Catching to Win (Over the Fence #3) (8 page)

S
omeone slams
the front door and I'm jostled out of my very nice, very sexy dream. I was peacefully sleeping, loops of Clint over me playing in my brain when some asshole had the nerve to wake the whole house up at - I lean over to check my clock - 10 a.m. Okay, so it wasn't the buttcrack of dawn. But a girl needed her beauty rest.

I stretched my arms above my head and wiggled my hips, getting out all of the cracks from my back, toes and shoulders. I still wasn't completely used to sleeping on a comfy bed, in a well air-conditioned house.

Part of me longed for Africa. The way it was quiet but never silent. The bugs going at all hours, the rustle of the dessert. The smell of nature, pure and untouched wafting into the tent walls. I even missed the sweltering heat.

But part of me knew I could never go back there and have it be the same again. A pang of hurt ricocheted through my heart, tearing the hole just a little wider.

Clint. That was a whole other subject that left my heart feeling confused.

Why was my heart even a factor in the Clint situation? I had no idea. It had never been before. I was going to tell myself it’s because we were best buddies before we became fuck buddies.

But the way he looked at me last night? Those haunting eyes floating above me. Their color as clear and blue as the sky right after a rain storm. And the way he put my needs first.

No one had ever done that. Not so unselfishly as Clint had. He'd actually stopped me from sucking him off and insisted on me having an orgasm. Talk about a rare gem. I loved a guy who volunteered to give me head. And finished the job no less. Not that I was looking for a rare gem. Which was why this was screwing me up.

I just wanted to hook up with him. I didn't also want to like him. But I'd already liked him before he put his dick in me.

Shaking my head, I washed all of the thoughts from my brain. Why was I even thinking about feelings towards boys? For Clint? Fuck that.

A knock came on my door just as I pulled what smelled like a clean tank top over my head. "Sup?" I yelled at the white-washed wood.

Minka stood behind the half open door. "Are you just getting up, or just getting home?"

I smiled at her slutty joke. "Har, har. Bitch."

"No really? How did you get home? I didn't even see you after we bought beers at Sammy's. Do you know if Clint is home too because we couldn't find him..."

My best friend trails off as it becomes clearly evident just how and with whom Clint and I got home last night. "Kelsey Ann, you didn’t!"

I choose to ignore the bossy Minka-mommy invading my space and instead tied my short locks up in a high ponytail. The hairdo sends my flaming locks every which way on top of my head.

"Seriously?! You did it even after I told you not to? Are you fucking crazy or just out to ruin that boy's life?"

I whipped around. "Who the fuck spit in your Cheerios this morning? I'm not ruining anyone's life, you anal retentive. We happened to have sex. Great sex. I'm sure Clint rather enjoyed it if you want to go ask him. Now...did you need to yell at me some more or were you done because I'm headed to the preservation."

I slung my canvas tote around my neck and grabbed my car keys.

Minka's voice was low when she spoke. “I’m sorry, Kels. I didn’t mean to yell. But believe when I tell you, I’m not overreacting. Clint is not like these other douche heads you fool around with. And I’m pretty sure he’s in love with you. And while that makes me very happy, because you’re an amazing girl who deserves that, especially from someone like him, I don’t think you want it. In fact, I know you plan to keep it as casual as possible. And so as Clint’s friend too, I’m telling you now, from the get-go, that I don’t approve of this.”

Her face was so serious, I couldn’t help but snort laugh like some ugly hog. “Do you hear yourself when you give these little lectures? Seriously, Minks. You kill me.”

Stalking out my room as to get away from The Grim Reaper of Maturity, I slammed full force into a naked set of rock hard abs.

Backing up, Clint stared me dead in the face. We stood, unblinking for several moments before Owen and Parker looked back from their places on the couch.

“What’s going on?” Parker snarled as he clicked through the sports channels.

I’d managed to get in good with everyone in the group even with the year I was MIA in Africa. Everyone except for Parker. He loathed me, and that was understatement. No matter what lengths I went to, how much I flirted or tried to act like his wingwoman, he wanted nothing to do with me.

“Just need a smoke!” I squeaked at the same time Clint said, “You look pretty today.”

Everyone, including me, snapped their eyes to Clint. There was still droplets of water stuck to his long black eyelashes after his shower that now hooded those mesmerizing pools of turquoise. He looked utterly delicious. I wanted to coat that long, lean eight-pack in syrup and eat him for breakfast.

And that’s when I noticed everyone was staring at me stare at Clint like he was an adult-sized vibrator. “Uh…thanks. I gotta go.”

I sprinted so fast out of the front door, you would have thought my roommates were chasing me with pitchforks.

If no one suspected we went home together last night, they definitely did now. Fucking great.

