Sweet Spot (4 page)

“I think it’s time for David to rest now.” A nurse pops her head in just before I totally lose it.

“It was real nice talking to you, David.” I fist bump him, voice warbling, and then hurry out of the room.

I don’t bother looking for Ally, just hurry down the hallway, biting my lip, dying for an exit. I find a stairwell at the end of the wall and burst through it, gasping for air. I’ve got to hold all my shit together, but it’s impossible with the visions plaguing me.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that kids have to go through this, to carry all these big dreams and know, or not know, that they’re never going to happen. David should have a long, full life ahead of him. He should be able to run and bunt and bat and win over his own Rebecca Evans because he’s got a heart of gold and an entire life before him. But he’s not going to get any of that because this terrible disease is going to kill it all before he even gets the chance.

“Kemper?” A soft voice says behind me. Ally touches my shoulder, but I shrug her away and follow the stairs down as far as I can go, until all the sounds of the hospital disappear. She’s right behind me. “Want to talk about it?”

I shake my head and pace, fighting to keep the emotions at bay within me. I can’t cry. I can’t scream. It’s going to do no good for David, it did no good for my mom, it’s no good for anyone. It’s pointless, stupid emotions threatening to wipe me out. I have to get my shit together.

“It’s okay. It’s okay to feel these things.”

“Feeling these things does nothing.”

“Feeling these things means you’re human. It means you have a heart and compassion.”

“Compassion isn’t going to make David better.”

“No, but it’s going to make him happy. Sometimes that’s more important.”

“How do you do this?” I turn to her. Her face is so sweet, so kind, so open. She can handle it, this beautiful young thing, and I’m a goddamn mess. “How do you see these kids and know there isn’t anything you can do for them?”

“A smile, a laugh, a hug can be just as important as the most effective medication. Giving these kids something to fight for is just as important. I love these kids and I want to give them whatever happiness I can while I can. And that’s exactly what you did up there. Did you see how happy he was when you walked in? How delighted he was someone wanted to talk to him, that
you
wanted to talk to him?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I press my hands against my temples to stop the memories from clouding my eyes. “It won’t change anything.”

Ally puts her hands on my shoulders and whispers, “Hope can be the most powerful thing in the world.”

“But it—“

She cuts me off with the sudden, soft touch of her lips. I freeze, unsure if what I think is happening is really happening, but after a deep breath and what feels like a million years, she parts my lips with her tongue, slipping it inside my mouth, and god help me, I kiss her back. I take all of the pent up frustration and hurt and turn it to her, pinning her against the wall, exploring her unbelievably sweet mouth with my own tongue.

My mind screams
Stop! Red alert! Remove your hands from the woman!
But my hands are roaming up down her ass, up her spine, back down to her thighs again, and there’s nothing in the world I want more than kissing her like this. It feels like too much—I know it is—but almost as if she reads my mind, she lifts one of her legs and twines it around me, giving me an even better grip on her ass. She lets out a sigh like a tiny moan and kisses my temples, my cheeks, my eyes. I grab her hair and press her to me, trying to capture all of her essence with my body, something to drown out the anguish pumping through me. I pull back and begin kissing her throat, drinking in her smells like a starving man.

“Your very presence is healing,” she whispers in my ear and it tears through me. We’re under the very bottom level of steps, hidden from view above. I pull her a step away from the wall, my hands still gripping her ass, and she quickly takes my cue and sinks to her knees on the floor. I gently push her backwards, burying my chest between her bent knees as I kiss over the top of her shirt, across the paper badge plastered on her breast—
Ally H Ally H Ally H
my mind moans—down to her skirt, careful to keep my rock-hard erection away from her. I tell myself that this is just kissing. I tell myself I’m not doing anything
so
terrible. I know that if I let her rocking hips anywhere near mine, that it’s going to be only moments before I’m begging her to fuck me right here in this stairwell. Instead, I find my mouth watering as I kiss down towards her hips, a craving washing over me.

It’s a funny thing: I never really have the desire to go there, to kiss the most intimate place on a woman, but now...now I want to know. I have to. I have to know if she’s this sweet everywhere. If this is just who she is, part of her DNA, or if she’s just playing me.

I push up the thin cotton of her skirt, taking a moment to bury my face into her lacy black thong, breathing in her scent deeply through the barely-there cloth. I hook one finger around the edge of the lace, pulling it aside and giving me a full view of her pussy. I hesitate, looking up, my face just inches from hers. Her eyes are closed and her head is tilted back. I wait until she opens her eyes and I cock one questioning eyebrow. She’s breathing hard already, little gaspy breaths that I can tell she’s trying to keep quiet. Biting her lip, she glances up the stairwell, then gives me the tiniest of nods before putting her hand on the back of my head and twining her fingers through my hair before closing her eyes again.

