Page 103 of Playing Dirty
“I know they won’t.”
“You can’tknowthat,” he reasons, and I shoot him a dubious look.
“If you want to look at it statistically, sure, there’s a margin of error to account for. But the reality is I did a damn good job at hiding that thing where no one will ever find it, and I have a defensive strategy to boot.” Shrugging again, I nod toward him. “Though, from the sounds of it, your captain can’t say the same. Especially if he’s having this much of a freak-out.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Our gazes lock, and I can tell both of us are searching for answers to unspoken questions in each other’s eyes. Questions neither of us give voice to. Though, to his credit, he tries to pry it out of me a little more discreetly.
“What’s the look for?”
“I don’t have a look.”
“This” —he makes a circling motion over my face— “is definitely a look.”
My lips twitch, knowing damn well I won’t be giving anything up that easily. So I simply deflect by dropping the bat from my shoulder andstepping away from the fence separating us.
“It’s just me wondering if you’re ever gonna switch the machine back on so I can take the rest of my turn,” I tease.
He studies me for a brief moment, sage eyes scraping over my face before he mutters, “Fine.”
Shooting him a wink, I jump back into the batter’s box. I take a few practice swings, testing out his theory about my weight distribution, and wait for the whir of the pitching machine to start up again. Only it never does, and I glance at him with annoyance.
“Are you too busy staring at my ass again to turn the damn thing on?”
He rolls his eyes and flips open the latch on the cage, walking over to where I’m standing. Motioning in a circle with his finger, he orders, “Turn around. Take your stance.”
I pin him with a dubious look. “You can’t be serious.”
“You wanna pick a fight or you want my help?”
Releasing a huff, I do as he asks. He steps up behind me, his hands landing on my hips and gently pulling them forward. It’s fractional. I mean, to the point where I have no clue how he even noticed unless he’s been analyzing my stance whenever we come here together.
Or maybe he’s become so attuned to my body now, he can just…tell.
My throat feels thick regardless of which it is, and the sensation only gets worse when his chest brushes against my back from him leaning toward me.
“You’re not starting balanced, so you’re already too far back when your weight shifts to load,” he whispers in my ear, squeezing my hips before releasing me. “Try not to be too pissed when it makes a difference.”
The goading taunt snaps me out of whatever strange reaction I was just having, and I shake my head.
“So damn sure of yourself,” I mutter under my breath.
“Only when I know I’m right.”
He kisses the back of my neck and taps me on the ass a couple times before stepping away, heading back out of the cage.
I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to hit the damn ball at all now.
After all, there’s a reason we usually stay on opposite sides of the fence when we’re here. Too much touching always leads to a distraction—usually in the form of a much too heated kiss for public. But at least this place is abandoned ninety-nine percent of the time.
I do my best to focus on what he said through the next few swings, though, only to quickly realize…he’s right. With my weight shifted up, my swing feels more level, and the contact with the ball is solid, causing it to sail to the back of the cage. And I don’t even have to look over at Theo to know he’s grinning like a know-it-all little jackass.
Which is exactly why, once all the balls have been fed through the machine, I flip him off before even looking in his direction.
“Aw, don’t be like that,” he teases, right as a loud, shrilling ring fills the air. It startles him, and he whips his head behind him toward the source. “What the hell is that?”
“My phone,” I say with a laugh. I’ve never met anyone who jump-scares so easily. “It’s in my bag, if you wanna silence it.”
