Page 44 of Hiding in the Outfield

I blow out a breath.

Me

okay.

An hour later, I stiffly follow Nebs, Winters, and Michaels into Frankie’s townhouse. Nebs was glaring holes in my back the entire post-game wind down. He knows. He disapproves.

I step inside, and there he is. Frankie. Leaning against the small section of wall in the entry next to the coat and shoe racks. My gaze clashes with his brown-and-gold irises. And my heart stills, a deer in headlights. He’s freshly showered, the long hair on top of his head falling in a wet wave over his brow. I pause on his cheek. The swelling looks a little better. He’s rocking a deep-green silk pajama set, more than half the buttons of the top undone to reveal his dark, curling chest hair. I swallow. Damn, he looks good.

Those captivating eyes dance. Like what you see, Ollie-babe? His lips curl, and my attention snags on the movement. “You going to stand in my entry all night, Jackson?”

I blink twice. Then glance around me. I’m still a couple feet inside the front door. The rest of the guys are already ambling around the house. My cheeks heat, and Frankie chuckles. I quickly kick off my shoes as he heads toward me. Those silk pants go tight over his muscled thighs with every step. Go tight over other things. I let out an unsteady breath.

“Breathe, handsome. You’re just here to sleep. Well, to cuddle too. But no funny business.” He lets out a beleaguered sigh. “I’m still supposed to hold off on having orgasms.”

A laugh huffs from me. Right. The anxiety prickling underneath my skin settles. It’s not that I don’t want it to happen, but I’ve waited so long I’ve built it up into a mountain. The pressure is instantaneous every time I think about it.

“Come on.” He gently laces our fingers together and leads me through the kitchen to the stairs.

My stare locks on our hands. I can’t look away. My skin buzzes everywhere his fingers touch me like it’s alive. We’re holding hands. Like it’s no big deal, like I do this every day. It’s so small and simple, but it has all sorts of things I can’t explain clicking into place. No one ever talks about how good holding hands feels. Maybe because it’s so commonplace for others, they don’t even think twice about how truly great it is. Because that soft weave of his fingers through mine? I feel it in the organ in my chest. Comfort. Connection.

He shifts, and I glance up to find him staring at me over his shoulder.

His eyes narrow slightly, those brown irises assessing. He softly swirls his thumb over my palm. Warmth erupts in my gut, curling through me in rhythm with his thumb.

“I have the perfect plan for us tonight,” he murmurs, then turns back around and tugs me up the stairs.

Once in his room, he closes the door and leans against it. “So, I had an idea.”

I place my small duffle on the floor by my feet.

“Since we’re stuck at…first base.” He grins, his tongue peeking out between his teeth playfully. “I thought we’d ease you in with some boyfriend experiences. Sleepover. Snuggles…” His gaze drops to my mouth. “Some light making out.” It flicks back up. “It’s kind of a rite of passage for every boyfriend to have to watch their partner’s awful choice in favorite movie. So, tonight we’re having a movie night.”

He waves a hand toward his bed, and I turn and falter. There’s a wooden board in the center of his bed covered in a rainbow of candy and snacks. My eyes widen, and my mouth waters. That bowl looks suspiciously like ice cream—yes. That’s a jar of fudge next to it. I spin toward him. Those eyes glow, that usual teasing smile split into a satisfied grin. Split into a satisfied grin…

“You’re smiling.” I step forward and carefully run my finger along the curve of his bottom lip. My gaze slides up. “Fully.”

His lip softens under my thumb. “Yeah. Still aches a little, but I can manage a full smile now.”

I drop my hand, heat creeping up my neck. “That’s, uh, good to hear.” I shift toward the bed. “This looks amazing.”

“I know it’s not diet approved, but you really cannot watch a movie while eating health food. I debated getting you jerky, but I have zero desire to kiss a mouth that tastes like smoked beef.”

A chuckle sneaks up on me.

He bites his lip and rakes his gaze over me. “Not the kind of meat I like in my mouth.”

And all amusement is now gone.

His eyes dance, and he slinks toward his bed. “Soon, Jackie-boy, soon. Let’s get into bed.”

My stare snags on his ass. Holy fucking shit. That green silk hugs his tight ass with each step. I lean forward. Moth to flame. Me to Frankie’s ass. I’ve always thought he had a nice ass, but those pants hide nothing. My fingers flex. I wonder if it’s firm or soft. I wonder what it feels like as it flexes⁠—

“Hopefully Moose Tracks will make up for the fact that I’m about to make you sit through Dirty Dancing.”

Moose Tracks? My attention flies to his face. “You know my favorite ice cream?”

“Shaney-babe did recon for me.”