Page 4 of Double Play

A full-body shiver rolled through me at the thought of them both being naked before I knocked on the door.

So fucking gross.

“Honey,” my mother began, shutting the door quietly. “We didn’t want you to find out this way, but we have something to tell you.”

They were married three months later. It threw my whole world off its axis, and I had to shove my newly found attraction for Arden into a box and lock that bitch up tight. We were officially stepsiblings, and we could never be more.

I can’t say it wasn’t hard at first. My mom and I moved into their house before the wedding because it was bigger. Our bedrooms shared an adjoining bathroom, so she was constantly in my space, completely unaware of how close I was to asking her to prom, and maybe even for more beyond that. Thankfully, it only lasted a year before she went off to Penn State, and I became a rookie in the minors. I finally felt like I could breathe again.

The years that followed made it easier to stop thinking of her that way with the distance—and the revolving door of women that were vying for my attention while I worked my way up to the major leagues. I became acquainted with the idea of one-night stands andno-strings-attachedsex pretty quickly, and I learned to embrace it since it’s impossible to nurture a budding relationship while I’m on the road for half the year. One day, I’ll meet a girl who will make me want to put in the work, but for now, I’m good with the way things are.

Even though having Arden here will take some adjusting on all our parts, I’m excited about it. I miss her friendship. It was my fault for putting too much space between us and pulling away, but I was young, and it was the only way I knew how to cope with all the changes in my life at the time. Hopefully, we can make up for the time we lost and get to know each other again.

THREE

ARDEN

“What fucking time is it?”I mumble, sitting up in the bed and digging into the pocket of my hoodie for my phone. It’s dark out, the dim light of the moon filtering through the sheer curtains hanging from the sliding glass door in my room. Unlocking the device, my eyes focus on the clock, which tells me it’s after midnight. I can’t believe I passed out before Jackson even left the room. As proud of myself as I am for managing my panic attack once the plane landed, it took a lot out of me, and now I’m paying the price. My head is pounding, my bladder is screaming, and if I don’t get some food in me, we’re going to have even bigger problems. I was too nervous to eat before my flight, and I barely stayed awake for five minutes after my head hit the pillow. I’m on the verge of a hangry meltdown, and I need to find the kitchen, stat.

I make my way to the en suite bathroom, doing my business and washing my hands before quietly opening the bedroom door and padding into the hallway. This place is huge, and Jackson didn’t get a chance to give me the tour, so I’m just going to retrace my steps from earlier and wander around until I find the refrigerator. It’s not the soundest plan, but it’s better than waking him up when he likely has to be at the stadium in the morning.

Tiptoeing across the plush carpet, I try my best to stay quiet. But as soon as I round the corner that leads to the staircase, I crash into a hard, warm wall of muscle. I suck in a gasp when two large hands wrap around my waist to steady me, going into survival mode as I throw a hard right hook.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Arden! It’s just me!” Hawk’s deep voice hisses as he lets go, cupping his hand over his cheek. I squint, waiting for my eyes to adjust enough to make out his features in the nearly pitch-black space. He’s hunched forward, groaning in discomfort, gently rubbing the skin of his face with his fingertips.

“Oh my God!” I gasp, my hands shooting up over my mouth. “Hawk, I’m so sorry. I thought you were a murderer! Are you okay?” Without even waiting for an answer, I grab his hand and yank him quickly through the door of my room. I bypass the bed, hauling him into the bathroom as I flip the light switch and immediately bring my hands to his face. A big, red welt mars the skin under his eye, and I push to my tiptoes to see better. I’m five foot seven, but he’s got to be at least eight inches taller than me, with firm, bulging muscles and a wide frame.

It’s just dawning on me that this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to him. He’s fucking beautiful with his tan skin, full lips, and deep, Caribbean-blue eyes. His black hair falls over his forehead as he angles down, allowing me to inspect the damage my fist did to his cheek and eye. I run my fingertips over the red mark, sucking a quiet breath through my teeth as he winces. He bites his lip to stifle a pained groan, and I can’t stop my gaze from homing in on the motion. All of a sudden, I’m frozen. I can’t move, I can’t blink, and it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room as flashes of his mouth running along my heated skin play on a loop in my head. I stand there for what feels like a lifetime, struggling to break out of the fantasy as if it’s holding me hostage. Finally escaping its clutches, I shift my eyes upward, locking onto his endless cerulean pools as he studies me.

