Page 48 of Maid of Dishonor
Double standards, am I right?
The sun overhead beats down on us, and my dusty shadow on the ground just makes me wish to be back in the dugout rather than patrolling second base. I’m not sure why anyone thought midday was the best time to do this. This morning would have been significantly better. Still, I do my job, enjoying the game but also dreaming of the cherry limeade slushie I fully intend to buy myself on the way home.
Also, I spend a solid amount of brainpower trying to ignore the other team’s commentary.
Let me just say this: most of our baseball games go well, but some of them…don’t.
It’s nothing to do with winning or losing, although of course we all want to win. It’s just that every now and then we face a team that thinks it’s weird to have a girl opposing them. I’ve never looked into community softball leagues, but Carter says it’s a thing and that it’s where a lot of women play.
But there’s nothing in the rules saying a woman can’t join our community baseball league. I checked, and then I double checked. It’s just not that weird.
The coolio on the other team thinks it is, though. It’s just so stupid—I thought we left this behind in high school.
“Some people are forever stuck in high school,” Carter points out a while later while we sit in the dugout, waiting to bat. “Just ignore him.”
Except it’s not that easy to ignore someone who motions the team to move in every time I go up to bat. And what’s worse—what makes me angriest—is that despite employing Carter’s tips for batting, I never once hit the ball past where they expect me to hit it. It makes me want to take my butt right back to the cages and keep working on my swing.
By the time the game is over, it’s safe to say I’m in a foul mood, even though we won. I grit my teeth as I yank off my helmet and toss it into the dugout. Then I turn around and immediately storm past Carter, moving toward the other team’s dugout.
“Ope, ope, ope,” he says quickly. He lunges and grabs me by the elbow. “Bad idea.”
“I’m just going to talk to that guy,” I say, glaring at Carter. Which is technically true. Iamgoing to talk to him.
To give him a piece of my mind.
I yank my elbow free and resume my warpath, my stomping feet sending up little puffs of dust and dirt—
Only to find the world tilting sideways and then upside down as Carter picks me up and throws me over his stupidly muscular shoulder.
“You’re a real handful, you know that?” he says cheerfully as he starts in the opposite direction. “Can’t take you anywhere.”
“Me?” I respond in outrage. “You’re the one who has me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes!” I jab my finger at his back, because it’s the only place I can reach. “I am not a potato, Carter Ellis—”
“Sackof potatoes.”
“—I am a woman, and I demand to be treated as such.”
Carter pauses now that we’re back in the dugout, where our teammates are gathering up their things. “You really want me to treat you the way I treat other women?” he says, and I can hear the mischievous grin in his voice. “Wine you and dine you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear?”
He finally hoists me off of him, and my body slides down the front of his. It’s both awkward and incredibly sensual.
His proximity, his cocky little grin, pulls the next words out of my mouth without my consent. “And if I say yes?” I put my hands on my hips. “If I want you to wine me and dine me? What then?”
My heart stutters as his smile fades, and then it starts racing double time as he takes a step closer, effectively eliminating every last bit of space between us. He cocks one brow, and his eyes narrow as his gaze flits over my face with a burning curiosity. “I didn’t think you were a wine-and-dine type of girl.” His voice, heaven help me, is low and smooth and utterly seductive.
My voice, on the other hand, isnotutterly seductive. “I’m not,” I admit in a voice that’s somehow both breathyandsqueaky. Didn’t know that was possible, but there you go.
He nods slowly, the corners of his lips quirking. “You’d like the sweet nothings, though.”
“Probably,” I agree. Then I force out the question on my mind. “If you weren’t going to wine and dine me, what else would you do? How would you woo me?”
His smile softens, and he reaches up to tuck a few strands of hair behind my ear. “Climb a mountain with you before sunrise and watch the sun come up. Supply you with a constant stream of fresh flowers for your apartment. Buy you a goldfish.”
My eyes widen; my breath hitches in my chest. I…love that. All of it. It’s perfect.
No. It’s not perfect. Itwouldbeperfect.
And maybe…maybe itcouldbe? Because he’s looking at me with something incredibly tender in his eyes. Something…sweet.