M
ost rich kids
whose parents owned preservations just posed for the photo ops. They held a cute baby sloth or rode an elephant for a commercial. They couldn’t be bothered to actually care about the animals or their wellbeing. I’d known and hung around with plenty of them in my days on the circuit.

Most rich kids were not me. Case in point. I had my hand halfway up a zebra’s ass helping her birth her foal.

“It's okay, good girl. You’re doing great.” Jackson soothed her, brushing her mane and face.

The mother, Zahara, whinnied and tried to move away from the pain, shifting on the ground and kicking her hoofs against me. I was ready for that though. She’d been doing it for the last half hour.

“I have to turn him. He’s not budging. If I can just…” I reached my gloved hand inside, feeling the foal’s features and trying to adjust him. She was having one of the most difficult births I’d seen, and all I wanted to do was end her pain.

“There!” I’d adjusted the baby enough and began to pull. “You gotta push for me Zahara. Come on big momma, it’s almost done.”

As if hearing the words “almost done,” the zebra contracted all of her muscles and began to push the foal out. She was crying in pain, some of the most disturbing sounds I’d ever heard come out of an animal.

“That’s it girl, almost there!” I could feel the tears splashing down my cheeks. These moments were precious, wholly natural and completely amazing. Into this screwed up, crazy-ass world came this beautiful, unblemished baby. And for these precious moments, they were perfect.

The baby was now almost fully out, and with one last grunt from mama, he came bucking out.

“Thatta girl! Good job, mama. Grant, take the foal.” Jackson began barking orders to the staff, who came to clean and check the baby. Another one swooped in to check out Zahara.

I backed away, basking in the miracle that had just taken place. Stripping of the dirty gloves and throwing them in the industrial sink, I slid down a nearby pole, plopping down in the dirt.

“You done good, Dr. Doolittle.” Jackson neared me, grinning like a fool.

“Only with your direction, thanks for letting me takeover.”

I wasn’t a vet and I didn’t have any sort of license. Jackson always risked a lot when he let me handle a birth, or any medical issue with the animals for that matter. But I didn’t need books and a piece of paper to know how to handle animals. How to take care of them. I understood their pain and their needs almost as much as I knew my own.

Standing and walking to where my shoulder bag rested on a table, I pulled my Marlboro Lights out and searched around for my lighter.

“Hey none of that in here! And you know those things will kill you, right?” Jackson scolds me and I giggle.

I flick the lighter anyway, relishing the sound and the way the cigarette crackles when I burn it. I inhale my first puff, and instantly the nicotine shoots through my veins. God, yes. If you’ve never had a smoke after sex, or birthing a baby zebra, you’re missing out.

“Yeah, yeah. Get in line. There are plenty of people already kicking my ass for it.

"I'm serious, Mother Nature. You have to stop living like Death will never reach you. I love you for your free spirit, kid, but you can't keep running from your demons."

His words hit my stomach and made it drop. "I don't have any demons, Jackson. If I did, I would kick those assholes in the face."

"What happened in Africa, Kelsey?"

The cigarette was halfway to my lips when he spoke, and I froze with my fingers in midair. "Nothing." I tried to play it off nonchalantly as I averted my eyes to whatever was happening in the distance.

Jackson is silent a few more minutes. We look off into the horizon, where the pink and orange sun is slowly setting. I hadn't even realized I'd been here the entire day. But it had kept my mind off Clint.

"You know you can always talk to me, right? I'm here for you. And if you don't want to, that's okay. But don't lie to me. I know when something is bothering you. I held you in my arms as a little baby. I know what makes you tick. And since you came running on back here four months early from Tanzania, you haven't been the same. Does it have something to do with your parents?"

Inhaling the bitter smoke, I could feel the burn and crackle as it slid down my throat.

"Because I've known them a long time. And I'm sure there are things you know, and things you don't. And it's not my place to tell you them. But you can't settle for a half-truth and run scared from the rest of the story."

Jackson's words reverberated in my skull. Was I running? I'd convinced myself, and everyone else, that I was the toughest cookie in the batch. But maybe my facade was crumbling. I stayed silent.

“If you ever want to talk, I’m here. Love you, kid.” He walked away slowly, kicking the dirt with his scuffed up boots.

I needed to pull myself out of the funk I’d been in. Jeez. Everyone around here was getting a little too serious for my taste. It was definitely time to call in the crazy and get a little loose.

U
nlatching
my catching gear and hanging it up at the end of the day had become somewhat of a ritual for me. First I’d unstrap the goalie-style mask from around my head, cracking my neck and jaw for the first time in hours.

