Page 157 of Bad Run

“After,” she says, unlocking her legs from around my waist and placing them on the floor. My dick screams in protest. “You have a game to win first. Then I’ll let you do whatever you want to me tonight at home.”

“Saying shit like that doesn’t help my situation.”

“Sorry, Mr. Taylor.” She fake pouts.

“Witch,” I tease, shaking my head at her as I tuck my hard dick into my slacks.

Smothered voices and shouts seep into our bubble.

“Better hurry.”

“Coach can wait. First …” I get on one knee and pull her panties from my pocket, holding them out for her.

“My knight in shining armor,” she giggles.

Placing her hands on my shoulders, she steps into the lacy fabric. I slide them up her legs and over hips, back into their rightful place. For now.

I stand, cupping her cheeks in my palms, tilting her head back. “I love you, Gwen.”

The smile that spreads across her face makes my chest ache, tight and full, but it’s her words that fill me with unbridled joy. “I love you, Lance.”

Those three little words were never tangible until now.

Not until I felt them on her lips and tasted them on her tongue.

Gwen is my home. My wife. My love.

My everything.

forty-nine

Lance

Present

Reed swings and misses, the ball dropping low at the last second.

The count is now one ball, two strikes.

Fuck.

We’re in New York, playing against the Hawks for the last time before the playoffs begin. Unfortunately, we are down by one in the top of the ninth with one out. There’s no fucking way I want to lose to these dipshits tonight.

Bat in hand, I drift back toward the dugout to hear Cam whistle. “He’s going to be pissed he fell for that splitter.”

“What’s good?” I ask my buddy who is notorious for watching fellow pitchers and reading their tells and pitch patterns.

Cam rubs his chin, his eyes shifting as he thinks. “If Valdez throws a knuckleball next, then I think I’ve got the pattern. You just got to pray they don’t pull him for someone in the bullpen.”

I nod, watching Valdez, New York’s pitcher, wind up. Just as Cam predicted, he throws a knuckleball that goes high and outside. Ball two.

Reed steps out of the box and looks toward the dugout. Cam makes a few hand signals at him, and he nods in understanding.

“Reed is going to smash this, so when you’re up, expect a low fastball. So, pull that fuck out of the ball and get on base. Romero will be right behind you.”

The crack of the bat draws my attention, and I turn just in time to see Reed take off and the ball drive over the third baseman and straight down the line, staying fair. The left fielder snags the ball and throws it to second, too late to catch Reed as he makes it safely to second base with ease.

“Let’s fucking go, Taylor,” Nico shouts as he steps on deck, and I make my way to the batter’s box.