Page 38 of Hiding in the Outfield

How incredibly sweet. And incredibly heartbreaking. Because this man is that damn starved for touch and connection. I pull my hand from under his and give his back a gentle push.

“Off the bed. Go to the other side.” His brow furrows, but he listens as I shift over. I pull back the covers. “Hop in—Wait.” My gaze narrows on his jeans. “Jeans off.”

His gaze darts from side-to-side. “Frankie…”

“I know this is going to come as a huge surprise, but I actually can keep my hands to myself and not talk about sex every five seconds. Those jeans are not comfortable. For you or me. I want to snuggle. Take off your fucking pants, Jackson.”

Amusement glows softly in his eyes, and it’s so beautiful to see that drive away the sadness and guilt from earlier. “Yes, boss.”

Oh. I could definitely get used to that.

If Jackson Olander ever decides he wants my dick, we are going to have so much fun.

He slips out of his jeans, and I’m completely respectful and don’t ogle him at all. That self-control deserves a fucking trophy.

He slides in next to me, and I lift his arm and slink under it. I press my good cheek to his chest and draw in a long breath. Huh. Lavender. He smells like clean linen and lavender. Not what I would have pegged for someone trying to be Mr. Macho Baseball Player.

“Are you sniffing me?”

“Yes. Where’s the lavender coming from? I was expecting, like, Axe or Old Spice.”

His huff of laughter dances over my hair. “I’m actually pretty sensitive to scents. I have to use this detergent that’s, like, hypoallergenic or whatever. But since it doesn’t have a scent, I wasn’t thrilled with the way my clothes smelled—kind of chemical-y. I experimented with laundry sprinkles that are supposed to be easy on delicate skin. The lavender ones were the only ones that didn’t make me break out in hives.”

Oh, my sweet, sensitive-skinned child. I don’t know why sensitive skin makes my heart soft, but apparently, I just found another weakness. I also feel like there might be something behind his tone just now. He said it like it was a defect. Just another small glimpse of the enigma that is Jackson Olander.

“Is it bad to have delicate skin?” I ask softly.

He’s quiet for a moment. “It’s never okay to be delicate, Frankie.”

Oh, Ollie-baby.

“There is strength in softness, Jackson.”

He hums. There’s disbelief in it, but then he murmurs, “Maybe you’re right.”

His fingers tentatively slide up and down my forearm. It’s stiff and a little jerky, like it’s foreign and he’s unsure of himself.

Well, he can pet me all he wants while he gets used to it.

Jackson Olander, you just found yourself a cuddle buddy.

FIFTEEN

JACKSON

I don’t know how Frankie can rest with his cheek on my chest while my heart is battering against my ribcage. He must be able to feel that, right?

Damn. Frankie Nebiolo is in my arms right now.

I’ve never held anyone like this before. He’s really warm, like a heated blanket that smells really nice. I think it’s whatever product he uses in his hair. Kind of cocoa buttery.

I let my fingers drift up and down his forearm, finger pads teasing the hair there, tracing over the little bumps of his wrist bones.

“So…One thing,” Frankie finally breaks the silence. He points toward his bedroom doorway. “That’s wide open. There’s a good chance one of the guys stops by at some point. Should we shut the door? Or are you okay if they see this?”

“Maddox knows.”

He leans back and props a pillow under his head so he can stare up at me. “Really?”