might be a jock, but it didn’t mean I was stupid enough not to notice Minka was definitely a virgin. We’d rounded all of the other bases, and that was just fine with me right now.
But, trust me when I tell you, sliding into third with her was better than any sex I’d ever had. The sounds she made as I lapped up her sweet juices, the blush that seemed to creep all the way down her body as she got close to exploding on my tongue. Damn. I could do that for the rest of my life. No sex required.
Minka: You’re so vulgar, Axel.
She had no idea. I could feel her blushing through the phone. Jesus, she’s cute. And sexy, and funny…and my hard on throbbed at her use of my last name.
“Why the fuck are you smiling like that?”
I look up just fast enough to dodge the batting helmet that Miles has thrown in my direction. Clint Bellows and Parker Avery jog down the dugout steps after him, hauling their sweaty asses onto the bench.
“You lazy fuck. Pitchers always get the long end of the stick. You don’t even have to run wind sprints.” Avery grumbled at me.
Dude was always in a pissy mood. But he was a great fucking outfielder. We put up with his attitude, usually ending up force feeding him alcohol to tolerate him. Parker was like the Hulk, but reverse. Get him drunk and he was the nicest guy on the planet. And also one of the best wingmen. He could snag any guy, no matter their looks, a 10 on the hot-girl scale. Not that I needed his services anymore.
“That’s right sunshine. I just stand up there and look pretty. Oh...and don’t forget, win you national championships.” I pat his cheek.
“Bro, gross. Why’re you sporting a semi?” Clint chokes on the Gatorade he’d just swigged.
“The real question is, why are you looking at my dick?” I wink at him and readjusted myself. Damn baseball pants, you can’t hide anything in these bad boys.
“He’s probably daydreaming about the high school hottie he’s been smashing. Chicks got legs for days,” Miles whistles.
I zip a batting glove at his face, effectively slapping him between his eye and his cheek. “I told you not to talk about my girl like that, Farris.”
“Woah-ho-ho, his girl, fellas. Did you hear that? Axel’s got himself a ball and chain. Not to mention an 18-year-old one.” Miles dances around the dugout, mocking me.
“No way man, you have a girlfriend?” Clint asks in disbelief.
“Not exactly, dickwads. But if you must know, yeah, I’m spending a lot of time with her.”
“Why does this sound like a goddamn romance novel?” Avery quips.
“She’s not like these groupie chicks you douchebags bring home. She’s smart, and seriously funny. And she could kick any of your scrawny asses. And yeah, she’s got some serious legs,” I give Miles a shit-eating grin.
“Yeah whatever man, I guess thats great. I’m happy for you.” Parker stares out into the field stoically. I can never figure out what’s going on in that guy’s head.
“Alright, weirdo. I don’t know why you guys so are worried about my business, you all had your asses handed to you in batting practice. I can hit better than that, and I’m not even required to.” Being a pitcher means I get special perks, depending on how you look at it. No, I didn’t have to condition as hard, or work on slugging one outta the park, but all of the pressure rested on my shoulders. My performance determined whether we won or lost games.
“Dude it’s July. Our first scrimmage isn’t until the last week of September. I’ll get back to over three hundred in no time,” Miles stands up, juggling a bat between his hands.
Farris is our best hitter; he’s so close to breaking the school record for home runs averaged and he’s only a sophomore.
“Well, just make sure you take us to finals next year and no one will be complaining,” Clint adds, strapping the mass of catcher's equipment to his body. Clint is my catcher, and while he can definitely be accused of skipping
But, trust me when I tell you, sliding into third with her was better than any sex I’d ever had. The sounds she made as I lapped up her sweet juices, the blush that seemed to creep all the way down her body as she got close to exploding on my tongue. Damn. I could do that for the rest of my life. No sex required.
Minka: You’re so vulgar, Axel.
She had no idea. I could feel her blushing through the phone. Jesus, she’s cute. And sexy, and funny…and my hard on throbbed at her use of my last name.
“Why the fuck are you smiling like that?”
I look up just fast enough to dodge the batting helmet that Miles has thrown in my direction. Clint Bellows and Parker Avery jog down the dugout steps after him, hauling their sweaty asses onto the bench.
“You lazy fuck. Pitchers always get the long end of the stick. You don’t even have to run wind sprints.” Avery grumbled at me.
Dude was always in a pissy mood. But he was a great fucking outfielder. We put up with his attitude, usually ending up force feeding him alcohol to tolerate him. Parker was like the Hulk, but reverse. Get him drunk and he was the nicest guy on the planet. And also one of the best wingmen. He could snag any guy, no matter their looks, a 10 on the hot-girl scale. Not that I needed his services anymore.
“That’s right sunshine. I just stand up there and look pretty. Oh...and don’t forget, win you national championships.” I pat his cheek.
“Bro, gross. Why’re you sporting a semi?” Clint chokes on the Gatorade he’d just swigged.
“The real question is, why are you looking at my dick?” I wink at him and readjusted myself. Damn baseball pants, you can’t hide anything in these bad boys.
“He’s probably daydreaming about the high school hottie he’s been smashing. Chicks got legs for days,” Miles whistles.
I zip a batting glove at his face, effectively slapping him between his eye and his cheek. “I told you not to talk about my girl like that, Farris.”
“Woah-ho-ho, his girl, fellas. Did you hear that? Axel’s got himself a ball and chain. Not to mention an 18-year-old one.” Miles dances around the dugout, mocking me.
“No way man, you have a girlfriend?” Clint asks in disbelief.
“Not exactly, dickwads. But if you must know, yeah, I’m spending a lot of time with her.”
“Why does this sound like a goddamn romance novel?” Avery quips.
“She’s not like these groupie chicks you douchebags bring home. She’s smart, and seriously funny. And she could kick any of your scrawny asses. And yeah, she’s got some serious legs,” I give Miles a shit-eating grin.
“Yeah whatever man, I guess thats great. I’m happy for you.” Parker stares out into the field stoically. I can never figure out what’s going on in that guy’s head.
“Alright, weirdo. I don’t know why you guys so are worried about my business, you all had your asses handed to you in batting practice. I can hit better than that, and I’m not even required to.” Being a pitcher means I get special perks, depending on how you look at it. No, I didn’t have to condition as hard, or work on slugging one outta the park, but all of the pressure rested on my shoulders. My performance determined whether we won or lost games.
“Dude it’s July. Our first scrimmage isn’t until the last week of September. I’ll get back to over three hundred in no time,” Miles stands up, juggling a bat between his hands.
Farris is our best hitter; he’s so close to breaking the school record for home runs averaged and he’s only a sophomore.
“Well, just make sure you take us to finals next year and no one will be complaining,” Clint adds, strapping the mass of catcher's equipment to his body. Clint is my catcher, and while he can definitely be accused of skipping
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