Hitting the Curve Page 4

  “I like the place. It’s cozy.” He says.

  I can’t help but roll my eyes at him for echoing my own damn thoughts. How dare he?

  “It’s small. You can say it.”

  “No, no. I like it. Doesn't have too much unnecessary stuff.” He says as he leans against the wall.

  “It doesn’t have much stuff, period.” I shoot back as I head to the only room, my bedroom.“Stay there. I need to get dressed and get my stuff together.”

  “Sure. Do you need much stuff to be happy, Char?” There’s amusement in his voice, but I can sense the sincerity in his voice.

  I shake my head, then realize he can’t see me.

  “No, not much. But more than this. I feel like a goldfish in a tank, sometimes.”

  His answering chuckle is so deep I can feel it even through the wall. Granted, my walls are paper mache, but it should still be illegal for anyone to sound that sexy at five past seven in the morning.

  I scrounge around, wishing I owned something appropriate for a date with a handsome sports god. Date? The thought flashes through my head.

  Study dates are still dates.

  “What about you, Levi? Looking forward to those million-dollar endorsements?” I ask as I rifle through my drawers, pulling out the lowest cut top and shortest shorts I own. Somewhere in the middle of the night as I dreamed of the hunky hero standing in my living room ripping my clothes off and ravishing me, I came to a decision.

  I wasn’t going to get another chance like this in my entire life, so I was going to fling myself at Levi Miller. Besides, it was for class. That made it legal to let my inner slut out, right?

  Right. Don’t you wish you’d let me buy that leopard print thong?

  I’m saved from my internal slut’s insults by Levi’s voice rocking through me again.

  “Nah. I mean, it’ll be sweet to be set up for life. I’ll be able to take care of my Momma, get her something nice. Maybe spoil my nieces some. But really, I just do it for the love of the game.”

  I stick my head out of the door at that, glaring at him. He stares back at me, smiling, looking as honest and as wholesome as any boy scout.

  “Huh. You really mean that don’t you, Babe Ruth?”

  Levi groans, hiding his eyes behind one massive hand.

  “Yes. Please, don’t make any more baseball references. That was almost a hundred years ago, you know.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. That was all I knew.” I fire back as I shimmy my shorts up over my hips. “Ok, maybe I have one more in me, but that’s it.” They aren’t actually short shorts, but they’re old, so they’re the closest I’ve got. I take a deep breath and jam them shut, praying to the god of buttons to keep me from popping one today.

  I give myself a once over in the mirror. No way I can fix my hair in under an hour. Make-up — just touched up. No time for more. The humidity would make me look like a raccoon in under thirty seconds anyway. Note to self: get some pointers from Pru, because my inner slut has no clue what she’s actually doing. I grab Levi’s hat and plop it down onto the mess of my hair.

  I gather up all of my things. Notebooks, laptop, books. I’ve got thirty different browser tabs worth of material we can chew through. That should keep us busy enough that things don’t get awkward.

  “Alright, slugger. Let’s get out of here.” I say as I exit my tiny bedroom, bags in hand.

  “Finally,” Levi says.

  I shoot him a death glare, only to find him smirking at me again.

  As I step towards the door, Levi steps in front of me, one hand out.

  “You can leave the stuff. Like I said last night, there’s only one way to learn about an orgasm, sha.”

  His voice seems to grow even deeper as he almost whispers in my ear. The effectiveness of his words hasn’t diminished overnight. If anything, it hits me even harder in the light of day. Our closeness has electricity arcing up and down my spine, sparks destroying any proper response I might muster. Instead, I let the bags fall to the floor. I cross my arms, painfully aware of my now diamond-hard nipples.

  “So if we aren’t going to study, where are we headed?”

  Levi smiles, shaking his head.

  “First things first. You need a crash course. Come on.”

  Chapter 8

  Levi

  Swingin’ where we want, cuz there aint nobody home. Swingin’ to the left and swingin' to the right. If I think about baseball I’ll swing all night. — Warrant, ‘Cherry Pie’

  The crack of bats meeting balls fills the air as we step out of my car. A lot of guys on the team use their scholarship money to get a nice new ride, but I’m still driving Dad’s old Chevy.

