I look away sheepishly, realizing I’ve been caught. He tickles my sides until I find myself under him again. “Tell me.”
I roll my eyes and pretend like I don’t care. I do, but he doesn’t need to know. “I looked you up.”
“You did? Before or after we met?”
Totally beforehand. “After.”
“Hmm, and?” He waggles his eyebrows at me.
“Cooper Bailey, are you fishing for compliments?”
“I am if you’ve got them.”
“And nothing. I already had your program, so I thought I’d look to see what you’re doing socially since you were calling. I was pleasantly surprised to see you don’t act like a douche, unlike some of the players.”
“I’m not a douche.”
“That’s good to know, since we’ve just had sex.”
“We love-fucked, Ainsley, and we’re about to do it again.” He leans over to the nightstand and grabs another condom. “Roll over,” he commands, and I do, getting up on my knees.
He slaps my ass and groans. “You better hang on, Ainsley.”
Chapter 15
Cooper
Waking up with Ainsley beside me wasn’t something I had planned on. Before we knew it, the afternoon had turned to night and Guerra and Wilder came home. The last thing I wanted to do was parade her in front of them. Knowing them the way I do, I know they’d be disrespectful, but in a playful way, and I have no doubt Ainsley would have played along, but I wasn’t in the mood. It was fairly obvious to me that she was content staying when she had slid underneath my blankets and closed her eyes.
But I didn’t. Each time I closed my eyes, I thought she was going to disappear. I watched her until my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. I’d startle awake when she’d move, fearful that she was trying to sneak out. I didn’t want the night to end and knew, once the sun rose, we’d be in
that awkward stage of “did she really mean to give herself to me,” and that wasn’t something I was looking forward to.
Shit, just thinking about being with her last night has my body zinging. Never in a million years did I expect her to be so forward, so willing. The way her body reacted to my touch, that alone was enough to make me hard. Every moment of us being together is seared into my mind. Images of her, when she was the most vulnerable, replay over and over, reminding me of what we shared. And what I hope to share again.
What I didn’t bank on is her waking up at four a.m. to tell me she was leaving. I wanted her to stay wrapped in my arms, where I knew she belonged, but she was insistent that she had to get home. I know her mom isn’t well, and she was probably worried about her.
Instead of heading back to bed, I decide that this is the perfect time to get some batting practice in. I’d wake Wilder and Guerra, but the likelihood of them wanting to go to the park so early is nil. They’re dedicated, but not like I am.
The drive over to the park is quick, and when I pull into the parking lot, the field lights are already on. Which is a bonus for me since I won’t have to wait for them now. As soon as I step out of my car, the sound of the bat cracking against the ball gets my blood flowing. Someone is here, thinking the same thing I am—more practice. I stop in the clubhouse to slip on my cleats and grab my mitt before heading out.
When I get to the top of the concrete stairs, I freeze. Putting balls into the pitching machine is one of the grounds crew. In the batter’s box is Steve Bainbridge. Part of me wants to turn around and head back home, since the animosity between us is brewing. The other part of me wants to take my swings, too. If he’s here practicing, then I should be as well.
The crunch of the gravel under my cleats gets his attention. He holds up his hand and tells the guy to stop feeding him the balls.
“What’re you doing here?” he asks with his bat resting on his shoulder. Bainbridge is an intimidating guy, but I stand tall next to him.
“I need some practice,” I tell him honestly. He knows that I’m gunning for his starting spot. It’s no secret. Even the organization expects it. Bainbridge is close to retirement, and I’m young, eager, and better when there’s a side-by-side comparison.
“All right, rookie.”
Bainbridge drops the bat and heads over to the pitching machine. He exchanges words with the guy who was helping him and takes his place behind the net. I pick up a practice bat and swing it a few times to warm up before stepping up to the plate.
“What do you want to work on?”
“Fast balls,” I tell him. Bainbridge shows me the ball before dropping it into the machine. This isn’t like taking batting practice from your coach, where you can time your swing with his pitching motion. These balls are coming in hard and fast whether you’re ready or not.
The first one I foul off, followed by the next four.