I don’t wait another moment before running my tongue across the damp pink flesh waiting for me. She gasps and whispers, “You have a good heart, Kemper. You can do amazing things.”

I lick her slowly, exploring her folds, savoring the taste. God help me, she’s even sweeter and more substantial than I thought she could be. I lavish her with my tongue and teeth, taking in as much of her as I can get. I’m both acutely aware that we’re in a quickie situation and that I never want this to end. I want to lick her and taste her and breathe in her smells forever. Her tight body twists and pants beneath me as she continues on, whispering to me how wonderful I am and how I can do all these incredible things if I try, how hope and faith can change our world.

I don’t believe it, but I want to. I want to believe her. She’s all I want.

I begin flicking my tongue back and forth across her tight bud. I’m not really the best at this, I think, but she responds by pushing my head down harder, rocking her hips into me. I feel her shift as she props herself up on just one hand and slaps her other hand over her mouth.

My gift to her, for these amazing thoughts she has, this undeserved belief in me, is an orgasm that leaves her crying out in muffled gasps behind her own hand, shaking beneath me, her sweet taste in my mouth ruining me for any other ice cream. I stop licking and hold her thighs steady, staring up at her beautiful face, her skin flushed with exertion. I pull her skirt back down, rocking back on my knees and licking my lips to enjoy her taste just a little bit longer. I want to remember everything about this moment, for later.

When she calms down, her breath steadying and her blush receding, I help her up to her feet.

“You’re dangerous,” I whisper.

“You’re perfect,” she whispers back, her eyes widening with a mischievous .

T
here’s
a special vibe on the bus when we load up for away games. For one, it’s a race to see who can load up first, because he who sits first claims the aisle. Bus trips are long and usually uncomfortable, so nabbing the best seat becomes something of a contest. Those of us who are position players typically have an unspoken agreement that we get the front of the bus and our own aisles, but sometimes attitudes can throw a kink into the plans.

Speaking of kink in the plans, I can barely look at Coach as I throw my bag in the stack near the bus. I broke my vow to him by touching his daughter. Technically, she came on to me, kissed me first, but I took things too far.

I was weak in that moment, inundated by the stress from the hospital, but I broke a promise. That sort of thing doesn’t sit well with me and it’s torn me up ever since it happened. Especially because I can’t get her out of my head. She’s too young, she’s too innocent, she’s so untouchable it hurts. And I’m already walking a tight line between fucked and living.

I feel absolutely wedged between two large boulders: this amazing, sweet, incredible girl who makes me feel like I’m ten feet tall, and the vow I had to make to Coach to keep my place on the team.

My word means everything.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and load up on the bus, staking out my aisle near the middle. Close enough to the other guys, far enough from Coach to avoid having to stare my guilt in the face. I stash my backpack in the seat next to me and pull out my headphones. I’ve shared my fair share of seats in my day, but I need the space. I want to turn on my music, close my eyes, and disappear for a while. I have to get my shit together before the game against the White Sox tomorrow.

Jamie grabs the seats across the aisle from me and I nod at him to say hello, but go back to my music. I’ve been really digging the Hamilton soundtrack lately because I feel a weird connection to this guy. Telling the others I’m listening to a Broadway soundtrack is sort of out of the question, definitely not something I’d advertise, but I feel the music in my soul. A little hip hop, a little R&B, and a whole lot of heart that soothes my soul a little. Usually, I’m a metal kind of guy, but these songs speak to me.

My current jam is the song “Wait For It”.
I am the one thing in life I can control
. I relate to that so much. It hits me on the deepest level and I find myself feeling for Aaron Burr even though the whole show is about Hamilton.

I’m not standing still, I am lying in wait.

I know exactly what that’s like. I’ve done everything I set out to accomplish over the course of a career—in a few short years. The awards, the Series ring…I can keep defending, but what’s next when I’ve done it all?

Standing still. Lying in wait. Who can tell the difference some days? But what if she’s what I’ve been waiting for?

I felt a real connection with Ally. Forget age and familial connections and baseball, all of it. She touched me in a profound way at the hospital and I can’t shake it. Girls like her aren’t supposed to exist in reality. She’s flirty, yeah, but she’s got this inherent sweetness I can practically smell. There’s a goodness about her that I’ve never felt before.

It makes me want to be closer to her. To know her more.

