Once outside, Carson slows me down, yanks on my arm, and presses me against the brick wall of the dining hall, so we’re not in the middle of the walkway.

  “That was fun,” he says, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss across my lips. When he pulls away, he tugs on one of my French braids and says, “I like it when you wear your hair like this.”

  I pull on the brim of his hat and say, “I like when you wear hats, because your eyes shine brightly under the brim.”

  “Are we flirting with each other?” he asks, a giant grin spreading across his face.

  “I think we are. Are you okay with that?”

  “More than okay.” His lips connect with mine, soft and patient. There’s no aggressiveness to his kiss, not like last night when he couldn’t get enough. This go-around, he’s taking his time, exploring to the point that my muscles begin to turn into mush and my heart begins to hammer so hard in my chest that I have to pull away to catch my breath.

  He keeps his head close so I can feel the smile on his lips. “You taste so good. I should have been doing this a long time ago.”

  “If you did this a while ago, you never would have fixed your swing. You would have been too busy trying to count my teeth with your tongue.”

  “Nah, I would have wanted to impress you. I would have fixed my swing, but I wouldn’t have parted so easily after we were done practicing.”

  “Are you saying you can concentrate in the cages and not get distracted by touching me?”

  “Hell yeah. When it comes to baseball, I’m all business, Coach.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say skeptically. “Do you want to practice tonight?”

  “Are you challenging me?”

  “I might be.” I press a chaste kiss across his lips then step aside, leaving him with both hands pinned against the wall and looking over his shoulder. “Cages tonight, after your practice?”

  “I’ll text you. Bring some electrolytes, we’ll be working our asses off.”

  “We . . . or you?” I give him a quick wave then take off toward the main campus, but not before he calls out my name.

  I turn to see him with his arms spread and a cocky grin on his face. “No goodbye kiss?”

  Walking backward, I say, “You already took enough this morning. See you later, Stone.”

  Pleased with myself, I pull my phone from my pocket to text my brother just as a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist and spin me around.

  My breath knocked from my lungs, I glance up to see Carson lowering his head to mine. Then his mouth is claiming mine in the middle of the walkway just outside the dining hall.

  If anyone was questioning our relationship, they’ll have no questions now.

  His mouth covers mine in hungry nips and languid strokes. My hands fall to the back of his neck as he grips the base of my spine, just above the swell of my ass. He holds me in place, groans when my tongue slips past his lips and quickly pulls away.

  On my tippy-toes, I rest my forehead against his and grip his cheeks. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Let me walk you to your class.”

  “Don’t you need to eat and get to class yourself?”

  “Nah, came to see you, and then I’m going to get a quick run in.” He releases me and slides his hand into mine. He brings our connection to his lips and presses them softly against my knuckles. “Come on.”

  And just like that, Carson walks me to my class. My stomach swirls with joy and wonder that this man is completely and utterly infatuated with me. Even more incredible? Carson Stone is holding my hand. Holding my hand.

  * * *

  Milly: I know you can’t talk right now, but I have to tell you something.

  Cory: Getting my muscles unknotted. I might cry soon. They’re using the devil’s tools on me. What’s up, sis? Did you finally finish your proposal for the boys?

  Milly: No, still working on that, coming close to finishing though.

  Cory: Good. Once it’s finished, send it to me and I’ll look it over. Do you need more leggings?

  Milly: No! OMG, my dorm room is flooded in leggings. I have every color ever made. I’m good. Thank you.

  Cory: Just making sure you’re all set. Did you get the bike shorts too? Cheryl said they’re comfy.

  Milly: They’re really short, like, barely cover my butt short . . . Huh, maybe I’ll wear them today.

  Cory: Please don’t be showing your ass off.

  Milly: We’re getting off topic. I have something huge to tell you.

  Cory: I’m all ears.

  Milly: Carson kissed me last night, like a lot, and now we’re dating.

  Cory: . . .

