Page 52 of Playing Dirty (Leighton U #4)
Madden
My head is anywhere but in the game as we enter the bottom of the seventh inning, and it’s never been more apparent than the moment my bat clips off the third foul ball in a row.
Damnit.
Leighton is currently clinging to a one-run lead over us by the skin of their teeth, and with two outs, I’d really love to start a rally for my guys by tying this thing up. Except, I can’t really do that if I don’t make solid contact with the goddamn ball.
I watch Coach’s signs from the left side of the plate, finding nothing of meaning in them other than hit the damn ball.
Before stepping into the batter’s box again, my gaze instinctively flashes to Theo. It’s impossible to see his expression when he’s all the way out at shortstop, but it’s almost as if I can hear his words in my mind .
You’re leaning too far back.
Taking a deep breath, I recall Theo standing behind me while we were in the batting cages; his hands on my hips as he corrected my stance. My body shifts instinctively, almost as if his hands were still guiding me now, while I watch for the pitch.
The crack of the bat sounds a few moments later, sending a zinging vibration up my arms from the contact, and I take off down the first-base line in a dead sprint. Cheers erupt through the stadium, spiking the adrenaline already coursing through my veins as my feet pound over the dirt.
My eyes lock with my first-base coach’s, spotting the signal for me to head for second, and the moment I do, I find Theo already straddling the bag, arm extended and waiting for the ball.
A quick look toward right field tells me it’s gonna be a close one, and as I draw nearer, I drop into a slide, feet first.
Theo’s glove hits my ankle seconds later, the ball tucked snuggly in the webbing, but not before my foot collides with the bag.
“Safe!” the umpire shouts.
From the look in Theo’s eyes when he meets my gaze, he knew it before the call was made, but it doesn’t stop the devilish grin from pulling at my lips when he pulls his glove away.
The umpire calls for a quick time out while he clears the dirt off the base, and I take the opportunity to pop up and dust myself off.
“Guess you should listen to me more often.” The teasing murmur comes from behind me as I take my place on the bag again. “I was waiting for you to whiff out or send a grounder to second before you remembered to shift your weight forward.”
My gaze flicks his way, where it collides with light-green eyes, two black lines smeared beneath them. “I wouldn’t sound so smug when you just inadvertently assisted the enemy in getting a double.”
All I get in response is a little smirk before Dillon steps up to the left side of the plate.
Even with my attention locked on their pitcher, I can feel Theo shift behind me, ready to cover second on my lead off. It has the hair on my arms standing on end as I creep off the bag toward third base, watching and waiting for—
Leighton’s pitcher turns, rocketing the ball at Theo on second, but I’m there, my foot landing on the bag moments before his glove hits my thigh.
“You’re not picking me off that easily, Greyson.”
There’s a competitive edge to his tone when he slowly pulls his glove away and whispers, “Willing to bet on that?”
I should have, because when their pitcher goes to check me again, I once again make it back to the bag first. With ease this time, the ball hitting his glove a solid second after I’m already declared safe.
Theo lets out an annoyed little huff while tossing the ball back to the mound, and I flash him a winning smile.
“You better get your head in the game if you’re gonna keep trying this. Maybe next time I’ll actually make a run for third,” I taunt from the safety of the bag.
He arches a brow. “You’re not goading me that easily.”
“No, goading is your specialty.”
“It is, isn’t it?” A slow smirk creeps over his face when he moves behind me, whispering as he walks by, “And it’s a little hard to keep my mind on what’s happening on the diamond instead of my cum that’s probably leaking out of your ass right now.”
The dangerous gleam in his eyes sends a rush of energy through me—a bolt of adrenaline that has nothing to do with the game at hand. My cock twitches, the reminder of his release still lingering inside me doing something stupid to both my body and my brain.
“You’re lucky I’m wearing a cup, or everyone here would be getting an eyeful of my other bat,” I utter just loud enough for him to hear.
He flashes me a quick wink before getting back into position. “Have fun trying to steal third like that.”
Fucker.
This little game of cat and mouse is gonna get us in trouble, but, damn, is it fun.
It doesn’t help that I can still feel Theo every time I move—his cum in my ass, and the stiffness in my joints from how rough he was earlier. Though, I have the sneaking suspicion that was exactly his plan. And why he chose to draw my attention back to it right now.