She’s just…pure. Sweet. She’s the sweet spot in the ballpark when I’ve got all this other shit going on. And I can’t have her. I can’t touch her any more than what I have already. I am the one thing in life I can control.

But fuck if I don’t want to lay her out and own her body like I own the field.

Jamie waves me down and I slid my headphones off. “Sup?”

“What are you listening to?”

I don’t even blink. “Metallica. You?”

“Luke Bryan.”

I laugh. “You and that goddamn country music.”

“It’s as American as apple pie and baseball, brother. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Pass.” Metallica’s just as American and 100% less annoying.

“Hey, how was hospital duty? You never answered my texts.” He cocks an eyebrow at me.

Me and the guys, we’re all really close. We spend a ton of time together. They know about my mom and how I like to avoid hospitals at all costs, and they are really accommodating about it because they kick ass. But some things I like to hold to my chest. Also, there’s that whole thing where I sort of went down on Coach’s daughter.

“It wasn’t bad. There was this really cool kid who taught me about Pokemon.” David. I sent him a jersey after I got home yesterday. That kid’s gonna weigh on my mind for the rest of my life.

“I fucking love those kids, man. It’s sad as shit, but they are some real fighters in there.”

I can only nod and put my headphones back on. It’s time to pretend I’m going to sleep so everyone will bug off. It’s time to focus. I need to clear out all the clutter and just focus on baseball.

Which means I need to scrape Ally from my brain.

I manage to keep up the façade and own my aisle. The bus gently rocks as we drive off and I can feel myself really starting to drift. Enough time on the buses and you learn to sleep whenever there’s motion. I’m seconds away from total annihilation, listening to the bombs exploding in my ears.

And then someone taps me, jolting me awake. I look around and see most of the other guys buried in their phones or sleeping. Another tap. I look behind me, and see a phone sliding between the seat and the window. A bright brown eye peeks out at me between the seats and I can see a flash of pearly white teeth.

My heart races. Ally. I didn’t even see her get on. I didn’t know she was coming. Her dad never wanted her to live this kind of life, which was why she ended up in boarding school to begin with.

The phone screen is pulled up to a blank contact. She entered in my name as Kemper the Hottie. My face runs hot and my dick takes a leap in my jeans. Jesus. This has to end right away. I erase “the Hottie” and enter in my number, even though my brain is screaming at me not to.

I have to put an end to this before it begins, and I can’t do it in front of anyone else. It has to be low key. Let’s disregard the bit where I’m excited to get a text from her, where the idea that she’s right behind me is thrilling, where naughty thoughts are populating before my eyes like pop flies at batting practice.

In less than a minute, my phone lights up.

Hey stranger!

I swallow down another smile and send back a simple,
Hey
.

Imagine meeting you here ☺

End it immediately, I told myself. Cut it off now.

Before I respond, she sends me another message.
I’ve been thinking about you since yesterday. You don’t have to talk about it, but know that I’m praying for you
.

Um, what? She’s not thinking about the sexual encounter, she’s still thinking about my breakdown? Who
is
this girl?

I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about that. I just want you to know that you have a good heart and I want it to be protected. You deserve that.

Shit. I shoot back a lame,
Thanks
. Because I don’t know what else to say, but I’m weirdly touched. Because I know she means it. I have to get myself out of this now. It can’t continue.

We need to talk.

That’s why I’m here ☺
I just wanted to let you know that you aren’t alone.

Those aren’t tears pricking my lids. They aren’t. I’m not that much of an emotional wreck, I swear.

Big words for such a small girl

I hear her laughing quietly behind me and it lifts my mood in an instant.

I’m not little. I’m fun-sized.

You really are

I know

Jaime catches my eye and shoots me a questioning look. I wave him off and turn my phone sideways, like I’m watching a video instead of texting the beautiful girl behind me.

What’s your favorite song?
She asks.

What’s YOURS?

While I’m waiting for her to respond, my dumbass clicks over to Facebook to look her up. I find her just as her reply filters in.

Don’t laugh. I’ve been listening to Hamilton non stop. I love the whole thing, can’t find a favorite
.

I take a screenshot of my Spotify app, showing off the Hamilton album cover. She gasps behind me and I can hear her fingers typing away.

Our secret.
I send before she can reply.
I don’t need more shit from the guys.

OMG! Which is your favorite?? I’ll pick if you do!

I don’t even have to think about it, my fingers filling in the answer before my brain can finish reading.

Is that her “Aww”-ing behind me? This was a terrible idea. I should have kept my mouth shut, but something about her makes me want to talk to her. Not just something, everything. Everything about her makes me want to talk to her.

