Page 64 of The Strike Zone

“Told you, just game day fit.”

He frowned, glancing to a couple of the rookies walking past. “You know we’re all wearing the same thing, right?”

“Yeah, it’s a ‘who wore it best.’”

“Oh really?” He grinned wide. “Then pray tell, how good am I wearing it? C’mon, be honest. I’m the best, right?”

Holding my mouth in a straight line, I leaned back slightly. My eyes dropped and coasted slowly up from his sneakers.

Game day fits were some of our most popular posts.

Last year there’d been roughly a hundred, and we’d done a dozen or so already this year. They always attracted a slew of comments from Lions fans, as well as a barrage from Lions haters, but that’s what made it fun.

Some guys, like Lux Weston, clearly spent a lot of time deciding what to wear for each game. They hired stylists, they had their outfits selected weeks ahead of time, they liaised with designers. Others, like Jupiter Reeves, wore the first thing they found in the closet and gave zero fucks what anyone thought, but still looked better than everyone else.

Parker was usually someone who fluctuated on the scale between Lux’s enthusiasm and Jupiter’s apathy, but he always looked good. Always.

Didn’t matter if he was arriving for practice, heading to the gym, or on the field, Parker King was a certified snack, and any of the girls on the fifth floor would agree in a heartbeat.

But this week we’d decided to do something different, inspired by a copy of Us WeeklyI’d spotted open on a feature with a bunch of celebrities all wearing the same thing. I knew the guys would be flying out late after tonight’s game, and they always wore the Lions sweats to fly.

All of them dressed the same.

Not that I could recall every game day fit of Parker’s because he mostly liked to wear a suit—a really well-fitted suit—but right now, standing in front of me in the black sweatpants and soft black hoodie, his hair still damp from the shower, cheeks a little pink under the thick stubble, I knew for a fact I’d never seen him looking quite as good as this.

Not even fresh in the mornings.

How was it fair that at nearly midnight, after playing baseball for the last few hours, he looked like this?

“I like it,” I replied finally, trying to force myself to swallow before my mouth completely dried up. “Maybe you’ll win the award.”

Even under the harsh strip lights of the loading bay, his eyes brightened. “There’s an award?”

“Yeah.”

Parker leaned in slightly, his lips curling with a slow smile, and I was once more intoxicated with the scent of him. “I’m okay with that, if you’re picking the winner.”

I’d almost gotten used to the way my heart kicked up whenever he was near me, or the way my mouth dried a little as I stared at his lips and I tried not to think of what they would feel like to kiss, like I was doing right now. But it was hard.

Sometimes, when we weren’t surrounded by a hundred people all hurrying around us, I drifted off into a fantasy of what else Parker could do with his mouth.

What his tongue was capable of, whathewas capable of.

My dreams were still being haunted by visions of his rock-hard body, powering on the treadmill as he dripped in sweat, until I bolted awake drenched through with a weird electricity buzzing across the surface of my skin.

It was a wonder I was getting any sleep at all.

The good-night messages didn’t help, either, though I had a feeling he knew exactly what he was doing. Sending me a message every night ensured he was the last person I thought of before I closed my eyes.

He might be the reason I’d been getting no sleep this week, but he was also the reason I’d ended each day with a smile on my face, the reason I jumped out of bed to meet him for our morning coffee, and the reason I carefully selected each item of clothing I wore.

It was nearly the middle of May, the regular season was barely six weeks old, yet all plans I’d had to concentrate on my career and stay single were hanging on by a thread. I couldn’t even tell you how he’d done it, but Parker King had successfully become the best part of my day.

The downside of all this time I’d been spending with Parker was that I’d become so engrossed with him, I forgot where I was.

“Get a room,” jeered someone passing, who sounded a lot like Ace, especially when Parker jerked forward from a slap on the shoulder, though it was hard to tell when I only caught the back of the perpetrator’s head, hoodie pulled up and looking exactly like everyone else.

My cheeks burned red, something Parker noticed. He immediately stepped back.

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