Page 62 of Playing Dirty
He releases a long, low groan, his body sinking a little deeper in the passenger seat while he scrubs his palm over his face.
“Ugh, I know you’re right. Which is fucking annoying, by the way.”
His head rolls to the side, and I find a playful glint in his eyes mixing with the dejection and frustration. And that…I can work with.
“Well, lucky for you, I picked the perfect outing to help you let off some steam.”
Turning his head again, his attention moves out the windshield to the building I parked in front of a few minutes ago. He squints a little, reading the sign above the door before his eyebrows nearly shoot into his hairline.
“Batting cages?”
I nod, already pushing open my car door to grab my gear from the trunk. Theo follows suit, climbing out once I have my bag, and together, we head toward the building.
He lets out a little laugh once we’re inside, shaking his head when he sees the rows of cages at our disposal—every single one of them empty. They’re not as nice as the ones we have at the training facilities, of course, but they serve their purpose nonetheless. Not that Theo seems to mind. From the way his mood has shifted, I may as well have brought a kid into a candy store.
“I can’t believe they still have these things. For the public, I mean.”
“For now. I may be the only person keeping this place in business.” I drop my bag on the bench outside the cage I typically use. “I come here whenever I need to blow off steam.”
Which, incidentally, has been a lot lately. Every other day, if not more often, especially in the time before Theo showed up on my doorstep.
“Because you can’t just do that at the training facility?”
“It’s different,” I say with a shrug. “There’s no one here watching. I’m not worried about having perfect form, placing the ball, whatever else Coach wants us to focus on. It’s just me, the bat, the ball, and releasing the built up tension.”
It’s obvious from the arch of his brow, he’s not buying it. Rather than trying to sell him on it, I hold out my bat and helmet for him to take the first round inside the cage. There’s a glint in his eyes when he takes them both from me; paired with his hellish smirk and teasing tone, I can tell his mood has improved already.
“Mhmm, okay. You can talk aboutreleasing tensionall you want, but I can see right through you, Hastings.”
“Oh, really?” I laugh, leaning back against the fence. “So we’re back to reading minds, are we?”
His smirk turns into a full-blown grin as he pulls the helmet on his head. “Look, I’m just saying, it’s okay if you need the extra practice. I won’t tell anyone.”
Oh, this shithead.
I roll my eyes at his attempt to goad me, shooting back, “What good is showing off on a date if you’re not gonna tell anyone about how impressive I am?”
I don’t notice my Freudian slip right away. It’s only when I catch Theo’s cheeks tinting the slightest shade of pink as he adjusts the helmet that I rewind to realize exactly what was said.
Date.
He doesn’t make any attempt to correct me, though, so I don’t see the point in making things awkward by amending my word choice.
Instead, I just watch as he enters the cage, my gaze lingering on theBlackmore logo emblazoned on the front of the helmet before dipping to the orange batting gloves covering his hands. He must feel my attention on him, because he glances up and cocks his head a little.
“What?”
I shake my head, a small smirk tugging at my lips. “Nothing. You look good in Blackmore colors, that’s all.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he says, rolling his eyes. But I don’t miss the pink still lingering in his cheeks darkening all over again.
Once he’s in the batter’s box, he nods to let me know he’s ready for me to start the machine. The first ball comes flying toward him only moments later, and with a sharp, precise swing, he connects, sending it flying up into the back left corner of the cage.
He glances over at me, a cocky grin on his lips. “Did you catch that or do you need me to do it in slow motion next time?”
“Just shut up and hit the damn ball.”
His laughter rings out, quickly being cut off by the sharp, metallic crack as another ball sails off his bat.
