Authors: Harper Bentley
There’s a buzzing of talk in response to that then they get quiet again.
“There’s only been Ellen. We’ve been together since we were in high school. There’s no one else.” I look down at her with a smile and say, “Never will be anyone else.”
“Ellen!” one reporter yells
then. “You were seen with Austin Eddington last Sunday. Seems things were pretty hot and heavy between you two. So you and Jag have an open relationship?”
Good God. Ellen shrinks into me with a gasp and it’s time to end this shit.
“We were broken up for a bit and, yes, she dated Eddington for a couple weeks. But that’s over and we’re back together now,” I explain.
“He’s been booked on drug charges. Ellen, were you involved with that?”
“She wasn’t involved. She had no idea,” I tell them, now moving us to get away from them.
“So Ellen’s sleeping with Austin Eddington
and
you?” someone asks as they all follow.
I
stop and glare in the direction from which the question came and shake my head. It’s no use trying to explain things to these people. I should’ve known better. I was only trying to stand up for El and set things straight with my dating life, which to me is beyond ridiculous that anyone gives a shit about it, but they just want their next juicy story, so it’s no use. I keep shaking my head at them and with my arm still around El we head to the check-in area, ignoring the rest of their questions as they follow us. Once I’ve put in both our confirmation numbers, we’ve checked our bags and now we head toward security, happy to leave the reporters behind as questions are still being shouted at us, cameras still flashing.
And then someone drops a bomb. “I hear Alessandra Alvarez is pregnant and she’s saying it’s your baby, Jag. Care to comment?”
El stops right in the middle of the place and she looks like someone’s punched her in the stomach.
“El,” I say, looking down at her. “Not true. I was never with her. Focus.”
This is a sore spot for her because of what happened at the party last year when one of the hosts said Alessandra and I would make beautiful babies and I did nothing to curtail that line of questioning. Stupid. I drop my arm to her waist, digging my fingers into her side trying to get her to look at me, but she’s got her eyes closed and it looks like she’s practicing Lamaze breathing or something. Then it’s like she suddenly comes to life as she opens her eyes and turns to face the vultures.
“You know what,” she says as she glowers at them. “I understand that this is your job. But I hope that at least one of you finds it hard to look at yourself in the mirror knowing that everything in your magazines is nothing but
lies that are concocted only to hurt other people. If you can live with that, then good for you.” She turns back around, grabs my hand and pulls me with her towards security.
“El,” I murmur as we walk
but she doesn’t answer. The media are advancing on us again, so I get us to the security line as quickly as possible, not wanting to deal with the bullshit anymore. As we’re taking our boots off and putting our things on the conveyer belt, I try again. “El?”
“Just give me a moment, Jag!” she hisses at me then walks away from me and into the metal detector.
Once we get through security and we’re both putting our boots back on, I try again. “El?”
She’s quiet for a few seconds before she
takes a deep breath and lets it out then says, “That was fucking ridiculous.”
A
s I tie the lace on my boot then stand waiting on her I can’t help but chuckle a little. “Yeah, it was. I’m sorry.”
“Will it always be like this?” she ask looking up at me from where she sits.
I shake my head and shrug. “I don’t know. I guess as long as I’m playing, they’ll try to dig up something. And I should’ve gotten us out of there once they started getting personal, but I thought maybe I could clear some shit up. Apparently not.”
She stands and looks at me, hands on her hips. “Is she really pregnant?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care,” I reply, grabbing her hand and moving toward the seating area.
“I don’t know if I can handle this, Jag. If this is what it’s going to be like if we’re together…”
“Oh, no you don’t,” I say stopping and wrapping my arms around her pulling her front tightly against mine as her palms go to my chest as she tries pushing me away but I just hold her tighter. “Just got you back. Not losing you again. Got it?”
“But…” she starts.
“No buts about it, babe. You and me,” I bring a hand up and point to her then back at me, “we’re a team. We have questions, we deal with them together, not by reading some fucking magazine, understand?” I dip my head down trying to make her look at me, but she’s busy studying the floor. “And when our kids come along, Jag, Jr. and Coco Reese, well, they’re part of the team too.”
This gets her attention as she looks up at me incredulously. “Coco?” Her face scrunches up and I burst out laughing.
“Had to get your attention somehow,” I say grinning down at her, loosening my hold, but my arms are still wrapped around her, my hands resting just above her bottom.
She’s still looking at me like I’
m crazy then she snorts. “Coco,” she repeats as she shakes her head.
I lean down and kiss her
and her arms go around my waist. “You’re amazing, baby,” I say as I pull back taking in all that’s her.
“You want two kids?” she asks almost breathlessly.
I stick out my bottom lip in thought then say, “Wouldn’t mind three, but I’m good with whatever you want.”
“Three,” she says dreamily.
