“There really is only one,” I say, even though, there are two but who really likes the Chicago Rebels anyway? It’s all about the Bobbies.

  “Hey, what if the Rebels draft me? That’s a tough pill you’re going to have to swallow.”

  I cringe. “I can’t even imagine wearing a Rebels shirt. Seriously, I don’t know if it could happen. That’s my worst nightmare.”

  “That’s your worst nightmare?” he asks, brows raised. “That seems like quite the exaggeration.”

  “I hate the Rebels. Absolutely hate them. They are so trashy with their long hair and beards and loose jerseys. Ugh, gross, no one likes them.”

  “Eh, their millions of fans beg to differ.”

  “They’re classless. They get a single and practically high-five each other with their penises. It’s absurd. They celebrate over the smallest things and make a show of it. How about you get a hit and then turn to your coach to see what’s next? No need to wave your hands to encourage the crowds or pump your chest or raise your fist to the air like you just won the World Series. It’s a single, get a life.”

  He chuckles. “What if I told you they’ve been looking at me?”

  I pause, my heart flipping in my chest. “What? Who told you that? That’s not what the reports have been saying? They haven’t even been in the mix, as they have Vlad at second with a heavy presence in their minor system at that position. They’re set. Seriously, who told you that? Disik? Has he been talking to scouts? Oh my God, no, you can’t be drafted by the Rebels. It can’t happen. Seriously. Was it an analyst on SportsCenter? Tell me who. Was it Alex Rodriquez? He’s great with play-by-play but he does conjure up some far-fetched ideas. Nick Swisher, was it him? Oh God, please don’t tell me it was Swisher, because he’s been right about other drafts.” I bring my hand to my eyes and peek through my fingers. “Was it him?”

  “Slow down.” Carson presses his hand to my chest and chuckles. “I was kidding.”

  “Excuse me?” I sit up and scramble away from him, blocking my naked body with the blankets. “You were kidding?”

  “Coach.”

  “Oh, don’t you dare Coach me right now. You’re telling me you were kidding, no one even mentioned the Rebels when it comes to being drafted?”

  “No, but—”

  I point to the door. “Leave. Leave right this very second. You are no longer allowed in this apartment.”

  Apparently, he doesn’t think I’m serious because he pulls on my legs from under the covers and brings me in close to him again. He lays his heavy, muscular body on top of me and nuzzles my neck.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  I tell myself to not fall for his sweet kisses, or for the way he makes my body hum with a simple touch.

  “I . . . mean . . . every . . . bit,” I answer between gasps as he nips at my breasts, which he just so happened to uncover with one swift shift of the blankets.

  “Mm-hmm.” His fingers find my pussy and he dips inside, stroking me and feeling how easily he affects me. “Your body is telling me otherwise.”

  “My body and I are fighting right now. It’s still attracted to you but my mind . . . that wants you out of here.”

  “You’re such a goddamn liar.” He laughs and lifts up to my mouth, where he claims my lips, dipping his tongue inside, while pushing his fingers inside me . . . and just like that, my legs fall open and my back arches, pressing my breasts into his chest. “You’re so goddamn hot when you’re mad.”

  “Really mad. I’m so mad at you.”

  “I get that and it makes me happy. I want you mad more often if it gets this kind of reaction out of you.”

  “I highly suggest you don’t—oh fuck, Carson.” He presses his thumb against my clit. “Don’t . . . oh Jesus, right there, more. I need more.”

  He laughs against my skin and continues to ruin me for every other man in the world. I want to be mad at him, but there is no way I’ll ever resist this man, not when he makes me feel so damn good, so desirable . . . so loved.

  * * *

  “Milly, over here,” Jason calls out from the dugout. “Milly.” He waves me over.

  I glance around quickly and then stand from my seat and go to him, where he’s beckoning me with two fingers through the small crack between the concrete dugout and the stands.

  “What’s up?” I whisper.

  He points toward the announcer booth and says, “Go up there, knock on the door, and tell them you’re Milly Potter. They’re waiting for you.”

  “What do you mean they’re waiting for me?” I look out on the field where all the players are warming up and Disik is hitting balls to the infielders.

  “For the love of God, don’t ask questions, just go, okay?”

  He fixes his catcher’s mask on his head and then takes off toward the bullpen. That wasn’t evasive at all.

  When I check the field again, Carson’s attention is zeroed in on the game, so he didn’t see the interaction. It’s not like I could silently communicate with him what that was all about. I walk back to my seat where Jerry and Shane are both staring at me, looking for answers.

  “What was that about?”

  “Um, I’m supposed to go to the announcer’s booth. It seems they’re waiting for me?”

  “Bet it has to do with the last game ceremonies. Carson is technically the only senior, so I’m sure they have something special planned for him.”

  Oh. Why didn’t I think of that? Of course they’ll have some sort of pomp and circumstance organized for Carson’s last regular season game at Brentwood.

  “Watch my bag for me?”

  “Sure,” Jerry says, “but I can’t promise you there’ll be peanuts when you get back.”

  I’d be shocked if there were.

