He grumbles and then asks, “Okay, who would you want to win in a World Series? Or better yet, Fuck, Chuck, or Marry. My team, Cory’s team, and the Bobcats.”

  “Impossible.” I shake my head. “I can’t answer that.”

  “Fine, it’s my team and the Bobcats in a World Series, whose shirt are you wearing?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  He slips his hand under my shirt so his fingers caress my bare skin. “I do.”

  “Do you really think your hand up my shirt is going to sway my decision?”

  “I would hope that your extremely attractive and talented boyfriend would sway your decision.”

  My heart skips a beat at the mention of boyfriend. He’s jumping both feet into this, which can only mean one thing: he really likes me.

  “Boyfriend, huh?” I tease.

  “Yeah, which means you’re off the market.”

  I snort. “You have nothing to worry about. There’s no one lining up for the position.”

  His eyebrows sharpen, and the smile that’s been a permanent fixture on his face quickly fades.

  “Hey, let’s get one thing straight. You’re not allowed to talk so poorly about yourself anymore. Just because you’ve never been in a relationship doesn’t make you any less special. It means the guys you’ve met weren’t intelligent enough to realize how incredible you really are.” He pauses and says, “Also, you were wearing a fisherman’s hat to baseball games, so . . .”

  “You’re an ass.” I laugh and push him off me, but he quickly pins me to the ground, hands at my side, his nose brushing against mine.

  “It was a hideous hat on a drop-dead gorgeous girl.”

  My breathing picks up as I realize every time he says I’m pretty, a little piece of the puzzle that makes me whole melts away, becoming a piece of him. My brothers and my dad have always told me I’m pretty, but that’s because it’s their obligation to say so. But no one has looked at me the way Carson does and called me drop-dead gorgeous, or sexy, or beautiful. I’ve never associated myself with those words either. There have been days where I’ve felt cute, but never really beautiful. It’s why it’s so hard for me to actually accept the compliment.

  “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

  “Are you fishing for kisses after saying such sweet things?”

  “Compliments are free, no payment necessary. But I’ll take anything you’re willing to hand over.”

  I have a feeling it’s going to be next to impossible for me to deny this man anything, especially when he looks at me like that, with such admiration. Part of me wonders why I never saw it before, but now that I truly think about it, everything he did to get closer . . . I should have known . . . if I thought it was a possibility. And let’s face it, I didn’t. It’s not about a low self-image, because I like who I am and know from my family and closest friends that I’m lovable. Perhaps I’ve simply believed the lies that only a certain shape, certain dress style, and a certain personality catches the attention of attractive men.

  Releasing my hand from his grip, I glide it up his neck to his hair where I weave my fingers through the short strands and then bring his head closer so our lips barely touch.

  “If it were your team against the Bobcats in the World Series, your girlfriend would be proud to wear your shirt.”

  “Damn right.” He smiles right before pressing his lips to mine.

  Carson’s kisses are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. They not only make my stomach somersault with excitement, but they flip a switch in my body, making every inch of my skin tingle.

  He’s gentle but demanding. Soft, but hard, with the pressure he applies with his hands, his body. He doesn’t just kiss with his lips. He kisses with his entire being, pressing his hips against mine, holding me adoringly with his hands, maneuvering his tongue around mine, showing me how much he wants me.

  It’s hot.

  Consuming.

  And I can easily see myself getting lost in his touch.

  His hand falls to the juncture of my neck and shoulder where his thumb rubs across my collarbone. Featherlight strokes awaken my senses even more, igniting the many dull and lifeless parts of my body.

  I deepen the kiss, pulling him even closer. Our mouths collide, our tongues dance, and the beat of our hearts hammer wildly as we kiss under the one single light of a ballpark.

  I couldn’t ask for a more perfect moment.

  * * *

  Hand clutched to mine, Carson walks me to my car and then pushes me against the driver’s side door. We dropped his “picnic” items off at his car first so they didn’t get in the way of the make-out session. At least that’s what Carson said.

  “I’ve never made out with a coach before,” he says, pinning me with his hips and moving his hands up my waist.

  “Not even a little peck with Disik?”

  “Pretty sure if anyone kissed that old fart bag he would disintegrate on the spot.”

  “He does seem very crotchety.”

  “That’s an understatement. The man is a bastard most of the time, but he makes us good, even if he can’t pick out a problem with my swing.”

  “Hey”—I move my hand over Carson’s carved jaw—“it took me a bit to figure it out and reviewing a lot of video. And I was only assessing you, because it was gnawing at me. Coach Disik has a whole team to assess and train.”

  “Yeah, I know. But . . .” He smirks. “When you were reviewing that video, were you thinking how hot I was the whole time?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

  “No,” I answer and his face falls. “Sorry to let you down but I will admit, I thought your forearms were super nice.”

  “Oh yeah?” He lifts up his arm between us and starts flexing. “You like that, huh? Are you getting all hot and bothered?”

  I stand there, completely deadpan, not even humoring him as he continues to flex in a bunch of different ways.

  “See all that sinew firing off, probably just like the fireworks in your pants, right?”

