Page 3 of The Baseball Player's Obsession

Our eyes meet as electricity snaps between us. Her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting as she stares at me.

I swallow. Fuck, does she feel it too?

She bites her lip and looks up at me from beneath those thick lashes, and all I can do is stare at the way her teeth pierce the flesh, wishing that it was me nibbling on that lip.

I finally break our staring contest before I do something crazy like lean across this counter and taste those sweet lips that are calling to me.

The old lady shuffles up behind me and claims Brandy’s attention with a warm welcome that lets me know she's a regular customer here too.

Brandy pulls her eyes away from me and smiles kindly at the old lady, effectively dismissing me.

I try to ignore the pang that causes me. When her gaze leaves mine, I feel like I’ve lost something precious.

I walk out of the store, my feet feeling heavier with every step I take away from her.

I stop outside and turn to look back in and admire her beautiful form as she helps the old lady with her purchases.

Something stirs inside me the longer I watch Brandy. It’s something I've never felt before.

Something dark and dangerous.

Something that scares the shit out of me.

And when I try to pull myself away from the window, my feet won't move.

My eyes are glued to her. I can't seem to look away, even though I'm trying with all my might.

I swallow hard as realization creeps over me.

I am so fucked.

CHAPTERTWO

Brandy

My fingers are still tinglingfrom where Nate’s brushed mine when I gave him his sister's cat food after checking him out.

And boy did I ever check him out. The man has gorgeous auburn locks and golden eyes—just like his sister. Big and tall in that way that makes women swoon.

He’s a veritable god.

And good lord, the way those golden eyes burned into me like he was seeing deep inside to the heart of me, all the secret places I never let anyone see.

I told the man something I never talk about. I told him about how my parents died. Sure, I didn’t go in-depth about it, but I admitted more to him than I have people who aren’t complete strangers.

I still can’t get over the sting of disappointment that he didn’t ask me out. I’d have probably leaped into his arms like an overeager puppy, and it’s not just that he’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen in all of my nineteen years.

There’s something else about him. Something I can’t put my finger on. I’m drawn to him in a way I can’t explain.

But none of that matters because he’s gone.

I try not to let the melancholy of that thought get to me. This is crazy. I don’t even really know the guy, yet I feel as depressed as if I broke up with him.

Well, what I assume people must feel like after a breakup. I wouldn’t really know since I’ve never had a boyfriend at all before.

I know. It’s pathetic, right? Most girls my age lost their v-cards years ago, and I still have my kiss card.

I’ve never even had a proper orgasm. I feel like an idiot because I must be doing something wrong. I’ve rubbed my clit just like the heroines in the naughty books I read do, but I’ve never been able to make myself tip over that edge.

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