Ibrought Anniston along to Washington, as Cade and I agreed, milking the same excuse. My post-op recovery. With absolutely no back talk, she came, truly believing I needed extra care. Whatever gets her on a plane and away from that fucking psycho.
Three weeks are left in the regular season with my team two games from leading the National League East Division. Insert fist pump here. Even though I’m more than ready to wrap this season up and head back to Georgia, I would love to go to the post season playoffs. Not that I am just begging to add it to my resume but because I don’t know when or if this will be my final year playing. If it is, I want to go out with a bang. Winning the World Series would give me that final sense of accomplishment before retiring from the MLB.
But if Michaels has any say over it like he did today, we’ll watch the Marlins soar to the top, leaving us to taste the infield dirt off their cleats for weeks. Fucking Michaels and his bullshit calls behind the plate. That motherfucker dropped several strikes and called the most asinine pitches I have witnessed in all my baseball years. His level of catching was some AA shit, not how a major league player should be performing. Asshole.
Fantasies of Michaels scratching futilely as a raging STD spreads at rapid speed over his balls brings a smile to my grumpy face as the scalding water from the shower kneads my sore, tension-ridden shoulders. It feels so fucking good. Realistically, I should be in an ice bath, preventing the inevitable swelling from the hundred pitches I threw today, but I just couldn’t force myself to endure the torture. I don’t care what miracle healing powers they have, they’re fucking cold and when I’ve had a long ass game all I want to do is shower and go home where I can lounge out on the couch with Ans and the TV and pretend to hate her stupid singing competitions. When they show the contestants’ sob stories, her eyes well with unshed tears while she tries to muffle her sniffles into the throw pillows. It’s one of the only times she shows vulnerability. It’s adorably cute.
“Come on, Theo.” Anniston’s voice echoes in the shower room. “I’m ready to head home and we still need to ice your shoulder.”
I hear her, really I do, but I stay silent hoping to lure her in for maybe a quick stress reliever in the players’ shower stall. Tilting my head away from the direct stream of water, I listen for any noise that would signal her arrival. Nothing. I give it another minute before I turn the water off with a frown. So much for my quickie idea.
Before I can secure a towel around my waist, a cracking sound resounds throughout the shower stall and a fast sting flares on the skin of my butt cheeks. I’m startled, turning, ready to swat my enemy down, when I see a grinning Anniston rolling a towel with a wicked gleam in her eyes. Her hair is down, wavy from being pulled up for so long. She’s changed into her classic look of leggings and one of my promo tees. She looks like my very own cheerleader.
“That fucking stung, Ans!” I scold, trying for a serious expression but by the quirk of her lips, she doesn’t buy it. Fuck it. I laugh and rub at the burning sting on my ass.
Her throaty laughter is all it takes to make me forget about my terrible game. She beckons me with a crook of her finger. “Come here, Von Bremen.” Her voice is sultry, her eyes mischievous, but the smile that puffs out her cheeks is… mine. That smile is mine. It’s only reserved for me. “Let me kiss it better.”
Her enticing promise is the only reason my feet move forward. I’m still a little irked with that towel move. “You want to kiss my ass? That’s a change of pace for you, Ans.” I tease her with a flirty smile as she fluffs the towel, holding it open. She saunters around my naked body, assessing, calculating. It makes me anxious but I wait stoically as she kneels behind me, sliding her hands up over my slick thighs until the muscles tighten. With a featherlight touch of her lips, she plants a cool kiss to my scalding cheek.
“Forgive me?” Her question hangs in the air unanswered as she begins to wrap my hips with the towel.
Words clog in my throat and no amount of clearing helps.
She chuckles at my apparent distress and yanks me forward by the knotted cloth clutched in her hands. “How bout you just nod since you seem to be incapable of speaking?”
Smart-ass.
I play her little game, though, and let her lead me out of the showers to the open changing rooms filled with player’s gear and uniforms.
Her body weight pushes me back against the icy metal of the lockers. The mixture of the cold against my heated skin steals my breath upon contact. Soft, dainty hands caress my jaw before she parts those full lips over mine, teasing me with the warmth of her breath.
“Don’t play,” I grumble, snaking a hand around her waist to hold her still. A man can only take so much. Her eyes dance with mischief, pressing closer, chest to chest. The only thing that would be better is nipple to nipple. Oh, yeah, her shirt needs to go. I give it a little tug. “Take this off.”
She tsks, grabbing my hand, securing it against the locker. I’m just about to toss her to the concrete floor and have my own fun when she smashes her lips to mine. Her tongue sweeps in through the opening I give, the leftover cinnamon flavor of her gum comforting. Our lips and tongues move, slow but fast. Firm but soft. Sweet but ravenous. Warmth tingles through my arms, chills erupting along the base of my neck. Lost in the ecstasy of Anniston, I barely register the strap slipped over my head. She’s moving my arm into another before sense and reality kick in.
“What are you doing?” I ask, breathless, my brain still working hard to clear the fog.
Anniston smirks and takes my other hand, sliding it into what I realize is a catcher’s harness.
“I hate to break it you, babe, but I’m a pitcher.” My joke does nothing to deter her mission. She snugs the straps, securing me in the harness, albeit backward. “You know it goes on the other way, right?”
Surely, she knows this. I mean, she’s been around baseball long enough to know how to put on a catcher’s harness.
Her answer is a shove into the lockers. That tanned, flawless complexion moves close enough that I can smell the rosemary shampoo in her hair.
Her nose brushes my ear. “Indulge me.”
The raspy whisper goes straight to my dick, making it jump in anticipation of her next move.
She pulls back and levels me with a look that says, trust me, you’re going to enjoy this.
I spread my arms wide, allowing her full reign to restrain me until her little heart is content. “Do your worst.”
She must like that answer because her smile reaches all the way to her dimples. A clicking sound forces my attention to her hands and I realize she has clipped the harness to the locker door.
“You’ll need help staying upright for this,” she teases as she clips the other side.
The harness isn’t tight but it’s certainly restricting. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about what she has in mind.