“Dirty move, Teddy Bear. One you’re gonna be paying for later.”
He just winks and mouths, “Counting on it.”
The next two pitches pass without any attempts at playing, my brain still reeling on all things Theo.
I don’t need eyes in the back of my head to know he’s staring at me either; the heat of his gaze may as well be a physical caress along my shoulders and back.
It causes a shiver to ripple down my spine again while I watch their pitcher on the mound.
I creep my way closer to third, taking a more liberal lead than I realize because of the distraction Theo poses behind me. And a distraction it is, because when their pitcher checks me, I’m too far from the bag to make it without diving headfirst to the ground.
But it’s an effort made in vain, because this time, I’m the one who’s too late, the ball inside Theo’s glove smacking me on the forearm before I can make it back.
I know the shithead just picked me off, but it still stings when I hear the umpire shout, “Out!” to signal the end of the inning.
A series of boos echoes through the stadium like a choir, and I let out a soft curse as I roll to my back. Theo’s still standing over me, his lips rolled inward while he suppresses a smile, and he offers his hand. I take it, despite my annoyance, and he pulls me to my feet.
“Looks like your ass is mine in more ways than one today,” he whispers.
His eyes twinkle with smug confidence, and when he flashes me that perfect, devastating smile, it takes all my willpower not to lean in and kiss him.
Of course, I quickly remember where we are—and why that’s a big fucking no-no—when some of his teammates start converging on us, heading back into their dugout.
He tosses the ball back to the mound and heads to join them, but he shoots a wry grin over his shoulder and calls out, “Hopefully you’re more on the ball behind the plate, there, Hastings!”
God, he’s never gonna let me live this one down.
Our teams quickly swap positions on the field, and after busting my ass to get back in my gear, I’m positioned behind the plate to take on the next inning.
We’re in the meat of Leighton’s batting order now as Phoenix steps up to the plate, and I catch Theo taking some practice swings in the on-deck circle. He must feel my eyes on him, because his gaze flicks to me, and I spot the faintest twitch of his lips.
“Asshole,” I mouth to him, and it has a full grin spreading over his face.
The sight has my stomach doing all kinds of gymnastics, and I quickly look away, needing to focus on the task at hand. He’s already caused me one fuckup on the field tonight; I don’t need another.
Zander and I are up in the count on Phoenix early with two strikes and one ball, but Phoenix isn’t budging from the plate. He’s managed to hang on to his life at the plate by the skin of his teeth, clipping two foul balls in a row now.
And though I should know better, I can’t stop myself from adding fuel to the fire. After all, what’s a rivalry game without a little shit-talking at the plate?
“You’re doing wonders for your batting average tonight, Mercer. You planning to make it 0-3 with this next pitch?”
He glances down where I’m squatting, waiting for him to re-enter the batter’s box. There’s a little flash of irritation in his stare; a jolt of contempt if I’ve ever seen one.
“Eat a bag of dicks, Hastings.”
I’m about to tell him I’ll just have Theo’s ass for dessert instead, but I quickly rein my tongue in before it decides to get me in trouble.
Coach relays his pitch call to me through my earpiece, and I set up on the inside corner—the spot Phoenix has been weakest all night—and sign for Zander to nail him with a slider.
And when the ball lands directly in my mitt, Phoenix’s swing a complete miss, the crowd goes nuts.
I smirk when Phoenix curses, and another jab slips out before I can help it.
“Damn, kid. At this rate, you may as well bench yourself for the rest of the game.”
Phoenix is instantly fuming, his eyes darkening to damn near black when he snarls out, “Yeah, well, at least I’m not a pawn in somebody else’s.”
The hair on the back of my neck prickles, and an unsettled feeling coils in my stomach.
“What’d you just say?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you need a walkie to hear it better?”
His taunt is a bucket of ice water, and from the deadly gleam in his eyes while he continues backing toward the dugout, he knows it.
It’s like the ground has been swept out from under me, stealing my mental equilibrium as I try to process what the hell he meant. But I don’t have time, because Theo’s already approaching the plate.
But I can’t look at him. Not now, not for the rest of the game.
My teammates and I manage to pull out the W in the final inning, but while everyone else is on a high from gaining the lead for the series, I feel like anything but a winner.