“Jesus, fuck,” Carson says, dragging his hand down his face.

  I snort, very unattractively but oh my God, I think Carson is in for a world of teasing pain.

  Jason and Romeo hop up on the counter with Gunner and they loop their arms over each other’s shoulders, a band of brothers, who I’m going to assume all like the same kind of pickle.

  “Milly, coach of THE Carson Stone, the only lover of sweet pickles in the loft, please step up on a chair,” Gunner says, motioning to one of the stools next to the island.

  “Fuck off, she’s not getting on—”

  I step up onto the stool as all the guys hoot and holler their appreciation. Clearly, I want to gain their approval. I have brothers, I know how this works.

  “Milly.” Carson tugs on my arm, but I ignore him.

  “Look at this fine specimen,” Gunner continues. “Well-educated in the art of baseball, has the prettiest head of hair in this here space.” I blush. “Legs for days, a chest that—”

  “Get the fuck on with it,” Carson snarls next to me.

  Gunner clears his throat. “Milly, with pride and emotion, please puff your gorgeous chest—”

  “I will murder you.”

  The guys all laugh and Gunner continues, “Please puff your chest and announce to the room your favorite kind of pickle.”

  Carson tugs on my hand again and says, “You don’t have to do this.”

  I bend down, cup his cheek, and give him a chaste kiss. “Oh, but I want to.” I stand back up, flip my braids over my shoulders and with a loud, boisterous voice—my umpire voice—I shout, “Polish dill.”

  The room erupts in laughter, I hear a few cries of “Yes, Polish dill”, and Carson brings his head to his hands. The guys playfully push him around, rag on him, and give me high-fives as I get down off the stool.

  I wrap my arms around Carson’s waist and press a kiss to his chest. Thankfully, he doesn’t take my announcement to heart and brings his strong arms around me.

  Whispering in my ear he says, “That was sexy as shit, but I’m going to make you pay for that later.”

  I can’t wait.

  * * *

  The baseball players have it made. They’ve created a legacy here at Brentwood, which has led to pretty impressive digs. It’s why I’m sitting on a comfy outdoor couch on the rooftop of the loft, swaddled in Carson’s embrace with a giant bowl of M&M’s split between Carson, Romeo, Jason, and me. Gunner has a final tomorrow and chose to stay in his room for the rest of his night. Responsible.

  There’s a light breeze coming from the nearby lake and faint music of today’s hits playing in the background. Currently Billie Eilish’s “Bad Guy” is bumping through the wireless speaker. Twinkle lights hang above us, and the conversation of baseball surrounds us.

  “Sorry, we must be boring you,” Jason says, after they ran through the competition for the upcoming run for the college baseball World Series. The college baseball season is an odd one and extends past the school year, the regular season not ending until the end of May with regionals picking up at the beginning of June.

  Carson chuckles. “Are you kidding me, she’s probably in heaven right now, aren’t you?”

  Shamelessly, I nod. “Yes, I am but I have to say, I believe you’re underestimating the strength behind Fairfax’s bats. Their pitching is average, they can pull together some outs in the right moments, but they do give up a lot of hits. What you should fear is their ability to string together multiple doubles in a row. Looking back at their season, they have a fifty percent chance of winning a game by multiple double innings. Their lineup is lethal.”

  The guys are silent and they all exchange glances. Romeo is the first to speak when he says, “Shit, I think I just got a boner.” He shifts in his seat, adjusting himself as Carson throws an M&M at him.

  “Jesus, dude.”

  “What?” He shrugs. “That was really hot. Coach Disik should hire you.”

  “I told her that too,” Carson agrees, but I just laugh.

  “You guys are sweet, but Brentwood baseball is a boys’ club, always has been, always will be with Disik at the helm.”

  “He does tend to hate women,” Jason says. “Remember last year when he told Gentry to break up with his girl? He gave Holt the same speech. He thinks women are a distraction.” Jason laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I know Disik would never hire Milly even if she’s valuable to the team. He would be too worried about all the guys trying to hit on her.”

