Page 211 of Out of Left Field

Iwoke up in the middle of the night harder than I’d been in a long damn time. And, much to my frustration, thoughts of Willa were racing through my mind. Talking had been both good and bad. At first it had been good. Her pain was obvious, but she was also so damn beautiful. So getting her to admit she was mad at me was good.

But then she asked about love and dating and all my defenses went up. I didn’t want her to know I’d been thinking about her so much and every time she asked about girlfriends I pictured her in that role.

It wasn’t fair to her. She deserved someone who picked up her calls and didn’t freeze her out when times were tough. But the harder I tried to erase her from my mind the more present she became. All that hair. So much fucking hair. I wanted it on me, moving over me as she rode me.

And now I was harder somehow. “Fucking hell.”

Since sleep wasn’t happening I cranked on the shower and climbed in for the second time in a matter of hours. Except this time I kept it cold. Ice cold thanks to the frosty air outside. I thought of dried figs and my grandmother, but every time I stopped, Willa’s face returned like a goddamned siren calling me onto the rocks.

Why couldn’t I stop thinking about her? Why did I have to suddenly want her? What magical switch had flipped that turned her from my friend into someone so much more?

Because if I was being honest with myself it really was more. I hated every time she left. I never wanted her to go. She could sleep in my bed every night. Spend every day for the rest of our lives together. I wanted her to be my best friend and my lover. Except for the first time in my life I wanted a lover who was there when I woke up and when I went to sleep and maybe snuck over to the locker rooms from time to time.

Fuck. If only life were as simple as my dumb dreams. In reality I would be a shit boyfriend. I had zero practice at it.

But I could learn. Hell, I came back from failure to be one of the best closers in the game. I was an entirely different pitcher from the kid I’d been before. I learned new pitches, a new strategy, and transformed. If I could do that I could do this.

What would life look like if Willa was mine? All those smiles, all those touches…they could mean more. She could be right here in this shower with me, naked and pressed up against the wall. Not that these showers were big enough for two…but it was a fantasy. My fantasy.

I let my mind wander as I turned the knob and let the warm water slide over me.

She was such a tiny thing. We’d fit. I’d hold her against this wall and take her while she cried out my name. Half the hotel would know how well I fucked her. She’d be embarrassed. I’d be proud. We’d be gone in the morning anyway.

I was desperate to know how her breasts felt in my hands, how tight she’d squeeze me when I filled her up. I needed to know what her eyes looked like when she came on my cock.

I palmed myself and let the fantasy play out.

There was no point in fighting this any longer. I needed her. And if she didn’t want me…well then I could let this go. But if she said yes…I pictured her screaming yes over and over again as I finally came, the relief only enough to keep my dick from aching and my head from pounding.

The only real relief would come from confession.

And then hopefully some amazing sex with my best friend.

In the morning I would bring her coffee and tell her everything. One way or another, tomorrow morning our friendship was going to change.

Anger, frustration, and desire pumped through my veins incessantly. The combination had existed ever since I woke up in the Cotswolds to discover Willa had packed up like a thief in the night and flown home to Tampa.

Without me.

Without so much as a word.

I knew it was my fault, knew that conversation had somehow changed everything, but I couldn’t calm myself down. Mostly because I’d been so ready to take the leap…

…and at the same time she’d run away.

“Fuck, Anson. I need my hand intact,” Wes Allen, our primary catcher, stood up from behind the plate massaging his catching hand before jogging over to glare at me.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do different.” It was my job to throw hard. It was his job to catch what I threw.

“Yeah but you were supposed to throw a change-up, man.”

“I changed my mind.”

“That’s not how this works and you know it. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Nothing. Everything. Willa had frozen me out. Two goddamned fucking months of her being polite. Her warmth was gone. Our joking was gone. Everything I was fighting so hard to protect had slipped through my fingers anyway.

I was such a fucking idiot.