  For the first time in my life, I wish it were nicer. I’ve never been one for fancy cars, but Charity deserves the very best. Cars, houses, rings.

  I want to give this girl the world.

  The thought is intrusive, and I bat it aside like a foul ball.

  “Levi, where are we?” Charity asks. As flustered as she was this morning, she’s once again schooled her expression. Her calm, cool, collected front has returned. Not a hint of what she’s thinking now.

  “This is the private batting cages. Thought that was pretty obvious.” I answer, giving her my best smile. Dimple and everything.

  She rolls her eyes, one corner of her mouth going up in a sardonic smirk.

  “I meant,” she says slowly, as if speaking to a small child, “why in the world are we at the batting cages? We need to be doing research for our presentation. If you brought me here just so I could watch you practice, you should have let me bring my things so I could get real work done.”

  Her tone is so acidic I’m amazed I don’t melt under the assault. This girl is quick with a quip, and her tongue is razor-sharp.

  That’s alright. No pain, no gain.

  “It is research. We’re researching the effects of a home-run first date on, you know.” I make a vague gesture towards Charity’s hips “The overall effect of things.”

  “You mean, if you sweep a girl off her feet, will she come for you?” Charity asks, one eyebrow arching up perfectly. “That’s pretty well established.”

  I take it in stride, shaking my head. “No, no. It’s a well-known anecdote, but we need hard data. Does it increase quantity, quality, both, or neither?”

  Charity’s lip twitches for a moment in amusement at my enthusiastic love of the scientific method.

  “Well, this is a bust. Not exactly my idea of romance,” she says, but she doesn’t move back towards the car.

  “Give it a shot,” I sigh. “Trust me, Charity. How many first dates have you been on?” I try to make it sound casual.

  She stiffens up a bit at that. “No good ones, so you’ll at least be in good company. Alright, DiMaggio, lead the way.”

  I guide her into the far end of the cages and close the gate behind us. There are a few guys getting in some early morning swings, but none of them are dumb enough to antagonize me by saying something.

  Coach might run me, but I run the team.

  “Alright, Char. You ever swung a bat before?” I ask as I walk out to the pitching device, lifting up the big crate of balls and feeding it into the hopper up top.

  “Wait, what? No. I thought I’d be watching.” She says, fiddling with the bottom of her top. It didn’t escape my notice that Charity is showing decidedly more skin than she’s used to. It’s a small thing, but I’ll take anything I can get when it comes to this girl.

  “Why Charity, who would have thought you had a voyeuristic streak?” I ask teasingly.

  She huffs, fists going to her hips.

  “I just meant that I have no idea what I’m doing, and having things hurled at me is not my idea of a fun time.” Her eyes are hardening, the anger bubbling beneath the surface. There’s a fine line to toe. Riling her up without actually crossing that line into something that will antagonize her is a balancing act. One that I’m more than willing to walk.

  I grab the remote
for the machine and jog back to the simmering pile of curves standing on the well-worn home plate.

  “Relax. These things do one thing. Scoot back a bit,” I nudge her away and hit the button on the remote. The machine lobs a ball as slow as it can - a nice easy softball pitch, roughly half as fast as my changeup.

  It still makes an impressive whumph as it hits the thick rubber backstop behind the plate, making Charity jump.

  “Hey. Easy. Relax, I won’t let anything happen to you, ok? I promise.” I let the charm drop away, all pretense of teasing gone in this moment. Charity nods back at me, big blue eyes captivating. It’s hard to tear my gaze away from her, even when I have a mission.

  “Right. Now, I know what you’re thinking.”

  “You really don’t,” She murmurs, a quiet whisper that I almost don’t hear over the ambient sounds surrounding us.

  I clear my throat, trying to do my best to put her whispered admission out of my head.

  “You’re thinking that hitting the ball far is going to be hard because you’re not out there bench pressing your own body-weight every day, right?”

