Page 115 of Renegade Ruin

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

BISHOP

Uncomfortable is an understatement. I’ve had a raging erection from the moment Willow sent me that scandalous picture. Lucky for me, I’m riding the bench today, so I’m spared the task of having to rearrange my cock in a cup between repeated squats. It also means I can focus on the woman behind home plate.

My eyes lock on Willow, seated ten rows back, right behind the plate. Usually she watches the game from the owner's suite, but her friends asked to be closer to the action. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a tight pony, her curls falling down her back. God, she looks good. She’s still dressed to the nines in a blue blouse, that no doubt makes her eyes sparkle, paired with one of those skirts I love to fucking hate. Anything less than professional would be grounds for people to look at her like she doesn’t deserve to be the team owner.

It’s bullshit.

But this time, she added my jersey to her game day uniform.

Mine.

And in nine torturous innings, I can rip every inch of that uniform from her body and properly claim what I should have weeks ago. Jackson’s right. Life is too short.

Graham climbs onto the bench next to me and plops down. “How do you think he’s going to do?”

I tear my eyes from Willow and glance over at my manager. “Smitty?”

“Mmm,” he hums with a nod.

My gaze tracks back to where the first batter of the game has stepped into the box and waits for the rookie to call the pitch. Carson nods and lets a fastball fly. It’s a good call. The same I would have made.

“He’s got good instincts,” I offer Graham.

Of all the guys I’ve talked to in the last few weeks, per Carson’s request, the farm team hopeful is the one who has been easiest to get on with. He’s quiet, only speaking when he’s got something worth saying which I appreciate. It also means he sees more than he lets on, a skill important to catching. He exudes a willingness to learn by spending his free time watching films of not only our team but our opponents.

“I agree. And it helps Whitmore seems to have taken a shine to him. Now he’s just got to convince our GM he’s the better choice.”

I let out a weighted sigh. “Noah just needs to keep his head in the game, and he’ll be fine.”

The rookie has his work cut out for himself if he wants to be my second. Sharpe, the guy currently slated for the position, has experience and his nose so far up Ben’s ass he’ll be smelling shit for a lifetime.

It’s why Graham came up with the idea to have them split the game today. The first five innings belong to Noah and then Sharpe will play the last four. All the while, Graham and I watch to see who’s the better fit for the team.

Vaughn and Ben threw a conniption when they saw the lineup. Especially since Sharpe played the last two games and made a handful of shitty calls behind the plate. But Grahamstood his ground, claiming he didn’t think Sharpe was the right fit. I’m also pretty confidenthe wanted to make sure I was in the right headspace coming back from New York before getting me on the field.

Graham gives an approving grunt, something I’ve come to appreciate as his standard practice. When he doesn’t immediately get up and return to his post at the opposite end of the dugout, I glance his way. His brown eyes soften, his chest moving with an exhale. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“No reason. I’ve witnessed you trying with the team over the last two weeks. Just wanted to check in.” What he doesn’t say is he’s worried about my headspace after my trip to New York. I’d put money on that being the predominant reason he concocted the plan for me to be on the bench today.

“I’m fine.” I give him a reassuring smile.

“Famous last words,” he says with a chuckle, adjusting his hat. “Just—keep doing what you’re doing.”

He wouldn’t be saying that if he knew the reason you picked that seat was so you could see his goddaughter wearing a toy you can control from your phone.

I swallow the snort that bubbles in my throat, and it comes out more like a cough.“Uh, thanks. Will do.”

Graham nods and shuffles back to his post at the other end of the dugout.

My smile is painfully big as I shift and reach for my phone in my back pocket, tucking it between me and the end of the dugout. It’s an unspoken rule to leave all devices in the locker room, but seeing as I’m not playing today, no one is going to say anything if I’m caught.

I flick my gaze to where Willow is sitting.

BISHOP: Are you ready?

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