  “Huh,” Carson says behind me. “I didn’t think about that. Yeah, they’re a bunch of horny bastards. I wouldn’t trust them not to hit on you, especially after you strike them out with your killer change-up.”

  “Which I’m still waiting to see,” Jason says, popping an M&M in his mouth. He’s been picking out the peanut ones, while I’ve been searching for the caramel, occasionally getting surprised by a pretzel M&M. “When are you going to let her pitch to us?”

  “Have you been asking?” I ask and then turn to Carson who looks guilty.

  “Listen, I wanted to keep you to myself. Is that such a bad thing?”

  “Yeah, when your boys want a challenge.” Romeo pops up from the couch. “Let’s grab the stickball and go to the basketball court.”

  “Yeah,” Jason says, standing as well while stretching out his wrists. “Let’s see what this coach has.”

  Carson stiffens behind me. “You guys, it’s late and—”

  “I’d love to.” I smile and pat Carson on the cheek before following them back into the loft, Carson grumbling behind me the entire time. I always love a good challenge.

  * * *

  “Let’s go, Milly.” Clap, clap . . . clap, clap, clap.

  The boys chant together as I have two strikes on Carson, a line of them already taken out by my slider and change-up.

  Looking very serious, Carson stares at the broken-off broomstick in his hands and then back at me, his light blue eyes blazing at me. My heart flips in my chest as adrenaline pumps through my veins.

  Once news spread that we were heading to the loft’s basketball court, the boys all gathered, lined up, and took their shot at hitting against me.

  I’ve struck out every one of them, but to their defense, I’m standing pretty close and they’re trying to hit a tennis ball with a broomstick—which I’m sure feels like a toothpick in their hands. Stickball is no joke and only the best of the best can get a hit.

  “Two balls, two strikes,” Romeo calls out. “There’s fatigue in Coach’s arm, but there’s also determination to strike out the guy she calls her man.” Romeo and Jason both commentate, holding fake microphones to their mouths. “I don’t know if she has what it takes to deposit one more strike, especially against the team’s blue-eyed dreamboat.”

  Cutting in, Jason says, “She’s going to have to really dig deep, but there’s a chance. Look at the sweat on Stone’s brow, the nervous shiver in his panties—”

  “Fuck. Off,” Carson says, making all the guys laugh, even me.

  “He’s nervous, scared, intimidated by the five-foot-three ball of power on the mound.”

  “Five four,” I say.

  “I stand corrected. Pop one more inch on her and now she’s a true menace out there.” Romeo leans in. “Only time will tell who will win this battle. Quiet on the field.”

  Everyone hushes. I focus on the freshman’s glove, as Carson’s tall stature stands in the box, his forearms flexing, his eyes fixed on me.

  I’ve been in this position many times. Face to face with Carson’s serious zeroing in. The focus, the intention in his body to put everything behind one powerful swing. I know his weaknesses by now and he knows mine. We’ve practiced so many times together that at this point, I’m surprised he hasn’t been able to hit the ball off me tonight. Then again, I’m throwing with more speed than I usually do, which will only lead to ugly pain tomorrow, but I’m ready to take it on, to become a part of the group of men surrounding us.

  I get into my pitching stance. I glance at the guys who have huge smiles on their faces, and then focus back on the mitt. I’ve thrown two sliders in a row, so he’s expecting a change-up. It would be a classic move, to throw him off balance, but he knows that’s what’s coming, so he’ll have his hands locked, waiting for the off-speed ball. I need to get him where it counts.

  Sending a mental apology to the freshman behind the plate, who has no idea what I’m throwing, I split my fingers over the seams and chuck a fastball in the top right of the strike zone, completely freezing Carson.