  “Sure. We’ll go with that.” Charity smiles as I hand her the bat. Our fingers brush as mine slide away from the smooth-grained Louisville slugger, and there’s an almost electric spark at just that slightest contact. It’s enough to make me almost lose my train of thought.

  “Well, lucky for you, baseball isn’t here.” I pat her bicep, moving to stand behind her. I let my hands drift down her body to her hips.

  “It’s all in the hips. Square up with the plate. No, like this.” I guide her into a decent stance, my hands making minute adjustments to the way she’s standing. I adjust her feet with mine, nudging them into the right alignment.

  “Good. Now you’re coiled tight, like a spring. Feel your body poised to unwind, and when the ball comes, just let it happen. Smooth. Natural. Just do what feels right.” Still with my hands on her hips, I lean in, whispering into her ear. I can see her skin erupt in goosebumps at the feel of my breath on her neck, but to her credit, she doesn’t move away.

  Without warning, I press the button on the remote. The ball sails through the air, and Charity swings. I feel the connection through my hands, the reverberation thrumming through her body as she sends the ball sailing back the way it came.

  “Holy shit, I did it.” She whispers.

  “Yes, you did. Now, do it again.” I can’t keep the grin out of my voice as I give her another ball. She sends it sailing like she’s been doing it all her life. She turns in my arms, a full-fledged grin of her own plastered across her face.

  I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous in my life. Without a thought, I bend down and press a kiss against her lips. Smooth, Natural. Doing what feels right.

  To my great surprise, she kisses me back. It’s a quick kiss, but I can tell there’s more lurking beneath. I want nothing more than to grab this girl and kiss her silly, but it isn’t time for that.

  Not yet.

  “Come on, Babe Ruth. Let’s see you hit a few more. I’m going to give it to you faster now. Sometimes slow is good, but you’ve got to match the tempo of what you’re getting.” I couldn’t keep the flirtatious edge out of my voice if I tried, but now that I know Charity is interested, I lay it on extra thick.

  I’m going to hit this curve if it’s the last thing I do.

  Chapter 9

  Charity

  Mister you’re a baseball man as anyone can plainly see. The straightest game in this great land. Take a little tip from me. — Ry Cooder, ‘Third Base, Dodger Stadium’

  “Alright, Levi. I’ve decided that it’s official.” I proclaim.

  Levi sits next to me, his feet resting on the smooth concrete while mine kick nothing but air. We’re on a bench near a local ice cream place called Creamistry, snacking on scoops of Rocky Road and Salty Caramel.

  “Decided what?” He asks, bemused.

  “You can be my partner for this project,” I say, taking a bite and letting the spoon rest in my mouth, sucking every bit of it clean. Watching Levi’s eyes go wide at my suggestive behavior is such a high. No drug could be this good.

  Turns out that flirting is fun.

  “Of course I’m your partner. We’ve been doing research all day.” He smiles at me with that easy, charming, boyish smile of his that makes me melt faster than my ice cream in the Louisiana heat.

  I shake my head. “I mean real research, Levi. Studying. Graphs. Scholarly articles. I was doing some last night, and there’s a lot of ground to cover.”

  “Is that what you were doing this morning that made you forget our appointment? Research?” He waggles his fingers at me, and despite the chill on my tongue, I feel flames rising in my cheeks.

  Flirting is fun, but it still makes me squirm.

  “No. I was just sleeping.”

  “You were awfully sticky for someone who was just sleeping.” Levi’s grin widens, shifting from cutely mischievous to sinfully wicked. I swallow around my suddenly tight throat, hyper-aware of every point of contact between us: our legs touching on the bench, the brush of his shoulder against mine.

  “It was hot.” My voice comes out a whisper, and I know instantly that he doesn't buy it.

  “Funny, I was doing some research last night, too. Proper stretching techniques. VIsualization exercises. Important stuff.” Levi’s insinuations are downright lewd, but somehow he manages to keep a mostly straight face while getting more and more over-the-top with every passing second.

