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“Leave, now.” Ryker glares at Cuddy, arms folded across his chest.
Cuddy’s lips curl devilishly before he wraps me in his arms for a hug that I know is platonic because of his secret relationship with Mackenzie, but it doesn’t stop Ryker from sighing and muttering something under his breath.
“If you leave right now, I will make you breakfast tomorrow,” he proposes.
Cuddy releases me instantly and turns to walk backward, smiling victoriously. “Not only did I get to witness Ryker turn possessive over something other than baseball, but I got a breakfast out of it. Sa-weet.” He throws a fist in the air, then jogs to the dugout.
Ryker’s lips remain in a scowl while his brows pinch inward at his friend. “You okay there, Ryker the biker?” I inject playfulness into my tone, hoping it takes the grumpiness out of him.
“I will if you stop calling me that,” he mutters, but the slight crook of his lips tells me he likes it when I call him that.
“Never.” I smile, tucking my hair behind my ear as I change track. “Is all of this really necessary?”
“It is if you want to actually learn proper swinging techniques,” he counters, setting a foam ball on the top of the tee. “I have a steel bat and softballs in the bag for when I think you’re ready to advance.”
I clap my hands together, all too excited to swing my very first bat. Even if it’s a foam one. “All right then, let’s get to work.”
With his arm outstretched toward me with the bat in his hand, he orders, “Show me how you plan on gripping it.”
“Well, it depends on what we’re working with. If you’re packing, then two hands might be needed.”
Ryker closes his eyes briefly, then opens them, letting me see the war he’s fighting within himself. “Let me teach you how to hit a ball first before you make my cock harder than the bat in my bag.”
I pout my lips at him. “Fine.” I take the bat from him and put my left hand near the bottom, my right hand above it. “Is this the right way?”
Ryker takes a step toward me, his hand landing on top of my left one and he twists it slightly. “You want to make sure your knuckles are lined up. Now, let’s see a swing.”
“Just give it a whack?” I ask as I step into the batter’s box, digging my Converse into the dirt for traction.
“Bring the bat up and behind you while keeping your right elbow at a ninety-degree angle, nice and high. Then keep your eye on the ball and swing.”
“Like this?” I purposely do the opposite of what he says, letting my elbow hang downward, the bat resting on my shoulder.
“You’re trouble,” he mutters as he moves to stand behind me.
The hair on my arms stands when he presses his front to my back, while his right hand trails gently up my hip, over my ribs and under my bicep where he lifts it higher into the air.
“Lift the bat off your shoulder and leave it like this.” His gravelly voice brushes over my neck, making me shiver as my body instinctively grinds back against his.
Surprising me, his lips press against my pulse point, his tongue hot making me gasp while pleasure unfurls in my belly.
“God, you just have to smell so fucking sweet, don’t you, princess?” he groans painfully, rolling his hard cock against my ass. “Do you enjoy making me want to say fuck it and take you right here on this field?”
I know he has to work at the shop after this, so I’m halfway tempted to take him up on his offer since we haven’t had the chance to be alone since New Mexico.
“Someone could be watching,” I remind him, coming to my senses amidst the rush of lust.
Ryker steps back instantly, his voice hoarse. “Show me what you’ve got.”
After I take a moment to refocus and calm my erratic breathing, I do as he says, imagining the stance he takes when he goes up to bat. I have it memorized because…well, I can’t keep my eyes off him, okay? Sue me.
Digging my right foot into the dirt, I bend my knees slightly and shift left to right on the balls of my feet before settling in. Then, with a deep breath and my eyes on the ball, I swing the bat forward and send it flying toward second base.
Pride swoops over me, and I can’t do anything but stare at the foam ball on the dirt, knowing I did that. It’s so simple, something kids experience at a young age with a parent or a coach. But for someone like me who’s always wanted to but never had the chance, and is finally doing things for me, it’s everything.
Ryker remains silent as he jogs to get the ball, then sets it back on the tee. We do this a couple times, letting me get used to the motion of swinging the bat until I grow tired of it.
“I want the real deal now, please,” I plead, turning to Ryker, whose hard gaze is unrelenting on mine. “What is it?” I start blushing, wondering why he’s staring at me like that.