  The “umpire,” also known as Gunner, bellows out a loud strike and makes a show of punching Carson out as all the guys rush the mound and hoist me over their shoulders, chanting my name and making a spectacle. Worried because I struck out my boyfriend in front of all his guys, I wince when I go to take him in. But instead of being greeted with anger, Carson, with the “bat” hanging over his shoulders and a huge smile on his face, has pride rolling off him in waves.

  He gives me a wink and then watches as the guys praise my pitching and troll Carson relentlessly.

  And of course, he takes it like a champ.

  * * *

  Teeth brushed and ready for bed, I slip into Carson’s cool sheets and welcoming arms. He pulls me tight into his embrace and I rest my cheek and hand on his bare chest, hearing his heartbeat beneath me.

  It’s late, later than expected, and I’m just about ready to pass out. After hours of the guys taking their turn at trying to strike me out—Gunner was the only one I couldn’t get a stick on his pitch—we retired for the night. But it was a challenge getting to where we are right now. The boys begged for one more shot, asked for another chance to hit against me, but Carson finally stepped in and took charge, shutting everyone down.

  He tossed me over his shoulder and took me to his room. He gave me a shirt to sleep in, gave me a spare toothbrush and a washcloth, and let me get ready for bed after he did. Now I’m snuggled into his warmth with my eyes closed and ready to pass out.

  “I’m exhausted.”

  “I bet,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “Needless to say, the guys really like you. You totally earned their approval tonight.”

  “You think?”

  “Without a doubt. I’d be surprised if they don’t try to stake claim on you tomorrow if I fuck things up with you.”

  “Oh, you think I have my pick of any of them?” I playfully tap my chin, pretending to think long and hard about it. “Let’s see. Who would I want to be with? Well, Romeo has quite the reputation of treating the ladies well, and Orson, well, who can get over those catcher’s thighs? And then Gunner, just seeing him grip the ball does all sort of things to me.”

  Silence.

  Chuckling, I turn in his arms and face him. His brow is pinched together and he has an unamused expression. I press my finger between his brow. “You know you’re the only one I really want.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt you to say it every now and again.”

  Laughing, I grip his sides, his steel muscles flexing beneath my touch. “You’re all the man I will ever need, Carson.”

  “And the other guys are mere peasants compared to me.”

  “They shouldn’t even be in the same ballpark as you.”

  “And their penises are tiny.”

  I groan, of course. It always comes down to the penis with guys. “I can’t agree with that, I haven’t seen their penises, or yours for that matter.”

  “We can change that.” He squeezes my backside. “Want me to take my briefs off so you can stare at it?”

  “As appealing and magical as that seems—a total opportunity—I’m going to pass. I don’t want to examine your penis with tired eyes.”

  “That would be a huge mistake, letting you go all in without a sharp perspective. Good call.” He pulls me in tighter and nuzzles his chin on my shoulder. “Thank you for coming over and getting to know the guys. It was probably intimidating.”

  “A little. I was really nervous at first, but it felt like I fell right into step with them. And hey, I’m sorry about the whole pickle debacle.”

  “No, you’re not.” He laughs, his minty breath heavy against my skin. “I actually think you took great pleasure in busting all of our balls tonight. It started with the pickles and it ended with showing us up at stickball. Your swing is actually pretty incredible.”

  “Thanks. I mean, it’s not amazing, but it can get the job done, and I figured if I’m going to teach I should at least have a decent swing. Practicing with my brothers was one of my favorite things.”

  “And yet you didn’t play softball. It’s still so weird to me.”

  I shrug. “I was passionate about baseball. What I really wanted was to play with the boys, but my high school wouldn’t allow it, no matter how good I was. Kind of shitty.”

  “Kind of? If you want to hang with the guys, why not?”

  “Because girls have softball. If I wanted to play the sport then I was told to try out for the softball team. And don’t get me wrong, softball players are badass. If you make one mistake, the other team can gain a mile. And the game is so quick and fast-paced. But the two sports are different, and I’ve always been into baseball more. It’s weird, I know.”

