Page 100 of Hiding in the Outfield

We stand there for a moment, catching our breath. Then he gently directs us under the rainhead, and the hot water washes our release and soap suds down the drain.

He goes to pull away, but I tug him back. I use my towering build to shield him the best I can from the cascading water. He blinks up at me, water drops building on his lashes, irises still dark and hazy from his orgasm. My heart trembles. So beautiful.

I cup his jaw and kiss him. Kiss him under the water stream like two lovers caught in the rain. I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough of him. His playfulness. His sexy confidence. His sassiness.

He’s smart and incredibly kind-hearted. He’s patient and understanding. He’s thoughtful and giving.

No one compares to him.

I may be headed for the major leagues, the best of the best.

But Francesco Nebiolo…

He’s in a league all his own.

THIRTY-SIX

JACKSON

I press a kiss to the top of Frankie’s head, where he’s curled into my side. “You’re really good at this,” I murmur.

“Sex? Yes, I know.”

A chuckle rumbles through me. “No, not sex.”

“Um, rude.”

It turns into a full-blown laugh. “That’s not what I meant, brat.” My smile morphs into a grin. “Plus. You are the only man I’ve been with. I don’t have anything to compare it to. For all I know, you are…sub-par.”

He gasps and smacks me across the chest. “And you call me a brat? Those were fighting words, Jackie.”

Fighting words? If he says so… His eyes widen a second before I pounce on him. I try to hold him down, but he’s damn strong for being so much smaller than me. Well, that, and he busts out the teeth. The fucker bites my shoulder so hard he gets an advantage on me. He flips us for about five seconds before I’m back on top of him, hands pinned above his head, our heaving chests ricocheting off each other.

“Damn, I wish I had another round in me,” he says between pants. “But I honestly think I have zero cum left in my body.”

I drop my head onto his shoulder as I catch my breath. I’m right there with him. We’ve had sex three times since we checked in. My dick is making a valiant effort to join in on the fun, but it’s not happening for me either. That and my muscles are essentially limp noodles at this point.

I roll off him, but leave my arm strewn across his torso. I like touching him, the heat of him warming my skin, my fingers tracing over any part of him I can reach. I press a kiss to his shoulder.

“So, back to where I was originally going with this…”

He turns, and our gazes lock.

“You’re really good at this. Relationship stuff. Boyfriend-y stuff.”

His golden-brown irises search mine, the question in them clear.

“I guess I’m wondering why you’re not one?” My voice lilts up.

I don’t really understand it. I know I don’t have much experience, but I can tell he’s an amazing boyfriend, an amazing all-around person. He turns heads wherever he goes—of all genders. I guarantee there’d be a line a mile long if he let the world know he was available. Why hasn’t someone snatched him up yet?

“Oh, babe, you don’t want to get into my baggage.”

I push up onto my elbow and let my head roll in my hand. Hmmm. He just changed. I can’t even put my finger on it. But something went up between us the minute he said that. His obliques are like stone beneath my fingers; those eyes that always flash teasing messages at me have shut the door. He’s put up a shield like…

“Someone hurt you,” I whisper.

He mulls it over, which only confirms it, but then he says, “No.”