Igniting the Wild Sparks (24 page)

Cara flinches at my sharp tone, but then shrugs.
“I made a joke about him being her other boyfriend. She laughed, but didn’t deny it too much.”

“Huh?” I bow my head as I digest that, looking at the ground for answers. I put a hand on a hip and agitatedly burrow into my hair with the other.

“She said they’re only friends, but the look on her face hinted otherwise.”

I glance up and drop my hand from my hair. Cara smiles and observes the mess I left my hair, I imagine. I ask, “How would
you
know? They’re friends. I trust her. She loves me, not him.” Doesn’t she?

“Okay. I hope you can trust her. They seem to
boost their affection for each other when you’re not around.”

I vigorously shake my head and glare at her. “She doesn’t want him.” Or so I thought. She told me
I’m
the only one she wants.

“She sure could’ve fooled me.”

I watch Becks and Rod laugh. She smacks his leg and he moves to rub the back of her shoulder. Could they be sleeping together? Does she let him see her stunning, naked body? Could she be telling him the same things she whispers to me while we make love? Touching him the same way she touches me? Tells that jackass she loves him and wants to get married? Am I an idiot to think that those very sentiments were special and only meant for me? Does he promise her that he will marry her and give her the children she wants since I won’t?

No.
I
want to be the one to put a ring on her finger.
I
want to be the one to father her children.

So why don’t I?

Because I’m a world-class dick.

If Becks leaves me for Greg Rodwell, my fucking life is over. One of my dares was from my best friend
to take shooting lessons at a gun range. Ricky also has a nice collection and I have easy access.

“Finn? What’s wrong?”

“What?” I look around and impatiently inhale. “Nothing. I have to start practice.” I grab the bag of bats and make my way over with Cara trailing behind. Val is passing out bright red hats with
Legal Eagles
written across the front in white. I need to talk to her about Becks taking vacation time next week. I’ve been busy or people have been around.

“Here, coach!” She hands me one and I put it on, adjusting the plastic strap in the back. I glance over at Becks and she gives me her pretty smile. I can’t help but smile back. “Okay, here are our shirts! I have the sizes written down next to the names, so bear with me. Coach, here is your shirt. Cara, this one is yours. I have Ricky’s. Rod, sweet pea, here’s yours.”

I lean against the chain link behind home plate and Cara stands near me, weirdly surveying the group. What’s she doing? Looking for more telltale signs of an affair between Becks and Rod?

Should
I
be?

Morgan laughs.
“How much you want to bet
Sweet Pea’s
number is negative 9 and has
Dick Rod
on the back?”

“I’m
Rodwell
and number 3, hag.”

“Sylvie. Betsy. Brandon. Morgan, here
are yours.”

“Let’s check out yours,
Morticia
, 666.”

“Hilarious, Ass Rod. I’m
Yates
, 4. How gross that I’m so close to yours.”

“
And I guess Val doesn’t think your marriage is going to work since she opted for your spinster name.”

Val says, “It’s bad luck before the wedding, Rod.”

Rod sneers, “Ivan said bye-bye to luck the day he proposed.” Morgan flips him the bird and I laugh. I glance at Becks and see her blankly staring at her hat. Is she thinking about my non-proposal now?

“Betsy, here’s yours. Shasta, hon. Crick.”

“What number did you get, Crock?”

Becks frowns up at Rod. “Be nice and stop changing his name.”

“I could call him something way worse that rhymes with Crick.”

“Knock it off, you ass hat. That’s my assistant,” Morgan gripes.

“My condolences to you, Crack.”

“Children…” Val warbles as she reads the packing slip.

Becks scolds, “You changed his name twice in the last five seconds.”

“Three if you count the one I was thinking of.” Rod looks up from Becks and yells, “Crunk, what’s your number, bro?” Make that four times.

“Six.”

“Aw, yeah. I’m a higher rank.”

“No ranking, Rod. They were mostly random,” Val informs him.

“Mostly?”