  I should be surprised by his cocky and confident attitude since he’s been pretty low-key, but I’m not in the slightest. That side of him is like every other athlete I know. I grew up with three cocky guys, Carson is no different, although his heart does seem to do a good job setting him apart.

  “Wow. In the matter of a few hours you went from completely mature to a douchey college boy.”

  “It’s always been there, Coach, just haven’t showed it. Now you get all of me, douchiness and all, but the whole package does include the muscles, so that’s a benefit.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.”

  He lowers his head to mine, our foreheads touching, and he whispers, “Are you always going to bust my balls?”

  “Someone has to keep you in line.”

  “What happened to the shy, stuttering girl who caught my attention?”

  “She’s still there, but you gave her a breath of confidence today.”

  His lips press lightly against mine for a second before he exhales and says, “I think we both gave each other some confidence.”

  “You didn’t need any—”

  “I was lost before you came along, Milly.” He grips my hip tightly. “I might seem confident, but it’s a front. You truly have changed the season for me; you’ve changed my way of play. And you never gave up on me either, with how you encouraged me and stood by my side until I started to kick ass again. You make me better.”

  Carson brings both hands to my jaw and tilts my mouth to his where he leans me to the side and then captures my mouth. He clutches my jaw tighter, moving his tongue inside my mouth and as I match each stroke of his, my feelings for this man intensifying. He’s truly desperate for more, sincere with his words, and honest with expressing how much he likes me with his body.

  This isn’t fake. This isn’t him putting on a show. This is Carson Stone wanting me.

  Propelled by my own passion, I move my hands to the back of his neck and dig my fingertips into his hair, my heart thumping erratically, my ears hammering with the tangible bond weaving between us, and I’m catapulted into one of the most sensual experiences of my life.

  Up against my car, in the dark, only the stars above us shining, I get lost in Carson Stone. Blissfully lost.

  Chapter Eighteen

  MILLY

  “There’s our girl,” Jerry says, making room at the dining hall table for me. Last night, after I finally peeled my lips away from Carson’s, I sent the boys a text saying we should have breakfast together before classes to catch up. They responded with an enthusiastic yes.

  I thought telling them in person about Carson and me would be more fun, especially since they’re huge fans. Just seeing their faces of shock will be worth the wait.

  “Hey.” I take a seat and set my tray down. I grabbed some eggs and bacon this morning with a side of fruit, but both Jerry and Shane went with the giant cinnamon rolls. I’d been tempted, but knowing these two, they’ll give me a piece. “How was the party last night? Did it fulfill your wildest dreams?”

  Shane sighs wistfully and leans back in his chair. “I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything so magical. I saw stars.”

  Jerry snorts and shakes his head. “He met up with some girl last night and she gave him a hand job in one of the coat closets.”

  “Eww, Shane.”

  “Why ew?” he asks, offended. “It wasn’t ew; it was an act of art. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it. The pressure this girl had and the way she played with my—”

  “Spare me the details.” I glance at my eggs and opt for the bacon for a minute. I’ll get to the eggs once the image in my head disappears. “Did you even know the girl?”

  “No, but I got her number and she agreed to go out on Friday.”

  “What’s her name?” I ask, loving how crispy the bacon at the dining hall is.

  Shane looks to the side and then leans forward, a worried look on his face. “Okay, so her name is a little odd for our age group, but I promise you, she’s our age.” Well, now he has my attention. “It’s Edith. But before you make fun of her,” I hold back my snort, “Edie has the viselike grip of a twenty-one-year-old and the lips of an angel.”

  “Also, you had your beer brain on so, she could have been awful but in the moment, felt great,” Jerry points out.

  “Only one way to find out.” Shane winks and then peels off a piece of his cinnamon bun and puts it on my plate. He knows me so well. “Jerry had a good night himself. Threw up on the fire escape.”

  “Oh Jerry, no, you didn’t.”

  He casually raises his hand and says, “Guilty.”

  “Seriously, you guys. Do you lose all sense of being normal humans when I’m not around? Hand jobs in closets and spilling your guts on fire escapes?”

  “Shall we talk about the frat party—?”

  “I was a freshman,” I hiss. “And you two have done plenty of stupid shit since then, including last night.”

  “I don’t think my thing was stupid,” Shane states. “It was smart. I saw an empty room and I took advantage of it.”

  “You saw a closet, not a room. Please just tell me you didn’t get anything on anyone’s jackets.”

  “Please, I’m not a barbarian.”

  Changing the subject, Jerry steps in and says, “How was your night all alone? Carson asked if you were at the party last night.” My stomach flutters. “Looked like he really wanted you there.”

  “Yeah, he seemed actually . . . oh shit.” Shane’s eyes widen. “Stone’s headed right toward us. Everyone act cool. Milly, don’t waste my cinnamon bun by shoving it in his mouth.”

  Before I can turn around to see Carson, I feel his hand touch my back, and then he’s leaning over my shoulder and taking my jaw in his hand. He lifts my lips to his and presses a sweet kiss across them, the taste of mint fresh on his tongue.

  When he pulls away—and I stop swooning—my eyes divert to my two best friends, whose jaws are touching the table. Their eyes are as wide as their cinnamon buns.