  Cory: . . .

  Cory: WHAT?!

  Cory: Wait, seriously?

  Cory: Carson, the guy you’ve pretended not to crush on kissed you? Wait . . . did he hold your hand?

  Milly: He did, and I cried.

  Cory: Ah, Mills. Fuck, I love you so much. I wish I could call you right now, but I’d be grunting in pain the entire time and that would be awkward. He finally got a clue and realized my sister is fucking amazing.

  Milly: Honestly, I didn’t believe him at first. I was quite clueless, but yeah . . . he really likes me and has for a while now.

  Cory: I have a huge smile on my face. That’s great. I’m really happy for you, and he’s a smart man for asking you out. You’re keeping things exclusive, right?

  Milly: Yeah, his idea. Seems like he’s all in.

  Cory: He better be. You’re a catch and he’s lucky to have you.

  Milly: I’m lucky too. He’s really sweet and funny and attentive.

  Cory: Damn, Mills. You’re totally crushing on him.

  Milly: Guilty. I like him a lot.

  Cory: I could tell when you first started working with him, but I let you figure it out on your own. I do have a serious question though.

  Milly: We haven’t had sex.

  Cory: That was not my question, and Jesus, don’t talk to me about that shit.

  Milly: LOL. Sorry. What’s your question?

  Cory: The World Series, if we were playing against each other, whose jersey would you wear?

  Milly: What is with you two? He asked me a similar question but I’m not answering this one.

  Cory: I demand an answer.

  Milly: That’s cute . . . not going to happen.

  * * *

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “What?” I ask innocently, batting my eyelashes as I pick up a ball and toss it in my hand.

  With his bat, he points at my smooth legs and says, “What the fuck are those shorts?”

  “These?” I glance down at the bike shorts that barely slip past my butt and then back at him. “Cory sent me some new things. These are super comfortable. Do you not like them?” I give him a quick spin.

  His eyes bulge. “Do I not like them? You don’t wear things like that, Milly.”

  Aaaand, the confidence I had putting these on vanishes. I know I dress a little more conservatively and might not wear a bunch of makeup or curl my hair, but I do sometimes. On those rare occasions, I always feel a tad self-conscious, like someone is going to mock my attempt at being more girly.

  Like Carson just did.

  My face falls flat and I stare down at the ground, unsure what to do. “Uh, maybe I should go change then, we can pick this up tomorrow.” I toss the ball I’m holding at the bucket and sink it.

  When I attempt to walk past Carson, he catches me by the waist and stops me.

  “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean to make you upset when I said that. I only meant, you don’t normally wear shorts this short, which means you’re going to distract me for this entire practice.” The hand not holding the bat falls to the base of my spine and spans slightly over my rear end. “You have a great ass, Milly.”

  It’s hard to stay upset when he says things like that.

  “I do squats,” I say awkwardly.

  He chuckles and says, “I can tell.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head and lingers for a few seconds. “Did you wear those on purpose? To challenge me?”

  “I wouldn’t wear them for any other reason. I saw an opportunity to prove you wrong and I took it.”

  “Testing my will. You are one good fucking coach. But I’m much stronger than you think.”

  “Okay,” I say casually, feeling better when I step away and Carson’s eyes immediately fall to my legs. I chose these shorts along with a tighter-fitting T-shirt and clearly kept my hair in braids since he likes them so much, but I wasn’t counting on this reaction.

  I move to the tee and say, “Are you already warm from practice? Did you do your tee work?”

  His eyes snap up to mine—caught staring. Winning. “Uh, yeah, we fielded grounders.”

  “What?” I ask, laughing. “I asked if you did tee work.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Isn’t that what I said?”

  “No. You told me you fielded grounders.”

  He nods slowly, his eyes scanning me. “Yup, we did all the things.” His voice is lazy and drawled out.