“Babe, here’s yours.” Aware of that’s what Val calls Becks from other times at practice, I jog over and take it from her before Becks can get up.

Delivering it to her, I say,
“Here,
babe
.” I smirk and hand Becks the red shirt.

Rod practically hops over. “Hadders, is your name spelled right? What number did you get?”

She unfolds the shirt and her beaming face rivals the sun. “
Becks
, 11.” Only she gets the meaning.

“You’re way down the rankings. You’re in Suckville. I guess they charge by the letter and you
got fucked.”

“Gregory!” Val admonishes.

Peering up at me, Becks happily says, “It’s perfect.”

I grin and bite my lip to curb my amusement somewhat.

It’s good to be coach.

CHAPTER
12

After we made love Saturday night and he told me he won’t marry me, even though he wants to, I was heartbroken. Again. Still reeling from last week’s false proposal, I went to the bathroom and threw up twice. I don’t know if it was from his admission, or because of the fact that I hadn’t eaten anything substantial the entire day,
or
because I’m even more uncertain now of proposing to him, being on edge about my boyfriend’s inexplicable feelings. Why am I setting myself up for that kind of rejection?

The weird thing is, e
ver since he rescued
me after Rod’s perfect aim, I’ve felt closer to Sparks. That’s mindboggling because that night, he had said he wants to marry me, yet in almost the same breath, he said he won’t. I’m so bewildered. I never had expected he was hiding that secret from me. I thought I knew for sure he didn’t want to marry me. I can’t get his words out of my head,
“Hadley, I want to be your husband… I do want to marry you.”
They have echoed in my thoughts every second since he uttered them to me in the dark. I should be more upset about it; however, strangely enough, I’m not as hurt as I probably should be. Maybe I puked all of my sadness out, or maybe it’s because he admitted he does want to marry me. I know he’s afraid, but for some reason, I hold onto this new hope that he’ll overcome it.

I attacked him Sunday
morning. It’s plain and simple. I don’t know what came over me. When he walked out into the living room wearing his boxers and his glasses, that sudden urge to ride him hard struck me considerably more than Rod’s turn at bat did. I couldn’t keep my eyes off Sparks’ body as he talked, imagining how he would feel sliding into me, even though it hadn’t been long since he had done just that the night before with such passion, and confessions that whisked my universe through a blender. On the sofa, a small part of me wanted to tease him after his jerking me around for three years, and to drive him wild like he does to me daily. I didn’t know if I could pull it off, but I amazingly did. He was putty in my hands, as I soon found him to be. He usually seems to when he’s with me, but I still have doubts that I can affect him that way. However, I hadn’t thought it all the way through because I didn’t have a condom nearby. He didn’t care, which at first, didn’t surprise me because of his hatred for them, but to actually come inside me without any protection for him, astounds me after our fight about that very subject.

When Val is finished passing out our shirts and hats, Finn g
ets with Cara to go over some changes he made with field positions since I won’t be playing for a week. Longer if my coach has his way.

Standing with my coworkers, they all fire question after question:

“What was going through your mind when you were hit?”

“Is our coach taking good care of you?”

“Were you shocked when Finn showed up?”

“Are you going to sue Rod?”

“Could you take your shirt off and be a walking PSA for softball safety?”

Scowling at Rod for his ridiculous suggestion, I then switch gears and say, “You’d better watch, Brandon, I’m going to steal shortstop with my mad catching skills.” Brandon, Morgan, Val, Gloria, Sylvie, Rhonda, and Rod all laugh at my blatant joke, but a hand grabs my elbow and tugs from behind.

Finn’s deep voice growls in my ear, “I need to talk to you. Now.”

As he steer
s me away, I anxiously ask, “What?”

He walks us
to the bathrooms before dropping my arm and nodding to the field. “What’s that shit about? You’re
not
playing shortstop. I’ve told you that. Discussion over.”

I petulantly
glower up at him. “Well, damn, Finn, why don’t you tie me to the bench since the dog treats you toss me don’t seem to be sufficient.”

