Nothing Like the Movies

Liz

“I’d like one in the strike zone this time, Bennett.”

“I’ve been giving you meatballs, Buxbaum.” Wes, who’d stripped down to his white undershirt and suit pants, made a face as he hollered at me from the pitcher’s mound. “Come on.”

“Meatballs that are high and outside,” I hollered back, dissolving into giggles when he moved like he was going to hurl the ball at me.

We’d been playing for at least an hour, and I was fairly certain neither of us were ever going to quit. He’d given me his white dress shirt so I could wear it over my dress to avoid a wardrobe malfunction, and his jacket was lying on the grass in the dark outfield, right on top of my shoes.

We were a disheveled mess, with only home plate and the pitcher’s mound illuminated, and it was wonderful.

I’d been with Wes for hours and had completely managed to forget about the past. To stop overthinking everything. Tonight had just been fun.

“Get ready,” he yelled, giving me intense eye contact.

“Oh, I was born ready,” I said, digging my bare feet into the dirt around home plate.

Wes threw the ball, totally giving me a baby pitch, but I nailed this one. The aluminum bat clinked, music to my ears, and I screamed and took off for first base.

(Since it was only the two of us, we had imaginary rules in place. The runner had to keep running until the outfielder caught the ball or was six feet away from a ball on the ground. Only then were you allowed to stop at a base.)

Wes caught it but dropped the ball—obviously on purpose—and I kept running until he had control as per our rules.

“You don’t seriously think you can make it home, do you?” I heard him yell when I didn’t stop at third, sounding like he was sprinting toward me.

I just screamed, “Gaaaaaaah!” and ran as fast as I could toward home plate.

I felt him bearing down on me, and then I felt him tag me with the ball.

“Noooooooooo!” I yelled.

But his arm came around my waist to hold me steady, so he wouldn’t knock me over.

And then he lifted me off the ground, wrapping both his arms around my waist.

“Bennett,” I squealed, cackling. “Put me down!”

“Not until you take back the ‘high and outside’ comment,” he said, his voice deep and growly in my ear.

“I won’t,” I said, breathing heavy from the sprint. “You know I won’t.”

“Well, then,” he said, setting my feet on the ground and somehow managing to spin me so I was facing him, without letting me out of his arms. “Guess I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.”

“Oh, big man,” I said, my breath coming fast, but now it was because of the heat in his dark eyes as he looked at me. “Please teach m—”

His mouth cut me off.

One minute I was speaking, the next his lips were on mine, his tongue in my mouth, my whimper in his. Dear God, I thought as his arms pulled me closer, where I was pressed against every inch of him and my eyes closed automatically, it feels good to be back in his arms.