“And they’ll be the most beautiful kids ever because they’ll look like their mother,” I add. She narrows her eyes at me and I raise an eyebrow daring her to contradict me. “Couldn’t hold a candle, El.”
Now she frowns. “What?”
“None of them.” I shake my head as I look at her. “None can even begin to hold a candle to you. You’re everything, babe. You’ve got it all and I want it. You’re mine. Get used to it.”
Her face flushes and she moves her arms to lock around my neck
tiptoeing up to kiss me. When I pull back, I notice several people holding their phones up, snapping pictures of us.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, grabbing El’s hand and leading her to a coffee shop. This way we can sit in a corner and hide out as we wait on our flights. Hers leaves twenty minutes before mine, which was a good call on Ross’s part. I’d hate for her to have to be alone if my flight left first. I’ll have to remember to give him a bonus.
We find a table then I go to the counter and order our drinks, and upon bringing them back to the table and sitting, El says, “So, in keeping with the rock star names for kids that your family seems to have a penchant for, and since you brought it up, I’ve thought of a couple that you might like.”
“Hit me.” I smile because the thought of having a family with her is pretty fucking cool.
“Okay, well, we’re having two boys first then a girl. She has to have her older brothers there to protect her like I did.”
And that she did. Her brother Robbie gave me a black eye last year at Thanksgiving
because of the circumstances of El and my breakup, but he was being protective and I’d have done the same for Starr, so I understood. I now nod for her to proceed.
“Our first so
n will be Cash Daltrey unless you want a Jag, Jr.? We could call him Knox.” She raises her eyebrows in question.
I shrug thinking we’ll cross
that bridge when we come to it, but I do like what she’s picked, and I tell her so. Then I add, “We’ll just have three boys if I decide I want a junior.” Her eyes get big which makes me laugh. “Babe,” I say at how cute she is.
She giggles then clears her throat and continues. “Ok
ay, our second son is Zander Hendrix.” She looks at me for approval and I have to laugh again because we’re naming kids we don’t have yet, but I get that chicks like to do this kind of thing, so it’s all good, and my nod seems to please her. “And our girl. Well, I’m kinda torn on this.” She bites her lip as she looks at me in uncertainty.
“Coco?” I ask which makes her snort and swat me on the arm.
“No!” she says with another giggle and rolls her eyes. “Okay, I like Jett, Etta and Sixx.”
“Six? As in how many kids we’re gonna have to have to take all these names?” I chuckle.
“No! Sixx as in Nikki.” She laughs with me and I reach out and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Baby, I’m good with whatever you want. What’s really good is the thought of just being with you. Even be
tter is having a family together. But the best? The best is knowing all the practice we’re gonna have to do to make all these kids.” I smirk at her and she rolls her eyes again.
We sit and talk until it’s time for her to board then I walk her to the waiting area.
“You’ll be back Monday?” she asks.
“Yep. Home opener. Can’t wait. Brewers. I should start the second game.”
“Good,” she says and tiptoes up to kiss me, lacing her arms around my neck. “I love you,” she says when she pulls back.
“Forever and a day, babe,” I mutter and kiss her again and then she’s gone.
El
Jag flies in Sunday night and stays
at my apartment. He’s pissed because they lost all three games to the Braves, but I gladly make him feel all better.
Monday morning, I work at seven-thirty, so I leave him in my bed, kissing his handsome face goodbye before leaving. He said he’s going to the clubhouse around two, and I get off work at four, so I text him during the day and wish him luck telling him I’ll be at the game
. He texts back telling me not to bother since he’s not pitching and just to watch it on TV at his place to which he gave me a key this morning.
After work
I go to his place and explore for a bit, finding that it’s not only huge but beautiful. I didn’t get to see a whole lot of it the first time I was there, so I take advantage now. When I’m finished exploring, I’ve got the TV blaring his game so I can hear it because I end up in his guest room clearing out boxes that he’s left unopened, putting things away for him since I’m bored and he hasn’t had a lot of time to do so. Well, I do that after I rearrange his cabinets and drawers in the kitchen to where they make a lot more sense than what he had them. And after doing a couple loads of laundry for him. And a load of dishes. And dusting the hardwood floors. He really needs a maid.
The Cubs
lose, which is a bummer but we’re all used to it by now, but I’m excited because he’ll be home now for eleven straight days. We’ve planned to stay at his condo for most of that time because he told me he wants me to get used to it, clearly hinting that he wants me to move in with him, which I fully intend to do once I’m sure we’re good. Maybe he won’t need that maid after all, which doesn’t mean I’m going to do all his shit work, but I hate a messy house and if I’m going to be there anyway, I know I’ll clean the place.
When he gets home, he’s, of course, mad that they lost, but we both know it’s the curse of the Cubbies, so he’s not too upset.
