Stealing Home by Tara Wyatt
Five
“McCormick, it’s coming to you!” Hunter called as Dylan started running, shading his eyes from the slanting evening sun.
“Got it got it got it!” He pumped his legs, not taking his eyes off the soaring ball. He was almost there, he almost had it…with a final push, he jumped to make up the few inches he was short, stretching his glove out in front of him. The ball smacked into the leather and he landed hard on the grass, sliding forward on his stomach. But the ball stayed where it was, and Dylan leaped up, throwing the ball to Hiroshi at second, who then relayed it to the catcher, keeping the Angels’ runner at third.
Hunter held his hand up in the air, his index and pinky fingers raised. “That’s two,” he called with a nod, and Dylan held his own hand up, signaling back to him and smiling. Green smeared the front of his uniform after his slide through the grass, but he liked coming off the field at the end of the night with a stained uniform. To him, it symbolized hard work. He especially liked it when that hard work was paying off, like the diving catch he’d just made.
The Longhorns were on the road, playing the second of three games against the Los Angeles Angels. They’d won yesterday, 11-4, but Dylan had gone 0-4 on the night. His timing was still off, and his mechanics were rusty. But for the first time since returning from his knee injury, he felt as though he could see his problems clearly. And if he could see them clearly, he could fix them.
In truth, he felt more like himself than he had in a long time. As though a weight he hadn’t even known he’d been lugging around had been lifted. And he was completely certain as to why.
It was Maggie. Reconnecting with her—if you could call the dirty, insanely hot hookup they’d had a few nights ago reconnecting—had settled something inside him. He felt clearer and more focused.
Ten years ago, Magnolia Jennings had been everything to him. They’d been just kids then, but she’d grown into a gorgeous, smart, capable, sassy woman who intrigued the hell out of him. Who made him want to claim her and show her how good things could be between them. At first, he’d thought that maybe sex would satisfy him, but now he knew that anything short of everything wouldn’t be enough. So if she wanted to pretend that what was happening between them was just sex for the sake of closure—whatever the fuck that meant—he’d play along. Now that he had a second chance, he wasn’t going to throw it away. He was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.
And it wasn’t just sex. The spark, the connection, the magnetism between them, it was still there. It had survived a ten-year drought, and whether she wanted to admit it or not, that meant something. It had to. And he knew exactly how to prove it to her. One by one, he’d break all those damn rules they’d agreed on—or convince her to break them. He imagined taking each one and smashing it out of the park like a moon shot, gone into the night.
He smiled to himself. Sleeping with Maggie again had awakened something in him. Something possessive, something almost predatory, mixed with the steely determination that he wasn’t going to let her go again. He’d tried to stay away from her, feeling guilty for the way he’d hurt her in the past, but now instead of letting his guilt keep him away, he was letting it pull him closer. This was his chance to make amends, to make everything right between them. To fix the biggest regret of his life.
The inning ended and Dylan jogged off the field with the rest of the team, adrenaline surging through him. That catch had restored some of his confidence, and for once, he was actually looking forward to stepping up to the plate.
Back in the dugout, he tugged on his batting gloves, adjusting the Velcro at the wrists, and then grabbed his bat. Abby approached him, chewing a wad of gum that seemed to take up half her mouth.
“Remember what we covered at BP this morning. Hang back, just a little. Let it come to you. Check your plate distance and choke up a bit.” She clapped him on the shoulder and turned to say something to Javi.
“This guy’s throwing a lot of heat,” said Hunter, taking a sip of Gatorade and gesturing at the Angels’ pitcher as he threw a few warm-up pitches. “High nineties, tight to the inside corner. Set yourself up with some breathing room.”
Dylan nodded and stepped out onto the deck, working through his practice swings. The evening air was cool and refreshing, and the crowd buzzed around him. The scents of grass and pine tar swirled through the air, and he took a second to look around. Centering himself. Finding that calm, quiet inside that had been missing for way too long now.
The announcer intoned Dylan’s name through the stadium’s speakers, and he stepped up to the plate and went through his usual routine, sketching the same four letters in the dirt that he always did, adjusting his helmet, and taking a few practice swings before falling into his stance. He felt like he was a little too far from the plate, but if that’s what Abby had suggested, he was willing to give it a try.
The pitcher wound up and released the ball. Dylan couldn’t explain it, but he felt like he could just see the ball better. It was like he’d unleashed everything coiled inside him on Maggie, and now he could actually think again. Could actually see and breathe. The pitch was away and outside, and he didn’t swing. Ball one.
