Anything but Minor - Kate Stewart Page 0,34

body was lifted by his in one sweeping movement as he shoved me against the wall. His lips crushed mine in an unforgiving kiss as I shrieked out in surprise before I buried my fingers in the soft, sweaty threads of his hair. He opened me without invitation and tasted every part of my mouth. His invading tongue made me gasp and moan into his. Our mouths molded, gave and took, and I felt the tension in his body as he lifted my legs higher and he ground into me.

He kissed me senseless, and when I thought he’d had enough, he kissed me some more. When he finally pulled his lips away, I opened my eyes to meet the lust mixed with anger in his.

“Rafe, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re off your game.”

“I think so, too,” he breathed out as he pulled my bottom lip and sucked it gently.

“Your pitching is awful tonight,” I said as his hand slipped beneath my t-shirt. I arched my back and gave him more access. He moved his thumb over my nipple on top of my bra, and I cried out.

“Alice...shut up,” he groaned as he gripped my hair and twisted my head while he sank his teeth into my shoulder.

“Rafe,” I said, driven by pure need.

“Friends my ass,” he said as he hovered above me and slowly let my legs hit the floor. “We were never meant to be friends.” When he ripped himself away, his eyes bore into mine.

“How did you get back here, anyway?”

“No one was watching. I’ll go.” I turned to leave, completely confused between his anger and his unbelievable kiss.

“Alice,” he said with regret as I looked back at him. Every bit of his body language showed remorse. “We okay?”

“Yeah,” I said with reassurance. “You’re just frustrated. You’ve got this.”

“That’s not why I kissed you,” he said firmly.

“Rafe, you’re up,” I heard barked behind me. I turned to see his pitching coach glare at me. “Lady, you can’t be back here.”

“My apologies,” I said as he scrutinized me. I heard heated words between them as I made my way out of the dugout and winced as “piece of pussy” flew out of the coach’s mouth. I’d been categorized as a distraction from Rafe’s game at that moment. I hurried back to my seat as Dutch eyed me.

“You can’t do that.”

“I’m aware,” I said as my cheeks heated. Andy eyed me from the dugout as he took the steps to the field. I smiled at him, and he did not smile back. I mouthed “Sorry” to which he nodded as Rafe took the plate. His first pitch had Dutch clenching her first at her sides. His second got my attention. I watched his posture, and he didn’t seem rattled at all. I’d been thoroughly kissed. The kind of kiss a woman begs life for. The kind of kiss that keeps the sexual imagination spinning for months, even years.

I watched the umpire close his fist as the batter struck out, and I couldn’t help the smile on my face as Dutch eyed me with suspicion.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing prophetic,” I said as Rafe threw another solid pitch.

Rafe might not be rattled, but the man had my head spinning.

“Good game, Rafe,” Jon, my manager, complimented as I toweled off. I looked at him and could see the lecture coming, or at the very least, a tongue lashing. It was rare that my manager ever approached me outside of his office. I took it as a good sign.

“It wasn’t her.”

“You can’t afford to—”

“I’ve played too many seasons for this,” I said as I pulled a shirt over my head and deadpanned, “It’s not the girl.”

“You’re being watched, Rafe.”

“Nothing new,” I assured. “I’m good.”

“Fair enough.” He spit out the black sludge from his curled lip. “Briefing is canceled tomorrow. Get with Rod about the reschedule.”

I nodded and didn’t bother to ask why. He managed his way. I played mine.

With a rare free day ahead, I immediately thought of Alice and texted her.

Rafe: Meet me at Andy’s tomorrow at seven.

I then looked at the message below it.

Unknown: Son, I need to talk to you.

I threw my phone in my locker and showered. When I told Jon it wasn’t Alice, I’d meant it. My father had texted me hours before my game. In all my years, nothing had ever tripped me up on the field except for Martin Hembrey and his bullshit.

He’d played his role, too, but unlike my concerned manager, my father had played for