Stealing Home: A Reverse Grumpy-Sunshine College Sports Romance: Chapter 47

IT WAS REALLY FUCKING hard to concentrate on the game when I knew to look for Mia in the stands.

I managed to settle in after a few innings, but it took all of my self-control. It was worth it, because I made a nice defensive play early in the game and went 3-for-4, and most importantly, we won the game and therefore the series, but it was torture, too. A very specific brand of self-inflicted torture, since I’m the one who gave her the jersey to wear. The rush of possessiveness that went through me whenever I even glanced in the direction of the stands should be illegal.

The second Coach Martin releases us, I head into the stands. Most of the guys are going to go straight to the locker room for a shower and change of clothes, but I can’t wait that long to see her. If she’s not in my arms in the next minute, I might lose my mind.

I spot my brother first. He pulls me into a hug, pounding on my back. “Nice game, man. Fantastic from start to finish.”

“Thanks,” I say as I step back, giving him an exhausted grin. “Fucking glad we pulled out another series win.”

Penny and Izzy join us. I give them each a hug, looking around for Mia. “Where’s Mia?”

“Something came up with her sister,” Penny says. “She was talking to her on the phone.”

I frown. “What kind of something?”

“I’m not sure.” She gestures to one of the staircases. “She went that way. Will you go find her? I have a feeling she’ll want to talk to you right now, not me.”

“Yeah, of course.” I take off my cap and stuff it into my back pocket. “We’ll see you at the house later, okay?”

After I say goodbye to them, I head in the direction that Penny pointed out. A couple of people in the departing crowd stop me, wanting to say hello. I sign a baseball for a kid and shake the hand of a guy who claims to have played in the minor leagues with my father before I manage to spot her. She’s tucked away in a little alcove next to a supply closet, arms crossed, worrying her lower lip.

I know the way she looks when she’s trying not to cry, and this is exactly it. Shit. “Mia?”

She looks up at the sound of my voice. “Hey.”

“Penny mentioned that something happened. Are you okay?” I reach out, but she shrugs away.

“Did you tell Zoe Anders about what I want to do in the future?”

“What?”

“She posted something about me wanting to work for NASA.”

“Oh.” I have no idea why that would be upsetting, so I tread carefully. “Yeah, I spoke about you. What’s the matter?”

“Damnit, Seb,” she snaps. “Why did you have to do that?”

I stare, swiping at my still-sweaty forehead. “Because I’m proud of you? What, is it a secret?”

She just looks at me, teeth digging into her lip, that ever-present fire blazing in her eyes.

“Wait,” I say. “It actually is a secret?”

“My family doesn’t—didn’t know about it, Seb.” The frustration comes through in her voice like a crack of thunder. “I told them I was studying to become a teacher. Graduate school, NASA, all of it—they don’t know. Except now, thanks to you and Zoe, my sister knows fucking everything.”

“I’m not following. Why did you tell them that?”

“It’s complicated,” she says shortly. She wipes carefully at her eyes. “My family isn’t like yours. I couldn’t just…”

“Do the thing you’re good at? The thing you’re passionate about?”

“Don’t say it like it’s easy.”

“It sounds pretty easy to me.”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry I missed some of your game. First Zoe wanted to talk to me, and then Giana called, and now it’s over.”

“It’s okay.”

“But the season is almost over.” Tears sparkle in her golden-brown eyes. “You deserve better.”

I pull her into a hug. “Mia. Come on. You were here, and I appreciate that. Thank you.”

She’s frozen for a moment, but then she wraps her arms around me in return. “I don’t want to think about it right now,” she whispers. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. It’s not like I told you about it.”

“And I’m sorry I talked to the reporter about you without asking.” I pull back far enough I can meet her gaze. I brush her hair away from her face and press a kiss to her forehead. I have a million questions, but if she doesn’t want to talk about it right now, I won’t push. “She wouldn’t stop asking me about my dad, and you were—you were what I wanted to talk about instead.”

She smiles slightly. “Really?”

“Oh, definitely. I’ll take any chance to brag about my genius girlfriend.”

Her smile widens. I take that as a win, looping my hand through hers. “You know, you still haven’t shown me your softball pitch.”

We start walking in the direction of the exit.

“Why do I feel like there’s a challenge coming?” she says.

I pull her closer, messing with her hair. She shrieks, trying to stomp on my feet.

“Not a challenge,” I say. “An adventure.”

“IF IT’S TERRIBLE, you’re not allowed to laugh,” Mia warns me. “I’m serious, Seb.”

I mimic zipping my lips shut. “I promise. Throw the ball.”