The next pitch was low and inside, and he didn’t swing again. Ball two. The third pitch was in the dirt, bouncing up against the catcher’s chest protector. Ball three. Dylan knew the next pitch would be a strike, something worth swinging at. And it was, so he did, but his timing was off and he caught just enough of the ball to send it careening off into foul territory. He reset himself, focusing on the feel of the bat in his hands, the pitcher on the mound. A fastball came right down the middle, and Dylan swung hard, a home run cut. But he only connected with air as the ball smacked into the catcher’s mitt. He shook his head and adjusted his helmet, then took a breath, trying to remember exactly how he’d felt as he’d left Maggie’s place the other night. Calm and sated and clear.
He swung at the next pitch and connected, sending the ball skidding down the third base line. He took off for first, trying to beat the throw, but the third baseman had a good arm and threw the ball to first a millisecond before Dylan’s foot touched the bag. He headed back to the dugout and handed off his helmet to the batboy, feeling discouraged. Abby tipped her chin at him.
“That was good out there, McCormick. Solid contact, nice patience. Keep it up. It’s all coming together.”
* * *
They lost 3-1, but the team was still in good spirits after the game. Hunter had roped Dylan and a few other guys, including Javi and Abby—who was basically one of the guys—into hitting the bar for a couple of drinks, even though Dylan would’ve been happy to just go back to the hotel and crash.
But Dylan had to give Hunter credit—he’d picked a nice place. The bar was on the rooftop of a small boutique hotel in Anaheim, not far from the Angels’ stadium. Futuristic looking heaters sat spaced around the terrace, giving off a warm glow against the chilly spring air. Simple tables and chairs and a few outdoor sectionals filled the area, along with potted cypress trees. Strings of lights hung overhead, giving the bar a casual, laid back vibe. In the distance, Dylan could see the lights from nearby Disneyland, cheerful and bright against the night sky. The air here felt clearer, sharper. Easier to breathe. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the different climate in Southern California, or because everything just felt more oppressive in Dallas.
They moved to the corner of the terrace and pushed a few tables together to accommodate their group. Hunter ordered shots of tequila for everyone, getting the party started. Dylan tossed his back, savoring the burn it cut down the center of his chest. He watched as Javi clinked his glass against Abby’s, his body angled toward her. She took her shot, and then as Javi leaned in to say something, she nodded absently, her eyes glued to her phone.
“Hello,” called Hunter, waving his hand in front of Abby’s face. “Earth to Abs.” She jerked her head up, her cheeks going pink. Hunter laughed. “What, you got some dick pics on there or something? Lemme see.”
She flipped him off and put her phone away.
Nate Pederson, the team’s rookie pitcher, set his shot glass down with a clack, grimacing. “Fuck, I hate tequila,” he said, wiping his mouth.
Alejandro Cruz, who played left field and was one of the veterans on the team, shot Nate an assessing glare. “Hang on, are you even old enough to drink?”
Nate rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Uh…legally?” He shot Alejandro a charming grin.
Hunter pushed another shot in front of Nate. “Lighten up, Cruz. You’ll be twenty-one soon enough, right kid?”
“In August.”
Alejandro scowled and took the shot away from Nate. “One’s enough.” He pointed at Hunter. “You’re a bad influence.” Hunter just smirked. For all Dylan could tell, Hunter liked being a bad influence.
The waitress came by, and everyone ordered a drink. Beer for Dylan and Alejandro, whiskey for Hunter and Javi, a Bloody Mary for Abby, and a Coke for baby Nate.
“You know, a lot of managers wouldn’t come out with us like this,” said Dylan to Javi, leaning forward on his elbows. “It’s cool that you take the time to get to know us.”
Javi, who’d been staring at Abby, managed to pull his gaze away from her to smile and nod at Dylan, who suddenly understood why Javi had come. It was pretty obvious he had a major thing for Abby, who seemed completely clueless as she kept sneaking glances at her phone in her lap.
“Holy shit,” she said, her eyes still on her phone. “Did you see that crazy collision between Jake Landon and Jonathan Yates?” She turned her phone to face them and showed them the replay of Landon getting nailed in the face with Yates’ helmet as he tried to slide into home during that evening’s Reds-Cubs match up.
“Jesus, is he okay?” asked Dylan. He wasn’t Landon’s biggest fan, but he hated to see guys get hurt, even if they were dicks, and that collision looked nasty. Landon had come out in front of the plate, trying to block Yates, and Yates had dived headfirst into Landon, catching his jaw with his helmet. Landon’s head had snapped back, and he’d hit the dirt, not moving for a couple of seconds.