I go to his game the next night since he’s pitching; they win and he does great. He’s able to stay in for eight innings before the relief pitcher comes in and gets the save. When he gets home, he’s stoked. His arm seems to be back to one-hundred percent performance, which is a huge relief, and things are back to normal.
The next six days fly by and he’s up to pitch again. This
time they get beat by the Rangers and although he hates losing, it especially bothers him when he’s the starting pitcher and they lose. But I can tell he’s grown up a lot because he doesn’t take the losses as hard as he did when he first started in the pros. I remember him going for hours not talking to me when he was with the Dodgers, stewing in his anger the whole time, but now, although he’s still pissed, at least I’m not bearing the brunt of it and he talks to me when he gets home.
B
ut I’m telling you, the sex after he loses? Wow. It’s phenomenal, almost as if he has something to prove and, by golly, he can prove to me any time that he’s not a loser because it’s that good.
I always make it home before he does on game n
ights, so tonight when I get home I change into shorts and a sweatshirt and make dinner, crab and ricotta cannelloni, his favorite. When he walks in the door, I’m setting the table when I hear him say, “Come here.”
I glance up at him, and the look on his face is so intense, I swear to God, I almost come just looking at him. I walk to
him on shaky legs and he grabs me, pulling me hard against him, wrapping his arms tightly around me. He brings his face down to mine, running his nose against the side of mine.
“Need you, babe,” he murmurs.
“You got me, Jag,” I whisper back.
He bends putting his hands under my butt and picks me up, m
y legs winding around his waist, then he turns us and pushes me against the door as his mouth comes down hard on mine. We make out for a bit and I can feel him hard against me. He sets me on the floor and yanks down my shorts and panties and I kick them off. Next, he pulls my sweatshirt over my head and growls when he sees I’m braless, bending to take my nipple into his mouth which makes me arch against the door with a moan.
He undresses
quickly then picks me back up as before, pushing me against the door, and taking hold of his length, lines himself up then surges up inside me.
Oh, God, I think I
love when he loses.
I’m mov
ing up and down against the door with each rough thrust he makes and he comes fast with a deep groan. He breathes hard against my neck as he continues holding me and I run my hands through his hair, trying to soothe him, kissing the top of his head, the side of it, telling him he’s the best, they’ll get ‘em next time.
He pulls away and with a grimace says, “Sorry, babe. I’ll get you off later,” then gives me a deep, wet kiss, which more than makes up for
my lack of an orgasm. Sliding out of me as he sets me down he says, “Stay here,” and goes to the bathroom to get a washrag.
Once we’re dressed again, we sit down to dinner, and he’s thrilled that I made his favorite. And later that night when we go to bed, he makes good on his promise giving me mine.
The next night I’m
working as one of
the PT’s at his game. I text to let him know and he texts back saying he’ll see me there later.
When I arrive at Wrigley around four-thirty, I go to the training room and see him talking to
Isaac, one of the trainers who’s been working with him on his shoulder. “Hey,” I say to both of them.
“What’s up,
shorty?” Isaac asks and gets a dirty look from Jag, which makes me snort.
Jag immediately puts his arm around my waist pulling my front to his side and bends down to give me a deep kiss. “Hey,” he says when he pulls back, his eyes glittering down at me.
Oh, my.
“Hey,” I say back breathlessly.
“Get a room,” Isaac says with a chuckle and walks off.
“
A room. Hm,” Jag utters as he looks around the place.
I smack his arm. “Don’t even think it.”
“But,
shorty
,” he raises an eyebrow at me, “I’ve always wanted to do you at Wrigley. It’s a fantasy of mine.”
I
smirk at him. “It’s a fantasy of mine too,” I confess and start giggling when his eyes about bug out.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Damn, El, gonna make me pop a boner during the game just thinking about it now.”
“Whatever.” I laugh. “Okay, gotta go check on the guys and see if they need rubdowns or stretching.”
“Don’t know if I like the sound of that rubdown shit,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me.
“Yeah, ‘cause it’s
so
sexy.” I roll my eyes. “But if you wanna come with, I’ll do you too.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him then turn and start walking out the door, but before I can leave he catches up to me grabbing my arm and stopping me, bending down to whisper in my ear.
“You shake that heart-shaped ass of yours like that again and I’m gonna make good on my fantasy happening
tonight
.”
I turn and start backing my way out of the training room, but before I exit I
look at him wickedly and say, “I dare you.”
At five, I go out to the field and watch the
players stretch as a team then they go into batting practice. Jag’s in the outfield shagging balls with the other pitchers and outfielders, chatting with several of them. He stops and throws his head back, laughing at what one of them says and he’s so freaking hot right then that if I could, I’d jump him this very minute. But I hold my libido at bay and stay where I am and smile at how handsome he is in his uniform.
It really is amazing being out on the field, though, and it’s then I realize it’s Jag’s first time to be out there.
