Page 46 of Hiding in the Outfield

Frankie’s eyes crinkle, and he chuckles. “It really is a great movie. Forbidden love. Class differences. The pressure of societal expectations. Breaking them and discovering your true self. And sexy people dancing.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” I slip another bite of ice cream into my mouth. “At least there are good snacks,” I snark.

He jabs his shoulder into mine. “Look at you. A natural at this pretend boyfriend stuff.”

My gaze darts away as something warm and fizzy fills my chest. As much as I have a feeling this movie is going to blow, I can’t say I hate this…date night in. The fizzing intensifies. Damn. My first date. Fake date. But still.

I focus on the movie. At least the soundtrack is pretty good. I should probably add some more 80s music to my playlists. I frown. “Baby? Wait, is her name Baby?”

He makes a non-committal noise.

“Weird as fuck.” Also patronizing as fuck. I could see my mom and dad doing something like that if they’d had a daughter.

We finish our ice cream, and Frankie snuggles into my side, his arm around my middle. His coarse chest hair tickles my skin whenever he shifts or laughs. I’m kind of obsessed with it, I think. The abrasion. The way it curls a bit. I have zero chest hair. I’m like a naked mole rat over here. Which Frankie doesn’t seem to mind if his wandering fingers are any indication.

We throw out comments as the movie goes on and snack on the various candies he chose. I have somehow managed to be invested in the movie. And Frankie was right; there are some pretty hot guys in it. I think it might be the first time I’ve noticed something like that without feeling guilty.

“All right,” I say. “Neil is a fucking tool. Calling it already.”

Frankie’s chuckle whispers over my chest, and goosebumps pop up on my skin.

“Yes, total stick in the mud.”

I’m still not getting what makes this Frankie’s favorite movie—or anyone’s, for that matter. “Ohhhh. Guests not allowed. Is this finally about to get interesting?”

Frankie’s cheek bunches against my pec. “Watch and see.”

All right…

“Holy fucking shit. They’re, like, having sex on the dance floor!”

Frankie barks out a laugh.

“Damn. Those are some gyrating hips.” And I am definitely adding this song to my playlist.

“Do You Love Me by The Contours,” Frankie whispers. Apparently, he can read my mind. “And Jackson?”

“Mmm?”

“I can move my hips like that.”

My body goes taut. “Fuuuck.”

His chuckle is dark and holds a world of promise. What have I gotten myself into with this man? He tilts his head back and smirks up at me. I can’t help myself. I lean down and kiss him. I think this might have been exactly what I needed. Ease me in.

The small amount of tension I was holding before is long gone. He’s a warm welcome weight against my side. Soft silk slips under my fingertips as I lightly stroke his side. I gradually pull back, his taste of chocolate and something that’s inherently Frankie lingering on my lips.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once that I’m doing this right now. God, I’m like Baby walking into that hidden away dance hall. I might have a bit more in common with her than I thought.

And Frankie is so Johnny. The way Johnny crooks his finger, all sexy confidence, and convinces Baby to step into his world? My lips fight against a smile as I graze my nose against Frankie’s hair, drawing in his cocoa butter scent. Feels a little familiar.

Maybe this movie isn’t half-bad.

“Oh my God, her name is Frances. No wonder she goes by Baby.”

A pillow thwacks me in the face.

“Hey! What was that for?”