Page 36 of Left on Base

The words hit harder than they should. Because I have missed him. Every single day.

His hand slides between my legs, and the pressure builds as he works my body like an instrument he never forgot. When his other hand wraps my throat, I lean back, surrendering completely.

“Oh, Cam.” His whole body trembles. “You’re gonna make me come, baby.”

Baby?

Did I hear that right?

His words come out rough, his grip tightens, and he slams into me harder, spilling himself inside me.

I wait. I don’t know what his reaction will be. Will he regret it?

Still breathing hard, he slumps forward, trailing kisses along my back.

The endearment slips out and my heart clenches. He hasn’t called me that since… since before.

He finishes with my name on his lips, a prayer or a confession. I wait, barely breathing, for regret to cloud his eyes. For reality to crash back in. I look over my shoulder at him, easing myself from the wall. He pulls out, chest heaving.

Instead, he trails soft kisses along my spine, each one feeling like an apology. Or a promise.

I turn to face him, letting the water hide any tears. Our eyes meet. His eyes pierce mine, and I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking.

Fuck. What if he regrets it?

And that’s when reality hits us both. This doesn’t change anything. His feelings, our situation, my feelings. It’s all the same.

His eyes search mine and I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. To know if this meant as much to him as it did to me. To know if he’s as scared as I am.

Before I can decide what it means, he pulls me back in like he can’t stand the distance either. His arms are comforting, his heart pounding against mine.

“That was fun,” he says, kissing my forehead. I sigh, melting into his embrace.

I don’t say anything. I can’t. Because it was fun, but it was also devastating. Earth-shattering. Life-ruining, in the best way. I’m never going to be over him.

I keep thinking about the term from baseball—having a “cannon.” It’s when a player’s got an insanely strong arm, like they can launch the ball across the field in a second. That’s Jaxon, honestly. Not literally, but the effect he has on me. The way he pulls me in, it’s like he’s got this force that fires straight through every wall I try to put up.

I know I’m being stupid, but when he wants me, I’m helpless. His pull is so strong, and I’m not sure how to stop it—maybe I don’t want to. All I know is, when he throws, I catch. Every time.

We stand there, holding each other while the water runs cold, both smiling because it’s easier than admitting what this means. What we really mean to each other.

Nervousness pricks my skin and I know what I should say, but the words don’t form. I want to ask what this means, but I’m scared of the answer.

I smile, he smiles, and that’s where our night ends.

With no definition, and the unknown filling the space between us.

CHAPTER 7

SACRIFICE FLY

CAMDYN

A struck ball caught by a fielder that then allows a runner to score after tagging up.

Do you ever wake up in the morning and, in those first few moments of disoriented sleep, dream up a completely different life for yourself?

I do.

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