Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
When Meyer tosses the bat, my shoulders drop.
I’ll admit I was having fun. Then again, I always do when a baseball’s in my hands.
I guess the fun’s over.
Or maybe not ...
My eyes hold on Meyer as she walks over to the short gate in front of the dugout, opposite of where she set her backpack. She begins to lift that hideous sweater, revealing her figure for the very first time and goddamn. It’s like opening up my gramp’s old Cracker Jack box and finding a Mickey Mantle rookie card.
Girl’s been hiding some treasures.
Far from skin and bones, as her slender face leads you to believe.
Lucky for me, she’s looking the other way, her round, perky, and completely unexpected, ass taunting me without her knowledge. Torturing me might be a better way to put it.
My fingers instantly twitch, begging to squeeze and smack it, to hold it in my palms and watch the way it moves when touched and teased, but I don’t get to envision it for long, ‘cause the girl shifts the slightest bit, sharing even more.
Hips, wide and thick, made for holding on to.
The thick, cheap cotton finally reaches her chest, and I run my tongue along the backs of my teeth in sudden anticipation.
She tugs the thing over her head and fuck me ...
So plump, so … full. They’re ready to spill, not far from toppling out of the tank she’s wearing, but as I could have guessed, that’s not her style. She pulls the top up as much as the material allows.
I’d pout if I was a lesser man.
I do try and get a good look, though, but she’s only half facing me, and then she tries to kill me.
Meyer tugs her hair tie from her head, and lets it fall from its usual mess.
Ass for days and long, tuggable hair is my sweet spot, and hers reaches her midback.
It’s mostly brown, but there’s a hint of copper catching the sun, kind of like the golden hint of her eyes.
She runs her fingers through it before her little hands wrap around the length, twisting and twirling it up again, and my eyes follow the windup, zeroing in on her chest as it rises with my own inhale.
To see if I’m caught, I look up quickly, but she’s not paying me any mind, just staring off, lost in her own thoughts, so I sneak another peek.
Still can’t tell if they’re fake or not, not that it matters. I love them all.
Big ones, small ones, real ones, fake ones, call me Dr. Fuckin’ Suess, and right now, the doctor wants to play, are they or aren’t they?
I want to touch ‘em, lick ‘em, suck ‘em, fuck ‘em, and then do it all over again.
The second I force my eyes up, Meyer’s jump to meet mine, and I don’t look away. Can’t.
Don’t want to.
She does, though, and I know. Meyer’s suddenly unsure of what she’s doing and why she’s here. It’s all right there, written along her brow.
It’s weird and I don’t get it, but she’s weird and I don’t really get her, so fuck it.
I get ready to throw.
Meyer grabs the bat and we go at it a few more times. One comes flying right back at me, and I snag it with a grin, tossing it up and catching it in my palm.
“You must be a frequent flyer at the batting cages, and you don’t want to tell me.” I spin the ball in my palm, lining my middle finger up with the right seam to serve her a slow curve as she gets ready for it. “We should go.”
I wind up, but before I can let it go, her face falls, and the bat follows.
She rushes to her bag, tearing her phone from the front pocket.
This time, I know we’re done for real, so I move to put everything back in the container, lock it up, and make my way to where she’s standing. “You know, you did pretty damn—”
“I have to go,” she cuts me off, runs to grab her sweater from the fence, and tugs it over her head before lifting her bag off the ground.
Trips me out how she dropped it right there without a care. I’ve never known a girl who didn’t mind the dirt like that.
Backpack on one shoulder, she shoves her phone in the pocket of her hoodie and begins to walk away. “I think you’ve got it, just remember the positions and plug in the correct terms.”
Oh, I’m being dismissed, brushed off and forgotten until next time, like we weren’t having fun five seconds ago?
Was this not chill and relaxing for her?
Did this not get her out of that dark box of depression, also known as the library, and out for some vitamin D, something she’s in desperate need of?