Page 99 of Never Stop
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Easton
“Are you going to hit a home run for me tonight?” Brooke asked, biting her lip.
I looked down wanting to be the one to bite it. Instead, I quickly looked back to her jade colored eyes. “Only one?”
Avery and I finally joined an adult co-ed softball team like we’d always talked about. Every Wednesday night we had a game except one bye week where we didn’t have one. Then there would be a night of playoffs. Our team was totally going to make them too.
Cheyenne was playing softball again, and her games were on Saturdays while practice was every day after school. I still helped Courtney’s dad coach as often as possible.
I had my beautiful wife and daughter, owned a successful bar, where I now only worked during the day, coached my baby girl in a sport we both loved, and played ball again with my best friend.
Life was good.
My life was complete.
“Well, for every one you hit, I’ll give you a kiss.”
I laughed because I was certain this was what high school kids said to each other. I stepped closer to the fence where she stood. “You better give me more than just kisses,” I whispered.
We both turned our attention to the field when there was a clink of a metal bat. Aubree, a girl on the team, hit a base hit through the shortstop and third baseman. Our team cheered from the dugout, and so did Nicole and few others in the stands. The other team threw the ball back to the pitcher, and I winked at my wife before walking up to the batter’s box.
I should get a blow job for every home run.Kisses…
This was my first time playing slow pitched softball and it was much different from fastball. For one, they pitched rainbow style where the ball arched up and down toward the batter. Two, it was a softball and not a baseball. And three, we played with women and had to alternate males and females in batting and fielding positions. For example: if a man pitched, a woman had to catch. If a guy played shortstop, a chick had to play third base. No one took any of that into account when we batted, though. Women got screaming balls at them all the time. Didn’t stop them from stopping them either.
I just wished my wife could play with us. She’d be a rock star. One day, when her body was fully healed and she felt up to it, she’d join our team. I knew she missed the game—I would in her position—but she never complained. She was always encouraging me, excited for game nights.
The yellow ball arched at me and to the right—ball. The second one did the same, and I smiled at the dude pitching. No one took walks, we were playing rainbow softball for Christ’s sake. The next pitch was the same, and I shook my head. I knew what this fucker was up to. If I walked, he would get a woman next. Not saying that women can’t hit—Aubree got a base hit before me—I was just more likely to hit it over the fence and then we would score more than just one. It would be three since Avery had hit a double two batters before me.
The dude started his wind up, and it felt as though the pitch was coming slower than it already was. He wanted to walk me. Instead, I grinned, took a step in toward the incoming ball and swung causing it to go to the opposite field. The ball soared over the outfielder’s head, and I ran. I ran fast because the ball wasn’t going to go over the fence like I’d hoped.
Avery scored.
Aubree scored.
And I was standing on third once the ball made it back to the infield.
We won the game six to one. I hit the triple, a home run, and a few doubles. Avery hit a home run, too, and once again it felt as though we were back in our prime.
Triples should count as Brooke sitting on my face.
Totally.
Working during the day and spending time with my family was heaven.
I truly had no idea what I was missing before that first night with Brooke on the cruise when she told me I basically needed to stop pawning Cheyenne off on my mother.
“I just think that if you have the choice to have a family again, you should,”Brooke had said.
Well, I had a family again, and I wasn’t going to fuck it up. I was bound and determined to take care of my girls.
“What’s for dinner?” Cheyenne asked the moment we walked in the door.
My stomach growled at the mention of food—and the scent of bacon in the air. “I’ll check with Brooke.” I came around the corner and into the kitchen. Brooke was bent over as she took something out of the oven. She turned her head and grinned at me as she set the cookie sheet on the stovetop.
“Bacon? For dinner?” I asked.
