Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
“It’s already set on the lowest speed.”
Shit, that’s not going to help me. “I’m not sure how you’ll be able to help me but have at it.”
Drake leans his bat against the chain-link fence, moving so he’s behind me. Leans in. Stops. “Mind if I put my hands on your hips?”
“Uh. Sure?”
His hands go on my hips. “Widen your stance so your feet are like this. And pop your butt out. That helps.”
Does it? Or is this his sneaky attempt at getting me to brush my ass against his dick?
I do as he says. Shift my elbows and the grip on the bat the way he shows me to move my hands.
“This is uncomfortable,” I complain. “It feels unnatural.”
“Are you always this stubborn?”
“No? I don’t think so.” I pause. “Maybe.” Who knows. No one has ever called me stubborn before, except maybe my parents when they’re trying to get me to do something, and I push back.
Drake readjusts his body so I’m spooning him but in a standing position, arms wrapped around me, hands gripping the bat over mine.
“Here. Hold it like this.” His warm breath tickles my neck. “Does that help?”
I shiver. “Sort of.”
Or maybe I just want him breathing on my skin and tickling my earlobe with the tip of his nose, the way he’s doing now.
He makes some more adjustments to the bat in my hands. “Better?”
“Um. A little.”
He chuckles in my ear. “Little faker.”
“I’m just no good at this.”
“You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to let yourself have fun—stop thinkin’ about it and have fun. So what if you swing and miss?”
Says the guy who practically plays professional football.
“Are you at least havin’ fun?”
I nod even though I’m not actually.
Correction: I enjoy having his body pressed against my backside and his arms around my waist as he instructs me on how to hold the equipment, his deep voice tingling my eardrums.
That’s what I enjoy.
The way I can feel him through his pants. The way I can feel his breathing in and out. How warm he is. How strong his forearms are. How much taller he is than I am.
I’m enjoying it all.
The baseball part? Not so much.
Drake
“Do you want to get ice cream?” We’re in the parking lot after the semi-disastrous afternoon at the batting cages which I can check off my mental list of Things to Do with Daisy on a Rainy Day.
Yeah.
We will not be going back.
She hated it and wasn’t shy about it.
So to spare us both, we will not be going back.
Maybe miniature golf would have been a better choice, eh?
Fuck.
Why hadn’t I thought of that earlier? There’s a little mini-putt-putt range next to the batting cage park.
I’m an idiot, that’s why.
“Do I want ice cream?” Daisy mulls it over, wrapping herself in a hug. “It’s a little cold out, so maybe not.”
Damn. She’s right. It did get unseasonably cold.
“Hot chocolate instead?” I offer, not ready to head home yet.
Daisy plucks the batting helmet off her head and immediately begins shaking her hair back into place, the flattened locks still look great, in my opinion.
She fluffs, grumbling. “I don’t even want to know what my hair looks like right now.”
“Same as it did when you got here,” I reassure her. Judging by the look on her face that wasn’t the correct answer.
Yikes.
Daisy goes about smoothing it down, finger-combing it.
“I could do hot chocolate and a cute Danish,” she finally allows after making me sweat.
“What’s a cute Danish?”
“You know,” she says. “A pastry? Like a cheese Danish or donut?”
“What’s so cute about it?”
She shrugs, setting her batting helmet on the rack and hanging the bat. I follow suit.
“It’s just something I like to say.”
Oh. “Alright.” I jingle the keys to my truck. “Meet you there in a few.”
She gives me a small wave when we go our separate ways, and I can’t help watching her walk across the parking lot at the batting cage park; there are several volleyball courts too, and a bowling alley. The place is a hot spot in the warmer months, and I’m no stranger to getting out in the summer sun and hitting balls around, whether it’s a baseball or a volleyball or a bowling ball.
I love sports.
They’re the only thing I seem to be good at.
I’m not a scientist like my brother is. I can’t imagine myself doing anything else, but Drew seems to have other plans for himself that don’t include me or football. He hasn’t come out and said he wants out, but that’s the feeling I get. I feel it.
Lately, Drew is a vibe.
I follow Daisy to the same café where we had breakfast last week the morning she proposed this hokey five-date rule, which in all honesty seems to be working out in my favor.
The dates have been fun. Not at all a chore.