  “Oh my God.” I roll eyes and go to my backpack where I pull out a pair of warm-up pants and start to slip them up.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  “As much fun as this is, I need you to focus. You’re in the second half of your season. We need to make sure everything about your swing is perfect.”

  “Or”—he says, taking a step forward just as I pull the pants up to my waist—“we can play strip baseball. Every solid hit I make off your slider, you take a piece of clothing off.”

  I reach out and pat this cheek. “It’s cute how delusional you are. I am not taking any clothes off in a public place.”

  “What does it matter? You were practically naked in those shorts.”

  “Oh yeah? Is that right? I didn’t know I was practically naked.” I clutch my heart. “How humiliating. Do you think everyone saw my privates?”

  His brow creases and his lips flatten. “I don’t see how this is a funny matter.”

  I push his face away with my palm and point to the tee. “Get to work, Stone. If you have a good practice, I might let you come up to my dorm afterward. We can order pizza and watch Friends.”

  “Now that has my attention.” He taps me on the side with his bat. “Let’s get to work, Coach.”

  * * *

  Pizza is ordered.

  Carson took the quickest shower known to man.

  And I changed back into the bike shorts, because Carson begged.

  I shut the door to my dorm room and set my backpack down as Carson flings his large body onto my bed. His long legs stretch a few inches past the mattress, his shoes dangling off his feet, his backpack is tossed on the floor, and his partially wet hair makes a wet spot on my pillow, but I couldn’t care less. Having him here, in my room, stretched across my bed means more to me than any mess he might make.

  “Make yourself at home,” I joke.

  But he takes me seriously and kicks off his shoes and then reaches over his head and pulls his shirt off, tossing it on the floor next to the bed.

  Uhh . . .

  Wow.

  I mean . . . WOW.

  I’ve seen glimpses here and there of Carson’s abs when he lifts his shirt to wipe his brow, but I’ve never seen his entire naked chest.

  It’s, uh . . . it’s really chiseled. His pecs alone are something to marvel at, but the way the muscle wraps up around to his collarbone and then his shoulders to his . . . oh God, look at his arms. Bulgy and carved. Those arms have held me, tightly. They’ve captured me, made me feel safe.

  And then there’s the V in his waist, so narrow that his sweats are actually lifted off his waistline, allowing his white boxer briefs to make an appearance. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more sexy, and seeing him like that is firing up the temperature in my body.

  “Get a good look, Milly?” He puts his hands behind his head, and I swear, every muscle in his chest flexes.

  Hand on my hip, I say, “So you can stare at my legs but I can’t take in the goods?”

  “Never said that.” He smirks. “Just wanted to make sure you got a good fill or if you need me to stand and flex for you.”

  “It’s really not necessary.” I reach into my dresser, grab some clothes, and then head into my bathroom where I quickly change. I can play that game too.

  Growing up with three brothers made me incredibly competitive, which means I never back down from a challenge, and Carson taking his shirt off was him throwing down the gauntlet.

  I quickly freshen up, put on a pair of cheekies, chuck my bra, and slip on a camisole that I usually wear under shirts. I let my hair out of the braids, spray my fingers with some nice-smelling hairspray and makes the waves in my hair less frizzy and more pieced out, like I just came from the beach. Learned that one from a YouTuber.

  Happy with my look, I take a deep breath and casually walk back into the room. Carson’s staring at the TV but the minute his eyes focus on me, they darken at least three shades. He sits up on his elbows, taking me all in.

  I pretend not to notice and start working my way around my room, putting things away, grabbing drinks for us, and getting plates ready for when the pizza will be here, which will be in forty-five minutes.

  Even though I’m busying myself, trying to stay away from the bed as much as possible, it’s a demanding task, because I can feel his heated gaze igniting every inch of my skin.

  And when I bend over, ass in his direction to pick something up, he grunts and shifts on the bed. I might be an amateur when it comes to seduction but there is one thing I do know: guys like skin and lots of it, so the more I show it off, the better.