  “No, I get it. I really do. The mechanics are different especially when hitting. In baseball, the pitcher’s arm is falling down, creating a different spin. With softball, they work the up and the down, the left and the right, there’s a different perspective, and if you wanted to be an expert in one, might as well choose the one you love the most.”

  I sigh. “That’s why I like you so much. You get me.”

  “You like me sooooo much?” he teases.

  “Maybe, yeah.” Thankfully my back is to his chest so he can’t see my blush. “What about you? Do you like me sooooo much?”

  “Hmm.” He thinks about it like a jerk and when I elbow him, he laughs and kisses my shoulder. “Yeah, I like you sooooo much. You’re one of a kind, Milly, and you’re all mine.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  CARSON

  “Will you stop fidgeting? Jesus Christ, you’re driving me nuts,” Jason says as we make our way to the Brentwood baseball stadium.

  We just graduated.

  We weren’t handed our actual degrees but we’ll slip the actual piece of paper in the fancy, pillowed folder later when it comes in the mail.

  Now, I’m going to meet Milly’s family.

  And . . . I’m nervous as shit.

  I didn’t even want to walk today; it felt stupid since I didn’t have anyone there to watch me. Dad couldn’t get the time off, and I understand. I’ve always understood when it comes to my dad’s work schedule. I’m just hoping he can start to slow down now I’m out of college and will hopefully be drafted soon.

  I promised him the first thing I’d buy with my signing bonus is a new truck for him. He told me not to be frivolous and to put it into savings, but there’s no way. My dad drives a rusted old Chevy on its last cylinder. When I was back home during Christmas break, we spent an entire day trying to get the clunker to start working, to last a few more years as my dad put it.

  After everything he’s done for me, everything he’s sacrificed, he deserves a new truck, and I want to be the one who gives it to him.

  Jason took some pictures for me in my cap and gown, and I sent them to my dad, letting him know I love him and that I received the care package from him. It was full of hot sauce from our hometown in Kansas and some cookies from Mrs. Wethering across the street. The lady is super nice but her cookies leave much to be desired. I really think she mistakes salt for sugar most of the time.

  I’m still waiting to hear back from Dad. I asked Jason to walk me to the meeting point, because I’m a chickenshit. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.

  Scratch that, I do.

  This is the first time I’ve ever met my girlfriend’s family. I have zero practice where this is concerned and since it’s such a huge baseball family, I’m nervous they might not think I’m good enough for their daughter. Hell, Cory Potter is the family superstar. That’s some pretty huge talent to live up to.

  And Cory won’t be there. I already asked and checked his schedule. He has a game in Pittsburgh tonight.

  Kind of glad, because I’d feel so intimidated. Happy as shit, but intimidated.

  “Do I look nervous? I feel nervous.”

  “Yeah, you look like an idiot, so stop touching your collar.” Jason swats at my hand. “They’re just people.”

  “People I want to like me.”

  “Please, one look at those baby blues and they’re not going to be able to resist you.”

  “Thanks,” I deadpan. “Nothing you want to say about my personality?”

  “Yeah, actually.” I perk up. “Don’t show it, or you’ll come off like a real douche.”

  I hate him.

  “You’re such a pleasure to be around,” I say just as I hear my name being called out.

  I turn to see my girl running toward me, her gown flapping in the wind and her hand clutched to her cap. Her hair is curled, and she has slightly more makeup on than I’ve seen before. Same gorgeous smile with irresistible dimples, same passionate sparkle in her eyes.

  “Ahh, we did it.” She jumps into my arms and her legs wrap around my waist as I grab her. She presses her lips against mine and then pulls back, joy pouring out of her. “Oh, you look hot in your gown.”

  “Ah, this old thing,” I say, pulling on the collar. “Just pulled it out of the closet this morning.”

  “Jesus Christ, you’re lame.” Jason drags a hand over his face as Milly climbs down my body. She walks over to Jason and pulls him into a hug as well.

  “Congratulations, Jason. You look very handsome too.”