on my hips. “Widen your stance so your feet are like this. And pop your butt out. That helps.”

Does it? Or is this his sneaky attempt at getting me to brush my ass against his dick?

I do as he says. Shift my elbows and the grip on the bat the way he shows me to move my hands.

“This is uncomfortable,” I complain. “It feels unnatural.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“No? I don’t think so.” I pause. “Maybe.” Who knows. No one has ever called me stubborn before, except maybe my parents when they’re trying to get me to do something, and I push back.

Drake readjusts his body so I’m spooning him but in a standing position, arms wrapped around me, hands gripping the bat over mine.

“Here. Hold it like this.” His warm breath tickles my neck. “Does that help?”

I shiver. “Sort of.”

Or maybe I just want him breathing on my skin and tickling my earlobe with the tip of his nose, the way he’s doing now.

He makes some more adjustments to the bat in my hands. “Better?”

“Um. A little.”

He chuckles in my ear. “Little faker.”

“I’m just no good at this.”

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