What’s happening? What are words? I’m pretty sure I know some, but—wait, no. I don’t.

“Arden?” he rasps, snapping me out of whatever the hell that was, and I shake my head rapidly, clearing my throat. “Are you alright?”

Oh my God.

“Yeah,” I say on a breathy laugh. “I just woke up and I haven’t eaten all day. I guess it’s making me loopy. Are you okay? I’m really sor?—”

“What do you mean, you haven’t eaten?” he cuts me off, his expression growing even more serious than usual. I open my mouth to reply but close it again when his glare hardens.

Fidgeting, I wring my hands together in front of me like a child who’s getting scolded, speaking quietly. “I was nervous before my flight, then I got really anxious with the noise and turbulence. Jacks took me to Starbucks for a tea to calm me down on the way here, but my stomach was still in knots. It’s just—this stupid thing that happens to me sometimes.”

He gives me a sharp nod, his scowl relaxing slightly. “I understand. Come on.” He reaches down, takes my hand, and pulls me back through my room the way we came. I follow, staring perplexed at where we’re joined because, not only is this the most he’s ever spoken to me, but he’snevertouched me. And now here we are, him encasing my small hand in his and leading me through the dark house as I try to ignore the sparks of electricity that prick up my arm at the contact.

I’ve always thought Hawk was hot as fuck, but it was never more than that. He’s like a random celebrity you see on TV, drool over, then move on with your life because he’s unattainable. Even now, I know that’s true, but I can’t stop my traitorous body from reacting to the innocent gesture. He’s just helping me because it’s the middle of the night and I don’t know my way around. I’m in his house, and he’s being a decent human being because I’m Jackson’s stepsister. Nothing more.

We make our way down the stairs, him slowing so I can carefully take them one by one. He never breaks our connection, reaching to the wall at the bottom of the landing and sliding the dimmer up so a soft glow casts across the open living area. Continuing through the condo, he stops and finally drops my hand when we reach the kitchen. Flipping on the light, he strides across the room while I take in my surroundings.

Just like the rest of the place, it’s clean and modern. How two grown-ass bachelors live here is a mystery to me, because everything from the white marble countertops to the stainless-steel appliances looks completely untouched. It’s all state-of-the-art technology with touch-screen displays, which is a hell of a lot nicer than anything I’ve ever lived in—especially since graduating from college. I’m used to ramen noodle cups and microwaves that you have to smack every now and then to make the plate spin. You know…non-millionaire stuff.

“You never answered me,” I say as he dips down, grabbing a frying pan from under the cupboard and placing it on the stove. “Are you okay? Your cheek and eye look a little swollen.”

“I’m fine,” he grunts, opening the refrigerator and pulling out the tub of butter and a bag of deli cheese before returning to the counter. I stand there awkwardly, wanting to fill the uncomfortable silence with words, but I honestly don’t know what to say. In the last fifteen minutes, I’ve punched him in the face, made the weirdest extended eye contact in the history of the world, and now he seems kind of mad. So maybe I should just zip it and see what happens.

I quietly step up to the island in the middle of the kitchen, slide onto one of the white leather barstools, rest my elbows against the smooth marble, and drop my chin into my open palms. I can’t help but admire the way the ink-covered muscles in his arms strain against the fabric of his black t-shirt every time he moves, even though I probably shouldn’t. Not only is he Jackson’s best friend, but he’s also my new roommate. Getting caught ogling his body would make our interactions even more awkward than they already are.

He butters two pieces of bread, setting one into the pan before adding two slices of cheese and topping it with the other. The butter sizzles and pops, filling the room with the most mouthwatering scent. I don’t know what I’m drooling over more. The grilled cheese that’s browning to perfection across the room, or the strong, silent beast of a man holding the spatula in front of it.

Both?Both.

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