Not in a humorous state of mind, he snap
s, “Don’t start arguing with me here because I promise you, I
will
win.”

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?”

He spools his bottom lip under his teeth and says,
“If you want to keep pushing me about playing, or doing shit to get even more hurt, you’re done. I’ll take you home and you
won’t
come back here.”

Feeling defiant from his snotty attitude, I cross my arms and rol
l my eyes. “You can’t ban me from a
park
, Finn. I’m here to support my team, and hopefully play again soon.”

He seeth
es, “
Enough
about fucking shortstop. I don’t care how well you’re feeling. I said you’re not playing it, so get it out of your head because you’re driving me crazy.”

I frown and retort,
“How nice of you. I’m so glad I can drive you crazy outside of our bed. Oh, wait. There was the sofa. Twice.”

Leaning close, he
menacingly says, “Keep it up with the smart mouth and I’ll end your outfield position, too.”

“You’d kick me off the team?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“And if I won’t go?”

He complacently smiles. “Then
I’ll
go, but you’ll come with me.”

“You think so, do you? Maybe I won’t.”

His smug laugh is almost scary. “You want to bet?”

I shake my head and doubtfully laugh at his
insane order. “You can’t make me quit.”

His smile
immediately evaporates, along with any rational thought. “Fucking watch me.”

“Finn, what is your problem? I’m fine!”

“Until you’re not because you won’t listen to a damn thing I tell you.”

“I do listen to you, but I think you’re taking your interest in my well-being a bit too far, don’t you?”

The muscles in his arms strain as he clenches his fists. “Is that an actual question?”

“Lighten up! I have a bruise. I’m not fighting for my life.”

He agitatedly brushes his lips with his fingers. “See, that’s what I mean. You don’t take what happened to you very seriously. You could’ve been
killed
, Becks.”

I sarcastically bite, “That’s the New River Gorge talking.”

He nods, as if he realizes something. “Maybe
you
should have to pick this time.”

I’m confused.
“Pick what?”

His
brown eyes flash before he acidly states, “Shortstop or me.”

My mouth f
alls open in disbelief. “You’re actually giving me a fucking ultimatum about
softball
?”

He presses his lips into a line before decisively answering,
“Yeah. I am. Sound familiar? So, what’s it going to be, Becks?” He can’t be serious, but with the infuriated expression on his face, I don’t want to call his bluff.

With a hard glare, wordlessly choosing him, I stomped off and since I didn’t have Finn’s car key, I sat in the back of Ricky’s truck, which led me to getting in trouble for climbing up into the bed. I can’t win.

One thing is certain since my accident: My Sparks Wilder is acting differently, similar to how I thought he was acting unusual at his dirt bike race a month ago. There are several instances besides him being grouchier. After he dragged me out of Ricky’s truck bed, he sat me on the bench, while he coached. I caught him staring at me on several occasions. He says he always did, but to catch him in the act unnerved me. Finn wasn’t undressing me with his eyes. He was assessing my every twitch, scratch, blink, and breath, along with reviewing whom I even talked to. When Rod came over and sat next to me, quietly telling me about his new evidence of his boss being gay, Finn moved closer to us. The look on his face even from behind his sunglasses and baseball cap was a weird mix of annoyance and suspicion, like maybe I was cooking up a scheme or something.

Soon after, I overheard Sparks
telling Milo and Reed to keep me out of any close-up shots. What the hell?
I mean, thank you for giving me a reprieve from being on camera, Finn, but what’s the motivation behind it?
I asked him and he irritably mumbled it was for my privacy. Privacy? I thought he gave up on that when he made out with me on his show. The only reasoning I can come up with is it’s for Finn’s privacy, not so much as mine. I don’t understand how kissing me on camera is less intrusive than me warming a bench.

He’s not only watched me like a hawk at the field, but even at home. After our argument at practice, we didn’t say much to each other. That night,
I worked on Morgan’s shower and Facebook messaging Val at my laptop on the couch, and from the kitchen table, where he was supposed to be working on his own laptop typing up something for his segment, he was watching me instead. I asked what he was thinking about and he just shrugged and went back to typing.

