Page 93 of Off Limits: The Firsts

I taste me.

I taste her.

The two of them together are a drug I can’t get enough of.

I need more.

I want more.

I’m going to take more.

Right here. Right now. On this rural country road with fireflies outside the window and the scent of her everywhere.

And just before I lose my fucking mind to lust again, just as I shift in the confines of the cab to slide down and taste the heaven between her thighs, a single thought owns my mind.

I’m so fucked.

I’m so far gone.

Damn, does it feel good.

And I’m not sure if I ever want to come back.

“Dad?”

“Scouty-girl!”

I sigh in relief. He sounds good. Stronger than he did the last time I spoke with him. And I’ll take that any day.

“How are you doing? Are you comfortable? Is—”

“Sally’s taking care of me just fine. Stop hovering, child. I’m the parent. I’m supposed to be the one hovering, so knock it off or I’ll hang up on you.”

“Yes, sir.” I laugh and feel so good hearing him do the same. I know it means nothing more than he’s having a good day, like Sally already told me, but a good day is a good day and that’s what I’m holding on to.

“You’re five days out. How’s the player looking?” he asks as Easton walks into the room with timing so perfect, he could never have known. I enjoy the visual—the towel slung low on his hips, the water still beaded on his skin, and the flex of his biceps as he runs another towel through his wet hair.

“The player . . .” I say, meeting Easton’s gaze. He stops on his way to his dresser and narrows his eyebrows at me, a silent inquiry as to how my dad’s doing. When I nod my head and give a thumbs-up, his smile chases the concern away. “Appears to be at or above one hundred percent.”

In my periphery, I can see the little fist-pump that Easton gives in response to my comment, his grin a mile wide. And I share the same sense of satisfaction knowing that, in a big way, I helped him get there.

“So you’re ready to give your recommendation?”

“Yes.”

“You need to make sure you have a written report. Type it all up. His range of motion. What percentage you think his arm strength is. If you think he can last a whole game or if he needs to take a few innings at a time.”

My cheeks hurt from smiling. You’d think he forgot I was around to watch him do this so many times in his career. But I’m just so thankful to be getting a lecture from him.

So I let him ramble on.

I let him advise me.

I let him feel like he’s still in the game when his feet will most likely never touch the field again.

It’s the least I can do after everything he’s given me.

“Hey, Easton?”