throwing balls into a girl’s pussy.”
“Okay, okay. Shit, what should we bet?” Ollie looks up at the blue sky with a few clouds scattered above us.
“Dishes? Cooking? Laundry?” I name off a few things. I don’t expect to lose.
“We are planning the party after the scrimmage this weekend. How about loser is the cocktail waitress?” Ollie says.
Saucey practically chokes on his gum, pointing his finger at Ollie like he’s fucking Albert Einstein.
“Sliding shorts and nothing else, especially no cup,” I add.
Ollie nods a confident agreement.
“Hey, baby? Will you let me prance around in my underwear at our next party?” I call out to Ella.
She narrows her eyes at Ollie before a smile morphs her look of anger. “No, but I’ll be sure not to touch Ollie.” Her coy smile pisses Ollie off.
“See, Saucey? Monogamy equals ego boost. My girl knows I can do anything.”
“Hold off, Superman.” Ollie steps in front of me, blocking my sight of the cutout. “Oh, El, you can touch me anytime you want,” he calls out as he grabs himself.
“Thanks for the offer, but there’s only one thing I like to touch.”
Ollie shakes his head while I shoot my girl a wink.
“See, Saucey? Another upside to monogamy. Your girl isn’t touching anyone else’s junk,” I comment, sidestepping Ollie.
He lines up to throw.
“She’s completely brainwashed you. You do realize that, right?” Saucey asks.
My mouth is ajar to say something else, but Ollie shoots us the shut-the-fuck-up look, and we do.
“Sorry, Ol,” Saucey says.
Amazing that six foot five inches can intimidate even the biggest smart mouth.
Ollie sets himself back into place and hammers a ball through the left tit. He lets out a holler like a wolf, body motions and all. “Let’s go.”
He thumps his chest, and I’m guessing this is a side of Oliver Kane that I’ve never seen before.
“He tends to get overly excited. Wait until you play with him,” Saucey whispers.
Ollie sets himself up and nails the right tit on the spot.
Seriously, how often has he played this?
“I always leave my dessert for last,” he says as he positions himself again.
“Shit,” I murmur as the ball rockets right toward the pussy hole.
“Shit!” Ollie screams when it hits the wood and falls to the ground.
“Oh, fuck,” Saucey says, obviously well aware that this leaves me a huge opening. “What happened, Ollie?”
“Fuck off,” he sneers at Saucey. “Let’s hope Third Base chokes.”
I get ready, ball in my right hand.
“You go, Cros!” Ella screams, climbing the steps.
“Keaton, stay in the dugout!” Coach Lipton yells over to her.
She cowers back down the steps.
“Where to first?” I ask. I release the ball, flying it directly into the pussy to piss Ollie off. “I eat my dessert first.”
I lick my lips, and Ollie’s fist clench.
“Now, now, decisions, decisions.” I throw the ball into the right tit. “I like to work this board like I do Ella.”
Ollie huffs.
Saucey bites his fist to stop from laughing.
I nail the ball into the left tit. “Can I request the color of sliders you wear?” I place my gloved hand on my hip and stare over to a lion mad Ollie. Seriously, if I were his prey and we were in the middle of the Sahara Desert, I’d be screwed.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Ollie stomps on the ground in true toddler fashion.
I had no idea he cheered or criticized himself at this level.
I slap his back. “It’s okay. You can wear whatever color you want.”
He narrows his eyes at me, and Saucey and I laugh.
“Calm down, or I’m going to rename you Ollie the Bull.”
“Crap, good one, Lynch. Damn, Ollie, how did we never come up with that?”
Ollie’s narrowed eyes move into Saucey’s direction.
“Way to go.” Ella cheers as I approach her.
“Loser puts the cutout back,” Saucey says to Ollie, who rolls his eyes and stomps back out to the outfield.
“I’d jump in your arms, but Coach Lipton scares me.” She cringes.
I smile. “He scares me, too.”
In this moment, I forget how I need to tell her about the charity game because it’ll impact both of us. Sometimes, I think we would be better off running away to Jamaica and starting some new life where no one knows our past.
Mr. Keaton’s words ring in my head. We do have bigger problems on our plate than his approval. He’s right because I have to somehow not run when facing my biggest fear from the past two years—facing the ones who called me a murderer, the ones whose love for me turned to hatred faster than a snap of