Then, there’s
the birth control issue. I am incomprehensibly baffled. At Easter, we had arguments about it, accompanied by his demand that I go on the Pill. That was one of the reasons I took a break from him. So, why is he suddenly shunning using anything at all? I know he likes to feel me during sex, but there are consequences to his actions, a trade-off, I guess you could call it. Suddenly from out of nowhere, he doesn’t seem to care for the time being. Why? I’ve offered him the chances to protect himself, but he ignored me each time. It’s almost like he’s on a risk-all quest to have better sex. Is that it? Is the gamble worth it? He claims he’s not in a stupor and knows what he’s doing, but does he really? I truly think Sparks believes he’s invincible since he did indeed dodge a bullet last time. I just hope he
does
know he’s playing with fire and we both could get badly burned.

Even though I was ticked off at him for issuing me a shitty ultimatum regarding a damn softball position that I was near positive he wouldn’t really uphold,
Finn stayed with me that night and into the week. Since practice wasn’t on our minds Monday morning, our argument quickly fell to the wayside, which led us to make love three more times since our tryst on the couch Sunday morning, though, he’s not the only one to blame. He asserts he can’t get enough of me, but this week, it’s been the other way around. I’ve been surpassing him in the sense that I can’t get enough, despite the pain I have. Sometimes it’s worse than other times, yet I can’t stay away from him. And he can’t seem to stop long enough to put on a condom. It’s like we’re making up for lost time, even if it was only three weeks, not three years.

Case in point:
Monday night, I jumped him as he came in the door from work, still looking every bit the part of flirty sportscaster. I roughed his hair up and pushed him to the couch, surprising him, but he was all-too happy to oblige my fantasy of being a random Finnatic having my naughty way with him. Now when he wears that green and blue striped-tie on Air, I’ll think about wrapping it around my wrist and using it to yank his lips to mine, having another hot fuck on the couch with him while still in his suit. I even had a condom ready because I was planning my attack, but he left it on the cushion next to us.

He’s been holding his own, though. On
Tuesday, I was making spaghetti and he stealthily came up behind me, putting his hands on my hips, kissing up my neck and panting in my ear. When he whispered, “I give up. I surrender. You win,” that was it. I turned the stove off and he swept me into his arms like how he carried me from the ball field. As we passed the bathroom, I reached out and grabbed onto the doorframe, wanting him to stop so I could get my birth control, but he pried my fingers off it and kept going. I don’t understand him. Our dinner was mushy, but it was definitely worth it.

His relentless
concern and hovering includes checking out my bruise every day. He still was undecided by Wednesday if he was going to allow me to practice again Saturday, donning his figurative coach’s hat and his apparent newfound authoritarianism, making him now a tad bit domineering and restrictive when it comes to the slightest risk of me getting hurt again. Why? It was an isolated incident that I’m sure won’t repeat itself. Well, it definitely won’t since I won’t be playing shortstop anymore and Heaven forbid I ever bring up
that
topic again.

Finn did
warn me after his mom announced the divorce that he might become needy, but it seems to have increased after I was hit, not being about him this time, though. I don’t get it. Even in sleep, Finn now has to be up against me. Through the night, he’s awoken me because of his body heat or from his arm being too heavy on me. My bed is smaller than his so there’s not as much room as there is in his king bed. Wednesday night, this new closeness led to our third time having sex. It was my fault. He wasn’t making a move, but with his arm around me, and his muscles tensing as he caressed my hip or when he reached for my hand fueled the intoxicating feel of his scruff brushing along my skin as he kissed my cheek. When I unthinkingly pushed my body into his, it was as if I had lit his fuse in return. He tried to fight it like he did Saturday, saying we have hindered my healing enough, but when his dick started to persistently dig into my back, I took his hand and put it down the front of my underwear. He was easily mine after that.