  Best. Reaction. Ever.

  Carson pulls up a chair next to me, keeps his arm around my shoulders, and says, “Morning, Mills. How was your night?”

  “It was amazing.” I smile at him and because I can, I lean over and press a quick kiss to his jaw. The grin I get in return is just perfect.

  After staring at me for a couple seconds, Carson picks up one of my pieces of bacon and addresses Jerry and Shane. “Hey boys, how’s it going? Have a good time at the party last night?” He bites into the piece of bacon and looks between two boys who are stunned speechless.

  I place my arm on Carson’s leg and say, “I haven’t actually let them know what happened at the ballpark.”

  “Ah, that explains the looks on their faces. I thought they were just in awe of my muscles like you were last night.” Like the cheesehead he is, he holds his arm out in front of me and flexes his wrist so his forearm muscles fire up.

  “Keep it up, Stone. Last time I tell you anything.” He chuckles and plants a kiss on the side of my head.

  “Uhh”—Shane blinks a few times—“what the hell is going on here?”

  “Are you two . . . dating?” Jerry asks, swallowing hard.

  “Is that why you were wearing mascara the other day? You were planning on making a move?” Shane continues.

  “The mascara should have been a dead giveaway.” Jerry snaps his fingers. “We’re losing our touch.”

  “The mascara has nothing to do with this. I just like wearing it sometimes,” I say, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks.

  Carson leans over and says, “You’re pretty with or without it.”

  Shane clutches his chest. “Ah, look at that, dude. He fucking likes our little Millipede.”

  “This isn’t because she’s Cory Potter’s sister, is it?” Wow. Jerry holds nothing back.

  Carson stiffens next to me as my stomach momentarily drops. He does know I’m Cory’s sister now, but that doesn’t matter, right?

  Dread starts to fill me, and I attempt to recount the timeline of when Carson found out to when he started showing signs of liking me. Muddled and confused, my brain attempts to account every instance. Carson sits up straight and keeps his arm tight around my shoulders.

  “Valid question, and if I didn’t know that you were protective of Milly, I’d be ready to punch your cock off over that assumption, but I get it. No, this has nothing to do with her brother and everything to do with Milly. I like her. I’ve liked her for a long time now.”

  “So the fact that her brother is one of the highest paid baseball players in the sport doesn’t factor into your decision?” Shane asks.

  Gee, thanks, boys. This isn’t insulting or embarrassing at all.

  “Not even in the slightest. I didn’t find out until recently. I started crushing on this girl the minute she put me in my place after one of our games. And then when she schooled me in the cages, I was a goner.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Jerry rubs his chin. “And what are your intentions with our Millipede?” Why are they just starting with that nickname? I really think they live to humiliate me.

  “My intentions are to date her, exclusively,” Carson answers with ease, taking on this spur-of-the moment questioning with ease.

  “Exclusively.” Shane steeples his fingers and rests his chin on them. “What does that word mean to you?”

  Jesus.

  “It means we are exclusive. She’s mine and I’m hers, no one else is involved.”

  “I see. I see.” Jerry taps the table and then leans forward and says, “She’s had two sexual partners her entire life, so what are your intentions sexually?”

  “Annnd we’re done.” I stand abruptly from the table. “This was fun, but I need to get to class.”

  “That’s fine.” Shane waves me away. “You don’t need to be here for this inquisition.”

  Taking Carson by the hand, I pull him—

  “Gasp.” Jerry points at my joined hand with Carson like an idiot. “Look, they’re holding hands. Aw, Milly.”

  Shane and Jerry lean in together, holding their hearts and each other at the same time.

  “Our little girl is getting everything she’s ever dreamed of,” Shane says on a fake sniff.

  Yup, I should have waited to tell them. I love these two idiots and their protectiveness, but along with their shield comes relentless teasing. It’s something I’m used to—something I realize is an automatic consequence when hanging around guys—and I’m accustomed to absorbing each jab with little to no care.

  But that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to vacate a situation before it gets out of control. And we are about one question away from total humiliation.

  I point to my two obnoxious friends and say, “When you two get your shit together, maybe we can have another conversation.”

  “Or a dinner date,” Shane says, releasing Jerry and going back to his plate.

  “A dinner date sounds like a winning idea,” Jerry says, feeding off Shane.

  Rolling my eyes, I pull on Carson’s arm, who says over his shoulder, “More than a winning idea, fellas, a dinner date must be penciled in to your schedules.”

  “Anything for you, beefcake,” Shane calls out and pretends to dab at his eyes. “I’m just so happy right now.”

  “Take her to the locker room,” Jerry calls out. “She’s totally locker room material.”

  Yup, I’m going to murder the both of them. So glad I’ve had these past few years with them, but they’re dead to me now.

  Locker room material . . . could that be any more embarrassing? As I drag Carson through the throng of students in the dining hall, I briefly consider whether Carson even believes in the locker room rumor. Surely not. I’m as superstitious as they come, growing up in a prominent baseball house, superstitions are nothing to joke about, but sex in a locker room? I’m not sure I can truly believe that . . . or get on board with the idea. Not that Carson would invite me.

  I’m getting way ahead of myself.