Her profile picture on Facebook is incredibly cute. She’s posing with a fluffy, tiny white dog and has a giant grin on her face. She’s gorgeous when she smiles. That body, too…

That’s such a good one. Not what I expected, though. I pictured you as more of a Guns and Ships kind of guy
.

Guns and Ships is a badass song, no doubt. I listen to it in the gym when I need an extra boost. But still not my favorite.
That’s what I do—I play baseball and surprise people. What’s your favorite?

I scroll through the rest of her pictures, taking great care to make sure I don’t accidentally like any of them. The rest of her profile is on lockdown, which is disappointing. I want to know what music she likes, where she went to school, what her friends say. I want to know if she has a boyfriend.

Surely, a girl like her wouldn’t come on to me, wouldn’t allow my tongue to touch her in the ways that it did, if she had a boyfriend. But you never really know, right?

Maybe I’m jealous.

Jealous or not, I’m not the guy for her. I’m too old, too off-limits.

It’s Quiet Uptown
.
It’s so sad, but so beautiful. Maybe I’m lame, but sometimes I like to cry.

I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t. Maybe this would be the perfect time to ignore her.

Don’t think I’m lame. It’s a girl thing
.

I close out Facebook, so I’m not tempted to friend request her. Because knowing my dumb ass, I would. And of course that’s her favorite song. It’s one of the most emotional songs on the soundtrack.

Okay. What’s your favorite movie?

I stare at the phone. Why me, of everyone here? She could have her pick of rookies, close to her age and filled with hunger to go further.

Then again, I’m the one who flirted back. I’m the one who did what I did yesterday.

I never should have touched her. I never should have kissed back. I sure as hell should never have spread apart her beautiful legs and licked the sweet juices between her pink lips. Just thinking about it makes my cock agonizingly hard.

I can see her lying before me, trust filling her eyes, that perfect mouth parted as she pants and writhes against my hot mouth.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

If you don’t want to talk, I can leave you alone. I just thought you might want company
.

I do. I want all of her company. I want to whisk her away to my hotel room and bang her on every surface. I want to watch her strip down naked before me. I want to run my hands across every inch of skin, kiss behind her knees, across her perky breasts, down her smooth stomach. I want to wrap her in sheets and talk about her day. I want to listen to her talk for hours. I want to listen to Hamilton with her and talk about our favorite parts.

Sorry. You aren’t bothering me. I really love the Marvel movies. You?

I want to spend a rainy day, wrapped in blankets, watching movies and eating popcorn. I want to take her to a fancy restaurant, wine and dine her. Never mind she isn’t even old enough to drink. Being Kemper Fife has perks, like my date never being carded.

The Princess Bride. Best movie ever.

Blazing Saddles is the best movie ever.

She snorts behind me.
Hardly. Men in Tights is the best Mel Brooks movie in all of existence.

Now it’s my turn to snort.
You aren’t old enough to have an opinion on Mel Brooks movies. They came out way before you were born, young’un.

Tell me about the war, grandpa.

Now I’m laughing for real, and I have to muffle it with my jacket. Jamie shoots me another look but I pretend I don’t see him. I pull my jacket over my head, pretending I’m sleeping, so I can text without those judgmental eyes staring at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he could see right through me.

Jamie would never rat me out to Coach, so I’d like to think, but you can’t exactly be too careful. Strike that,
I
can’t exactly be too careful. I really need to bow out now.

Men in Tights is funnier than Blazing Saddles could ever hope to be

I start to type,
We shouldn’t be doing this,
but I end up deleting it and instead type,
Them’s fighting words, missy. Space Balls is better than Men in Tights
.
History of the World is better than Men in Tights. Everything is better than Men in Tights
.

I reopen Facebook. Because I’m an idiot. Because I want to see that smile while I’m hearing her laugh behind me.

I don’t trust you to have good taste. You probably like Matlock. And before you get all holier than thou, I know about Matlock from my grandma.

Before I can retort, she sends another message.

Get it? Because you’re old.

Didn’t bother you yesterday.

Oh, hells bells. Did I really just send that? I really just fucking sent that. I’m going to Hell. I’m going to burn for all eternity for this. My feet are already carrying me down a path I don’t belong.

I never said I didn’t like it. Just stating the obvious. Grandpa. Do we need to talk about yesterday?

God, no. We don’t need to talk about that ever.
I was kidding.

Kidding about yesterday? Or kidding about it not bothering me? Because it didn’t bother me.