Abby shook her head. “I don’t know.” She bit her lip and watched the clip again. Then she excused herself and moved away, her phone pressed to her ear. Javi watched her go and took a long sip of his whiskey.
Dylan’s phone buzzed from his pocket, and he pulled it out. He was surprised to see a text from Maggie, and not from her work phone, but her personal number. It was the first he’d heard from her since leaving on the road trip, and curiosity mingled with excitement as he opened her text.
Maggie: I can’t stop thinking about the other night.
He smiled as he wrote her back, gratified that she’d been thinking of him while he was away.
Dylan: I thought texting was against the rules.
Maggie: We never said no sexting.
Dylan: Is this a sext?
Maggie: You tell me.
And then a headless photo appeared on his screen of Maggie with her hand between her legs, wearing nothing but little white lace panties.
“Shit,” he murmured and hastily slapped his phone down on the table so no one else would see. Hunter was telling a story about a crazy night he’d had at Lone Star Park, betting on horses and losing fifty grand. When Dylan was sure no one was looking, he picked it up again, blood flowing south as he studied the picture. Memories of how incredible she’d felt, how sweet she’d tasted, how hard he’d come flooded him.
Dylan: Are you touching yourself right now?
Maggie: Yes. I can’t sleep and I’m all turned on. I wish you weren’t on the road.
She sent him another picture, this one a closeup of her luscious mouth as she sucked on her index finger. Dylan shifted in his seat, his jeans getting tighter.
Dylan: Damn. Me too.
Maggie: Help me get off. Tell me what you’d do if you were here.
Dylan took a sip of his drink and tried to look like he was paying attention to the conversation around him as he thought, letting his mind wander down deliciously dirty paths.
Dylan: I’d strip you down so I could see that gorgeous body of yours, and then I’d pull you into the shower. I’d kiss you under the hot water until you were soaking wet everywhere. I always wanted to take a shower with you.
Maggie: And then I’d drop to my knees and take you into my mouth. I’d suck you and lick you until you were moaning my name.
Dylan: I’d pull your hair a little, and when you were standing, I’d slip my cock between your wet thighs to tease you. Then I’d throw you on the bed, spread your legs, and kiss the inside of your thighs.
Maggie: I’m so fucking wet right now.
Dylan: I love how wet you get. It’s so damn hot.
Maggie: Keep going. I’m close.
Dylan: I’d spread you open and lick you up and down, gently at first, teasing you. I’d work my way in from the outside, slowly getting closer to your clit. You’d pull my hair and beg me, and only then would I lick you right there, right where you want me. Then I’d press two fingers into you, fucking you slowly while I eat your sweet little pussy.
Maggie: Holy shit you’re good at this.
Dylan: I’m imagining how you smell, how you taste, and I’m so fucking hard for you right now, Maggie.
Maggie: Are you touching yourself?
Dylan: I’m in a bar.
He took another long sip of his drink, wishing he were alone in his hotel room so he could stroke himself. He wasn’t lying about being hard for her.
Maggie: After you make me come with your mouth, then what?
Dylan: Then I’d throw your legs over my shoulders and fuck you so hard and deep that you’ll be feeling me for days.
“McCormick? Who the hell you talking to?” asked Hunter, eyeing him with one eyebrow cocked.
“Oh, uh, just a friend.” He set his phone on the table face down.
Hunter and Javi both nodded knowingly. “Oh, sure. A friend.”
The waitress came back to see if they needed another round and then asked if she could take a picture with Hunter. He obliged, putting his arm around her waist as she took a selfie.
“Thank you!” she purred before heading back toward the bar. Hunter followed her ass with his eyes.
“She’s going to be thanking the hell out of me in about an hour,” he drawled, throwing back the rest of his whiskey and following her through the crowd.
Dylan’s phone buzzed again, and he snatched it up. Maggie had sent another picture, this one of her face and collarbone area. Her lips were parted in a naughty smile, her eyes bright, her skin gorgeously flushed.
Maggie: Mission accomplished. Night Dylan.
Dylan stood and tossed some money down on the table to cover his portion of the tab. “I’m beat. Gonna head back to the hotel. See y’all in the morning,” he called over his shoulder.
Less than twenty minutes later, he was lying naked on his hotel room bed with his come streaking his abs. They hadn’t broken a rule, exactly, but he couldn’t help but feel that some invisible barrier had been breached. She’d been thinking about him and had reached out to him when he was halfway across the country. Damn, but it felt good knowing he was taking up space in her brain when he wasn’t around. Sure, her message had been about sex, but still meant something.
He smiled to himself and headed for the shower.