Next came the chest protector and hand extension. That thing had saved me from life-ending injuries more than a couple of times. Especially my second year on Grover’s team, when one of Owen’s 95 mile-per-hour pitches went rogue and beaned me between my first and second ribs on the left side.

My legs were then freed from the knee savers. Too many catchers over the years had worn down their ligaments, causing tearing and in a lot of cases, knee replacements. I wanted to be able to play for as long as I could, not to mention walk as an old man.

And finally, my Iron Man braces came off. At least that’s what my teammates called them. My shin guards and cup were two of the most important things I wore during a game. Miles had always joked that if they ever got damaged, I could always replace my dick with a bionic one. Said the girls would all want to hop on my super human cock.

I missed Farriston, my other best friend on the team. He’d left for a great deal in the minors, and to follow his girl two months ago. His presence was sorely missed on the team; he was our best hitter by far. But I missed his goofy jokes and the way he would razz Owen and Parker.

Removing the last of my pads and braces, I finally stood and stretched, feeling multiple pops and cracks as I went. Catchers didn’t last long. Not only was my job physically draining, crouching and tensing for hours on end while a ball the size of a fist was hurled at me. But it was a mental mind-fuck too. I was the shot-caller, the overseer. I patrolled not only my guys and where they stood, how they played, but I had to assess the other team too. Read plays before the batters and runners even had their own minds made up. I was exhausted after each and every game we played.

“What was all that banging I heard coming from your room last night, Bellows?”

Owen and Parker entered the locker room and began peeling out of their sweaty practice clothes. I envied them. I wasn’t into guys, but because they were so comfortable. So confident. I was still adjusting to my new frame. I had what some docs called body dysmorphia. And yeah, I’d googled that shit. I had been so big for so long that I still felt like that mentally. It was going to take some time.

I flushed at Owen’s question, which only gave me away more. I was an idiot this morning when I’d run straight into Kelsey. No one had known about last night, but they sure did now.

It wasn't that I didn't want my friends to know, but convincing Kelsey that this should be more than just a fuck-you-very-much situation was going to be tough. If everyone knew about it, it would be damn near impossible. I could just see Owen and Minka now; calling us lovebirds, giving us a couple name. Klintelsey. O' Bellows.

"He's had a mile-wide grin on his face all day, so the ass he got must have been good." Kyle Havis spoke up from across the locker room.

"Damn, Bellows landed the redheaded minx? I heard she gives great blow..."

Phil Dorset's words cut off in his throat as I slammed my fist into the locker in between us. Dorset was a sleazeball, always going too far. Sure, the guys on the team talked about sex. Some had even slept with the same girl, Some at the same time. But Phil always knew how to take a normal sexual conversation between teammates and turn it into a twisted perversion. And I wasn't letting him talk about Kelsey that way.

"Not another word, Dorset. I don't ever want to hear you talk about her again. I don't want to hear her name coming from that sick, filthy mouth of yours." I choked through my teeth.

Dorset was enough of a prick to poke out his chest, but I could see the fear in his eyes. Another perk of molding my body into a steel frame of muscles. It got me a lot more respect.

He still hadn't answered me. "Understood?"

Dorset gave a harsh laugh. "Whatever man, I was just playing around."

The rest of the team shuffled slowly back into action, removing their pads and braces and heading for the showers. After washing off and pulling on fresh basketball shorts and a green tee, I headed out to wait for Owen and Parker at the car. We all drove together to practice lately, as if we could feel our time together dwindling.

Soon Owen would be headed for the majors, some superstar pitcher on a top market team. Parker would do who the hell knew what, go into the majors, buy a secluded cabin and be a shut in? Whatever it was, it would be totally Parker.

And me? I didn't know. Sure, the majors sounded nice. But I could already feel the ache in my legs. The stiffness in them when I woke up in the morning. How many years did I really have left? And what other damage could I do?

I'd never been particularly book smart, school wasn't my thing. So anything extremely intelligent or thought-provoking was out of the question. I just didn't know yet. And I was running out of time.

As my friends walked to my truck I pushed the key into the rusty driver's side lock and twisted. The locks sprang up with a groan.

"Why did we decide to take your old junker today?" Parker ribbed me as they slid in.

"Yeah, yeah. Make fun of the poor kid why don't you?" I smiled a shit-eating grin at both of them.

It was true. I hadn't grown up with much. Barely anything. I'd gotten into college on my god-given talent and was thankful. I wasn't ashamed of where I came from, and while my friends liked to bust my chops, I knew they accepted me for exactly who I was.

"So what's really up with you and Kels?" Owen started right back in on the line of questioning as I pulled out of the sports complex parking lot that flanked the left side of campus.

"I have to say too. It’s weird. Seeing you with a chick. If you needed me to find you a bang buddy, you could have asked me to act as your wingman all these years." Parker's long, wiry body is stuffed in the back.