  I place the pen that was on the ground back on my desk and in the process, shimmy my camisole down so when I turn around, Carson gets nothing but cleavage in his view.

  “Does Disik have anything special planned for your last game of the season?” I ask, sitting on my desk and crossing my leg.

  “Are you really going to try and have a conversation looking sexy as fuck?”

  I take in my outfit and give him a confused look. “This is just what I wear to bed.”

  “Bull . . . shit.” He angles his finger in my direction and makes a come here motion. “Get your ass on this bed right now, Potter.”

  “I don’t respond well to demands.” I cross my arms over my chest, hopefully hiding how hard my nipples are . . . but accentuating my cleavage. Just because . . .

  “Don’t make me manhandle you. I will come over there and pick you up. Do you want to make this easy or hard?”

  Oddly, having him pick me up sounds appealing, but I don’t risk it and hop off the desk, slowly making my way toward the bed. The entire time his eyes are traveling up and down my body.

  My workouts in the training room seem to be paying off from the heat in Carson’s eyes.

  He makes no attempt to scoot to the other side of the bed, but instead stays dead center giving me little to no space against his broad body.

  “Are you going to scoot over?”

  “Nope,” he answers with a cocky attitude. “I don’t want any space between us with what I have planned.”

  I sit on the very edge. “Oh yeah? And what exactly do you have planned?”

  He pulls me down onto the bed so we’re sharing a pillow. “Lots of touching.” His large hand falls to my hip and his thumb curls up the edge of my shirt.

  I clear my throat and pretend not to be affected by the smooth and simple placement of his hand. “I had other plans.”

  “Oh yeah? Does it involve us naked?”

  “No.” I laugh. “I want to play a game.”

  His eyes are lazy and seductive when he says, “Yeah, I like my idea better.”

  “What if I tell you my game involves touching as well? Does that interest you more?”

  He perks up. “I’m listening.”

  Such a guy. I don’t know why I expected anything different.

  “Okay, how about for every question we answer from each other, we get to touch something.”

  “Something?” He chuckles. “How romantic.”

  I push at his chest. “You know what I mean. Light caresses, exploration, getting to know each other physically and mentally.”

  “Uh-huh. And how far are we allowed to touch?”

  “Good question.” I bonk his nose, making him chuckle. “Above the clothes only.”

  “What? That’s bullshit. No way. I’m not even wearing a shirt, so how’s that fair?”

  “Any exposed skin is up for grabs, anything under clothing can only be touched with the layer of fabric in between. It’s not my fault you were overzealous with ripping your shirt off.”

  “With the way you ate up my body with your eyes, I’m guessing it wasn’t a hardship on your end.”

  My cheeks flame.

  “You know, it’s really fucking adorable how embarrassed you get. There are moments when you put up a front and I see courage in your cute, little body, and then there are moments like now where you’re so shy. I like it a lot.”

  Not sure what to say to that. “So, do you want to play?”

  “A game where I can touch you—even if it’s over fabric—I’ll take it.” His thumb strokes my hip and I already know this game is going to be glorious torture. “Can I start?”

  “Since you’re already touching me, I’m going to say yes.”

  He tightens his hold on me. “This right here, gripping your hip, this is boyfriend rights, not part of the game.”

  “Are you making up your own rules now?”

  “Nope.” He shakes his head. “Universal rules, ask anyone.”

  Playing along, I say, “Fine, you start.”

  His hand slips higher up my shirt and I stop him. “Hey, question first and above the clothes. Don’t make me sit back on the desk.”

  “You wouldn’t,” he says with an obnoxious and affronted tone. So dramatic.

  “I would; don’t test me, Stone.”

  “Brutal.” He removes his hand and brings it between us, keeping a small distance. “Is your name short for anything?”

  “Mildred Marie Potter. I’m named after my grandma. No one ever calls me Mildred though, not even my family. Well, besides Cory.”