He must be pretty nervous, but you couldn’t tell it from watching him. He’s always been so at home on the field it’s as if he belongs there.
When the team finishes their warm-u
p they go back in to the clubhouse and I follow, heading to the training room to make sure no one needs any last-second therapy. When I’m certain no one needs my help, I leave to go back out on the field and wait for the game to start.
But as I’m walking past the
clubhouse, I hear a voice I hoped I’d never have to hear again.
Alessandra.
Holy shit.
I stop and go back, stepping inside and make my way through a small crowd to see her standing in the middle of the room wearing a Cubs jersey, a pair of skintight jeans and spiked heels, and it looks like she’s giving them a pep talk.
What the fuck?
“If you work hard, you’ll win!” she yells then giggles, “win” coming out as “ween,” and I want to slap the ever-loving bajeebus out of her. I clench my teeth and take a deep breath chanting quietly to myself, “I love my job, I love my job” because if I do anything here, I’ll surely be fired. Plus, I’m a grown-ass woman and on top of it being incriminating, it also wouldn’t be ladylike to do something such as, oh, say jumping on her back, knocking her to the ground then pulling her fantastically shiny hair between landing punches to her ridiculously high cheekbones. Damn it.
S
he tells them all to gather around to execute a team break, holding her hand up as the players circle in. I notice she doesn’t look pregnant when the jersey raises up to show her flat belly, and I also notice she makes a point to move and get right next to Jag, smiling up at him. He gives her a look that I’ve only seen once before which was when I broke up with him last year, and it’s not a nice look at all. It pretty much says, “Go to hell,” “Eat shit and die,” and “Go fuck yourself” all neatly wrapped up in one. Good. I’m glad he’s not falling for her crap this time.
Before they do their break, I make my way out to the field
and stand at the far end of the dugout, not wanting to run into the heinous bitch just now. I’m also wondering why she’s here, but I figure it out pretty quickly when it’s announced that she’ll be throwing out the first ball. Oh, brother.
After the
National Anthem,
she sashays her way out onto the field swinging her ass as if the continuation of mankind depends on how many inches she can pop it out to “there” on each side. I’m so glad Jag’s not starting this game because Westman, the starting pitcher, is already out on the mound and I see her go to him, assuming she’s asking for pointers. She definitely milks it for all she’s worth, having him show her the motions of how to throw, and when he gets behind her holding her arm and making the motion of a pitch, she sticks her ass out as if she’s grinding on the poor guy’s junk. Jeez. I’ve met his wife Jessie and she’s a rowdy little thing, so I’ll bet she’s feeling the same as I am right about now.
Westman steps back and
before she takes the ball from him, she rips her jersey open like she’s Superwoman or some shit, showing that she’s wearing a pink, sparkly bikini top underneath it and the crowd goes wild. She takes the ball from Westman and sticking her boobs and ass out as far as she can get them and winding up, she ends up throwing the ball about two feet. Ugh. Then she plays to the crowd acting embarrassed and all girly and I really want to karate kick her. In the throat. Westman goes forward and picks up the ball handing it to her, and she thanks him by running her hands over the side of his face, down his chest and to his arms where she makes a big deal of the size of his biceps, flirting for all she’s worth. Then she snakes her hand up, and putting it behind his neck, pulls him down, kissing him right on the lips for about five seconds. Oh, Jessie Westman is not going to like that one bit.
Alessandra finally prance
s off the field so the game can start, and I’m hoping her heels will get caught in the turf causing her to fall and break her neck, but alas, nothing of the sort happens. Dang it. I wait for her to leave the field but she ends up hanging around the dugout as the official “bat girl.” She still hasn’t buttoned her jersey back up, and I see several of the guys, Newt in particular, watching her with tons of concentration, tongues practically hanging to the ground, waiting for the moment that her ample breasts, which are threatening to just pop out of the damned top she’s got on, do just that.
I look for Jag
but don’t see him in the dugout and finally spy him over in the bullpen throwing. Thank God.
By the fifth inning, Alessandra’s still putting on a show for anyone who wants to watch, and I
get bored of it all so I go back in the training room to watch the game on TV for a bit. Jag’s still hanging out in the bullpen, so there’s no threat that she’s going to be chatting him up, which is a good damned thing.
At the bottom of the sixth
, I go back out to watch the game and Ms. I Think I’m The Reason All These People Are in the Stands is still going at it. But I notice she’s now more focused on the dugout, and I see that Jag has returned to it. Great. I move to where I have a better view and want to laugh at how hard she’s trying to get his attention and failing. I want to shout, “I love you, Jag!” as loudly as I can because I’m so glad he’s ignoring her right now. I guess he was right about finally understanding things.
It’s the seventh-inning stretch and everyone’s standing singing
, “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” and afterward I hear the announcer doing the usual, going on about different sponsors and this and that and then I hear him announce my name.