I stay silent, willing this subject to turn into anything else.

"You know, come to think of it...I've never actually seen you bring a chick home." Owen mulls this thought over in his head.

Suddenly Parker springs up, hitting his head on the roof of the car. "Wait a second. Wait a god damn second. Don't tell me it’s true!"

My heart started beating double time. Because I knew exactly what Parker had just figured out in his head.

"What?" Owen was all ears now.

"She took his v-card. Our little Clint here is a grown man." The smirk Parker wore rivaled the Cheshire Cat. That prick.

I think Owen's mouth was on the floor. "NO! You were a virgin man? Damn...I remember my first time. Allison, my high school girlfriend, in the basement at her parents’ house. I almost spilled my load in my boxers."

"You're not the only one..." I muttered before I could stop myself.

"I knew it! You celibate son of a bitch!" Parker is laughing his ass off in the back. I think my face was as red as a fire hydrant now.

Owen sensed my discomfort. "Well, welcome to the club buddy. How was it?"

I smiled a bit. "Fucking awesome. Who knew something could feel that good? And head...why have I gone so long without that?"

I felt like a man finally being able to join in this conversation.

"Dude, it’s like pitching a perfect game in the World Series. No...it’s better than that." Owen's eyes went fuzzy, and I knew he was thinking about Minka naked.

"If someone told me I could have a 24-hour blow job but at the end, I'd die, I might consider it." Parker shook his head solemnly in the back.

We all just nodded for the rest of the ride home, respectively thinking about just how great blow jobs were.

It was almost dark out when we pulled up at the house, and I could hear the low thump of music coming from inside.

"Who is having a party in our house? That we all live in and had no idea about?" Parker looked quizzically at us.

The three of us hunkered up the stairs, all sore and tired from the brutal practice we'd just endured. Making the College World Series meant Coach was lighting a fire under our asses. We weren't going home losers this year.

When we got inside, the blaring hip-hop music was only coming from one corner of the house. Kelsey's corner.

I waved the guys off, signaling that I would take care of the problem. As I got closer, I could make out the lyrics, "Drunk in loveee. We be all night! Loveee. Loveee. We be all night!"

Chuckling to myself on her choice of song, I knocked on the door. Waited a few seconds, nothing. This time I banged my entire fist in an effort to rattle the door on its hinges. Still nothing.

"Roo..." I opened her door, letting myself in, and stopped dead at the sight in front of me.

Kelsey was in the middle of the room, her hair piled on the top of her head like some fiery tornado, a glass filled to the brim with red wine in her hand. And she was dancing like a mad woman.

She donned a white tank top that exposed the sides of her breasts, and a pair of entirely-too-large grey sweatpants that pooled over her feet, making her look like a dwarf. She was utterly adorable and fucking mouth-wateringly sexy.

At the creek of the door she turned, her naturally red lips splitting in a megawatt smile.

“Hi!”

I could tell from her dancing and the slight blush of her cheeks that she was tipsy. It made her even cuter.

“Hi yourself. What’re you doing there?” I couldn’t help her infectious smile from spreading across my face too.

She shook her hips wildly as the song changed to something faster. Pitbull maybe. But I was never good with music. “I had a long, hard day. Kickass, but fucking hard! So I’m dancing.”

Kelsey makes this more evident by raising the wine glass to her lips, taking a huge swig, and then raising it above her head and twirling in circles.

I drop my baseball bag on her floor and toe my sneakers off. Then I join her in the middle of her floor, and begin to move.

She gives a happy shout and moves closer to me, joining her free hand with mine and swinging us both.

“I had my fingers up a zebra’s ass today. Well technically, it was a whole fist!”

She announces this like it's the most normal thing in the world while I pull quickly out of her grasp. Kelsey begins to giggle at my astonishment.

“Oh my god! Don’t worry I had gloves on. But I did have to juggle her placenta in there…”

“Kels, stop. I am going to throw up.”

She did that sexy little giggle again and raised the glass to her lips. As she swallowed, she raised it to mine. I let her pour some into my mouth, watching her cinnamon eyes over the brim. I knew the instant desire sparked in them, and I could feel myself harden in the meshy basketball shorts.

Reaching up, I held the delicate stem in my fingers and pried it out of her hand. Setting it down on the desk, I began to stalk toward her like she was the meal and I was ravenous.

Kelsey’s eyes went saucer wide, a pink tinge marking her alabaster chest and cheeks. I walked her back without even touching her until her back hit the wall.

Time to show her she wasn’t dealing with a fumbling virgin anymore. It was my time to act on all of the things I’d thought about doing to her. With her. This is where watching all that porn was going to come in handy.