  Shane and Jerry maul my peanut stash at every game and usually tap the bag dry before the first pitch is thrown. They even found out about my secret stash that I hide in the pocket of my bag, so there’s no hope where my peanut consumption is concerned for today.

  Not that I can really worry about that right now.

  Nervous for what’s planned and why I’m involved, I quickly make my way to the announcer’s booth where I knock on the door loudly since the pre-game music is blasting through the speakers. The door opens and a woman with a clipboard in hand answers. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I was told to come up here and tell you my name is Milly Potter.”

  Her face lights up and she opens the door widely. “Yes, Milly. We’re so glad you could make it, come in.”

  I step inside and take in the small space. Computers are lined up on the counter facing the field, plush desk chairs are behind the computers, and there are stats all over the desk and walls. Did I just step into heaven?

  Mesmerized, I don’t spot the legendary David O’Hare until he calls out the rules of the field in his deep and familiar tone. It’s unreal standing behind him, watching him be the voice of Brentwood.

  Hands clasped together, a huge smile on my face, I try to reel in my excitement. “I’m sorry to sound clueless, but I really have no idea what’s happening right now.”

  “That’s totally okay. We caught you by surprise. When we heard Carson wouldn’t have any family here at his last regular season game, we asked Jason who he thought could represent his family, and he told us you’re Carson’s girlfriend and the reason he found his swing again.”

  My cheeks heat. “He found his swing himself. I just guided him.”

  “Either way, we would love for you to be part of the thank-you ceremonies. Would you be comfortable with that?”

  “What would I do?”

  “Hand him a plaque. Jason and Romeo are handing him a framed jersey, and Disik is giving him a wooden bat signed by the whole team.”

  He’s going to love those gifts.

  “I mean, if you want me there, sure,” I answer, feeling a little out of place. Yeah, I’ve known Carson for almost the entire season and we’ve been dating for a little while now, but handing him a plaque seems like a big deal. Then again, he took me to the locker room . . . so . . . I guess this is the next step toward our future, right? Being a part of his last game ceremonies?

  “It will be nice. We know Carson’s dad works hard and tried his hardest to get here, but he couldn’t get the time off. He also told us there’s been a girl Carson’s been talking about. He couldn’t remember your name but suggested I asked one of the boys.”

  Carson’s talked to his dad about me? I had no idea, but the thought makes my stomach flip in all different kinds of directions.

  “Well, if you think it would be a good idea, I’m in.” I take in my short denim shorts, Brentwood baseball tank, and say while pulling on the brim of my hat, “Uh, am I dressed okay? If I’d have known, I could have put on something nicer.”

  “What you have on is absolutely perfect.” She gives me a pat on the shoulder and then gets back to work.

  For the next ten minutes, I’m walked through the ceremony, where to stand and what to say. Then I’m surprised when Maria—the lady with the clipboard—says, “And then we play the video from your brother.”

  “Uh, excuse me. Did you say video from my brother?”

  Maria nods, eyes focused on her clipboard. “Yes, he sent us a video of congratulations and good luck for the team in regionals.”

  Why does Cory have to make me love him even more? It’s so not fair. I’ll never do enough to match his kind gestures, but I make a mental note to send him a text after the ceremony and tell him how much his message meant to everyone, because I’m sure it’s going to stagger Carson. At my family’s graduation dinner, I noticed—and was highly amused by—Carson’s awe-filled reaction to meeting Cory. And then as the evening progressed, how he just seemed to fit in. I knew he was a little on the crazy side already, the goofball, but I hadn’t realized how important bantering back and forth with my dad and brothers was to know I want a future with someone. No doubt he envies our family’s close relationship, but I hope he understands that the Potter family welcomed him into the fold that night. They love him. This day is going to be amazing.

  Before I know it, the ceremony is starting, and I’m waiting behind the scenes with the plaque in hand and nervousness in my veins. I’ve never been in front of such a big crowd before, and I’m pretty sure this is the first time we’re making a statement about our relationship. Locker room chasers are going to hate my guts after this.

  Oh well . . . sorry, not sorry, ladies. He’s mine.

  I tune into David’s voice as he speaks about Carson’s many accomplishments since he’s been at Brentwood, his dedication to the team, the game, his injury, and his comeback. David also talks about the teams interested in him with the upcoming draft and his potential for being picked early. The crowd cheers boisterously when they announce the Bobbies interest, which if it comes to pass, would be amazing because Carson could reunite the bromance with Knox Gentry, his best friend. The Storm, Cory’s team, also announced their interest. That’s something I could be happy with as well, my brother and boyfriend playing on the same team. I could be really, really happy with that.

  “To honor Carson’s time at Brentwood, we have a few gifts to present. Carson, please stand at the pitcher’s mound.” The guys push him out on the field and the crowd roars, the sound deafening. Fans chant his name and his teammates join in. Shyly, Carson’s lifts his cap to the crowd and immediately my eyes start to well with tears. This will be one of the best moments of my life, watching Carson play his final game at Brentwood. It’s coming to an end. After this, the team takes off to regionals, he’s drafted, and then goes straight to his new team, wherever that will be. In my head, I’ve understood this. But my heart’s breaking a little. I know there’s life post college, yet a part of me wants to press pause. I’m not ready for things to change, even though I know it’s part of life. This hurts.

