Page 134 of Force Play
I’ll be down in five
“I hate to admit it,” Lucia smiles, digging her toes into the sand as she sits down on it, “but you’re right. Thesearethe best milkshakes.”
I laugh and sit down beside her, nudging her arm with my elbow. “What did I tell you, Torres?”
After I texted her, I drove us to Anna Maria Island, just over the bridge from Bradenton, because one of the ice cream shops here makes fantastic milkshakes.
…and we’ll be able to watch the sunset together on the beach.
It’s not meant to be romantic or anything.
I just want to spend a bit of time with her before the chaos of the season starts next week.
“You ready to go back to New York?” she asks, eyelashes fluttering as the ocean breeze blows by.
“Yes and no,” I sigh, leaning back on my palms. “I’m excited for a new season. Maybe we’ll take the World Series this time.” I gaze at her now, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “But I’ve also had a lot of fun in Bradenton.”
“This is the most fun Spring Training has ever been for me.”
“That’s because you got to spend it with me, Spitfire.” My tone is teasing and playful.
“Yeah,” she replies lightly. “I think that’s a really large part of it, Ari.”
The admission makes me beam.
I’ve always liked attention, but I’ve never craved attention the way I do from Lucia.
I want every second of her time.
And if she has fun being with me, I hope she’ll want all of my time as well.
I think I’d be okay spending all of it with her.
Lucia takes a sip of her milkshake and hums in contentment.
“I still can’t believe you picked vanilla,” I chuckle.
“What’s wrong with a vanilla milkshake?” she asks. “It has marshmallow swirl, too.”
I lean in closer and rasp, “You’re just not much of a vanilla person, sweetheart. Not after what I’ve seen.”
“Vanilla can still be fun,” she winks.
“I don’t know about that.”
She pushes her cup toward me. “Try it then.”
“You want me to try your milkshake?” I ask, raising my brow.
“You’ve swallowed my cum, Ari,” she deadpans. “I didn’t think you’d be so averse to swapping a little spit.”
“You’re feisty, Torres,” I muse, taking the cup from her hand and swallowing some of it down.
“What’s the verdict?” Lucia says sweetly, leaning closer and leaving only inches between us. From this close under the setting sun, I can see flecks of different shades of brown in heririses—some dark like chocolate, some light like caramel. All absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful.
“Not bad,” I rasp, unable to peel my gaze from hers.
I’m locked in on her; she’s all I can see.