  “I’m sure. That doesn’t change the fact,” I say, recovering some of my normal poise. “That we haven’t done any actual work, hotshot. You may have a comfy ride through life, but the rest of us have to work at it.” I finish my ice cream with relish, some of my frustration leaking out around the edges. I swore I wouldn’t get mad at the guy just being born lucky, but it’s impossible when he’s being such a jerk.

  A big, sexy jerk that I want to devour just like I do my ice cream: one lick at a time.

  Levi is quiet, his jaw clenched. For a moment, I worry I went too far.

  Of course you did. No one likes being told off, especially boys.

  “Dat wat you tink, huh?” Levis’ accent is so thick now that I can barely make him out, his emotions clearly fraying his self-control.

  Levi stares down at his hands, intensely quiet. The shift in his demeanor gives me whiplash. Where was this brooding man hiding inside the bundle of boyish enthusiasm I’ve been around all day?

  “Come on, let me walk you home.” He stands, offering me a hand. It’s sweet, the way he’s all manners where I’m concerned. Sweet, but frustrating.

  “Levi, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” I start, but he cuts me off.

  “Let’s stop at the stadium. I want to tell you something.” He smiles at me, giving my hand a squeeze.

  Five minutes later, we’re leaning against the chain-link of the fence. The lights are on but no one is on the field. Just the smell of fresh grass and the cool scent of tomorrow’s rain.

  “It’s funny, you know. Other people go to church for this kind of thing. Confession, that is. This is my church though, I guess.”

  I give him a small smile and his hand another squeeze. I can tell it’s hard for him.

  “Come on, Miller. You can tell me anything.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about, I guess. But that’s all part of it, isn’t it? Letting your walls down, letting someone in. Trusting them.”

  I nod. Levi is surprisingly perceptive.

  “I was a really sick kid. My asthma was so bad I could barely breathe most days, my parents were too poor to get me the treatment I needed. I used to come out to the ballpark and watch and dream. I’d dream of being healthy enough to stand out there, to show everyone that I could do anything if I worked at it hard enough.” His speech is somber, quiet, and I can’t help but be wrapped up in his story. The cadence of his voice is comforting, lulling, enveloping me in the emotions of his younger self: hop
e, despair, determination.

  “When I was twelve, I tried out for a little league team. They were kind, but they stuck me at the bottom of the roster, put me so far out in the outfield that I was in another parish.” He cracks a grin at me, and I smile back, but the humor in his eyes is fragile.

  He’s joking about it now, but it still hurts after all these years.

  “What happened?” I ask, resting a hand on his arm.

  He chuckles. “I outgrew most of the sickness, got an inhaler, and then I was just a big kid with more determination than most. There was still a lot of prejudice against me in my hometown, so I worked twice as hard to prove myself. Guess I just never learned to stop.” He turns to face me, green eyes blazing with emotion.

  “If you want to work alone, Charity, you can. I’ll get an A on this presentation either way. I just… from the moment I saw you, I knew I had met someone special. A kindred spirit. Someone just as determined as I am.”

  “Pretty sure from the moment you saw me you thought I was a curvy blonde with nice tits and resting bitch face.” I elbow him in the side, trying to lighten the mood. Anything would be better than seeing the dark look in his eyes.

  “Yeah. That too,” He smiles. “But I could sense it on you. The hunger, the need to prove yourself.”

  I nod. “You’re not wrong, Levi.”

  The cynical part of myself idly wonders how many girls he’s brought here, how many times this sob story has worked for him. The truth is that it does work. Even being aware that it could just be a scheme to get in my panties and add another notch to his belt, I can’t help but feel my defenses get undone by the quiet intensity of Levi Miller.

  Damn, he really is good. You should partner with him either way. Even if he’s just feeding you a line, a guy with skills this good must know a lot about making girls come. Easy A, right?

  I stuff the cynical side of me down, ignoring her. I like her a lot less than my inner slut.

  Eventually, you’ve got to let someone in.