  Maria nudges my shoulder. “You’re up, sweetie.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  David calls over the PA system, “Presenting Carson with a plaque with his impressive records listed and engraved is his girlfriend, Milly Potter.”

  Coupled with the video, I’m pretty sure people will know exactly who I am after the announcer just said my last name, but at this point, I don’t really care. All I care about is seeing that giant smile on Carson’s face as I approach him.

  I hand him the plaque that he takes in one hand and then with the other, he cups my cheek and presses a long, almost risqué kiss against my lips. The team erupts in cheers, and I’m positive I heard Shane and Jerry screaming their heads off in the distance.

  When Carson releases me, he says, “Thank you, Coach.”

  I smile up at him and drag my thumb over his lip. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  At that moment, the jumbotron comes on and my brother’s voice fills the stadium. You can barely hear him at first through the cheering of the fans, but once it dies down, it’s all that’s heard. “Sorry I couldn’t be there to support you, bro, but I’m really proud of you and all you’ve accomplished. You have a bright future ahead of you, and I can’t wait to see where your baseball journey takes you.”

  Carson stands stunned next to me, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, his mouth hanging partially open.

  “Wow, wasn’t that great, everyone?” David asks as Carson looks down at me.

  “That was unreal. Did your brother really do that for me?”

  “He did and honestly, I wouldn’t expect anything less from him.”

  “Ditto.” He leans down and presses another kiss to my cheek. “Thank you, Milly . . . for everything.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  CARSON

  “Get your ass down here,” I say to Milly, who’s still standing behind the fence.

  She glances around nervously. “Am I allowed on the field?”

  “You were just on the field before the game.”

  “I know, but that was different.”

  “Milly,” I say sternly. The entire stadium has cleared, and Disik gave me permission to soak up the last moments on the field. There’s only one person I want to do it with. “I got the go-ahead from Disik, so stop stalling and get down here.”

  Hands still wringing together—my little rule follower—she makes her way to the door that connects to the dugout and I let her in. Taking her hand in mine, we walk up the steps to the field and I take her to my spot between first and second base. From my pocket, I take out my phone and a small Ziploc bag before sitting, pulling her down on my lap.

  “What’s with the bag?”

  “I have to collect some dirt. I collect dirt from every field I’ve played on that’s had an impact on me.”

  “That’s really cute. How many bags do you have?”

  “I keep the dirt in vials actually. The bag is just for transportation purposes, but I’ve collected a few. One from the field I made my first home run, my high school field obviously. The field I won the little league world series on, another where I had my first cycle, and then of course, field six.”

  Her eyes widen, a soft expression following. “As in our field six?”

  “Yeah, because that’s where I realized you were the girl I wanted by my side at all times.”

  “That’s really sweet, Carson.” She cups my cheek and presses a kiss to my lips, her tongue peeking out and her mouth lingering for a second longer than anticipated, exciting me. I have plans for tonight, just her and me, but first, I want to hang with my girl here.

  “It’s true,” I answer before giving her the bag. “Hold this open for me?”

  She takes it and I scoop some dirt up from the field, placing it in the bag marked Brentwood Baseball, and then I zip it back up and stick it in my pocket.

  I wrap my arms around her waist and squeeze her tightly, soaking in her scent, her presence. These last few moments I have with her before the next chapter in my life starts are incredibly important to me. I want her to remember that it’s me and her in this journey, that we’re going the distance.

  “Thank you for being here today, it meant a lot to me.” I kiss the side of her head. “I haven’t really had anyone cheering for me personally in the stands in a really long time. Honestly, I think it dates back to little league when my dad didn’t work as much. It was phenomenal knowing you were there for me.”

  “You don’t need to thank me,” she says, playing with the brim of my hat that is now backward. “I love watching you play. It’s like poetry on the field. You’re so smooth and accurate with everything you do, one of the best second basemen I’ve ever seen.”

  “Ah, you’re just saying that.”

  She cups my cheek and shakes her head. “I’m really not. I’ve seen a lot of baseball games and you have what it takes to go all the way, to make an impact on the sport. I’m really excited for the next chapter in your life.”

  “Me too.” I kiss the tip of her nose and then hug her, resting my chin on her shoulder. “It’s so unreal that it’s all over, that I won’t play another game here. It might sound lame, but this is where I grew into a man. I came to Brentwood as a boy with big dreams. Coach Disik put us through hell, challenged us mentally, physically, took everything we had to give, and prepared us for the big leagues, but with the knowledge that it’s up to us if we succeed or not.”

  “And you will,” she says. “It will take a few years like it does for every prospect, but you’re on the fast track. I know it.”

  “Thanks, Coach,” I say softly, sighing and staring out at the field. “Ending my career with—”

  My phone rings, and I check the caller ID.

  Dad.

  Excited, I say, “It’s my dad. He said he’d call when he’s off work. Mind if I take this?”

  “Not at all.”

  I swipe my finger across the screen and answer, “Hey Dad. How are you?”

  “Carson, it’s Aunt Carol.”