Technically speaking, we’re not allowed on the practice field if we haven’t booked time, but I decided to take a risk and bring Mia here, along with my gear and a bucket of softballs. This field is behind the ballpark, so there’s enough light bleeding over to see, but it’s completely deserted except for us. I figure that if she’s mad, whatever the details of the situation, it couldn’t hurt to work them out with a little ballgame. I’ll return the softball equipment to its proper place as soon as we’re done.

Mia makes a face as she looks down at the neon yellow softball. “Reiterating again that I haven’t thrown a softball in years.”

“I think I’ll manage to hit it anyway,” I say. I rest my bat over my shoulder, adjusting my helmet. The metal is lighter than the wood of my baseball bat. It’s going to make the most delicious ring when I crush the ball with it. “Go on. Don’t be scared.”

She glares at me. “Rude.”

“Unless you scared, in which case I guess you’re not up for my adventure.”

“Rude!” she says again. She winds up and throws the pitch.

I swing—and completely miss it. It nearly knocks me off balance. I can hear Mia’s laughter clear across the diamond.

“Oh, you’re right,” she says. “I feel loads better now.”

I shake my head, picking up the bat. “Again.”

She throws it again. Too low for me to hit; it rolls right past home plate. I shake my head at her. “Come on, di Angelo. You can do better than that.”

She grabs another softball, getting herself into position. I can’t make out all her features in the low light, but judging by her body language, she’s ready to go. She winds up and releases, and this time, I make contact with a satisfying smack. The ball sails over her head and into the night. I do an exaggerated bat flip, which makes her dissolve into laughter again.

“And the crowd goes wild!” she calls.

I jog to the pitcher’s mound, holding the bat out to her. “Your turn.”

“Oh, God,” she says. “I was not good at hitting.”

“Try it,” I say, wiggling it in front of her. “It feels good to hit things sometimes.”

“You’re lucky I heard that in context,” she teases, taking the bat from me. She grabs the helmet off my head and puts it on hers. “Same rules apply. You can’t laugh if I suck.”

“I’ll be cheering.” I pick up a softball. It feels gigantic in my hand, a grapefruit instead of an orange. Weird. Izzy played softball for a brief period before she settled into volleyball, and I remember how strange it felt to practice with her. “Because you’re gonna crush it.”

She rolls her eyes. “The only reason I played softball was because I had a crush on a girl on the team. And then I kept playing it after she left because it looked good on my college applications. The schools liked seeing that I wasn’t just a nerd.”

“Did you get with the girl?”

She grins. “Obviously.”

“So confident,” I say, deepening my voice so I sound like an announcer, “but can di Angelo back it up at the plate?”

She sprints to home plate with the bat held over her head like a sword. “Yes she can!”

“Hell yes she can!” I toss the softball into the air and catch it. “Righty hitter, nice.”

She drags the end of the bat through home plate before settling into position. “I forgot how weird this feels.”

“Stick your butt out more.”

“Is that a genuine suggestion, or are you just acting piggish?”

I toss the ball again. “Totally legit. Power comes from the lower half.”

She puts her hands on her hips, cocking them to one side.

I hold up my hands. “Hey, I’m just trying to help. If it happens to show off assets I appreciate, I’m not in control of that.”

She adjusts her stance, widening her feet slightly, and holds the bat over her shoulder.

“Elbow up—good girl.” I settle onto the mound, digging my toes into the clay. I have no idea how to throw a softball pitch, but I figure a nice easy underhand should be simple enough for her to hit. “Ready?”

She nods, so I wind back and toss the ball. She swings and hits it softly, but too late; she barely makes contact, and it rolls foul.

“Try and get on it faster,” I say as I pick up another ball. “Ready?”

This time, she hits it with some power. I jump out of the way as it rockets right up the middle of the diamond. She does a little dance at home plate. “Do it again!”

I toss her a third, which she hits right where the shortstop would be, and a fourth that goes all the way to the outfield. At the last one, she takes off running, losing the helmet halfway to first. I cheer, whooping, as she rounds second, then third. On her way home, I run over to meet her. We collide at the plate, landing in a heap of laughter and dirt. She’s on top of me, and her hair is in my face, and her eyes are as bright as the stars overhead. I loop my arms over her back, hugging her close, urging her to give me all her weight.

“And the crowd goes wild,” I murmur.

Her heartbeat races against mine. She kisses me deeply, our teeth practically gnashing together, her hands tugging on my hair. The warm weight of her sends heat to all the right places, and my mouth goes dry when she pulls off the jersey. She has on a purple bra, the same color as the jersey, showing off the two perfect handfuls of her tits. Her gold chain swings gently.

“Angel,” I say hoarsely.

Her smile is small and tilted to one side, and it means more to me than anything in the world. My Mia is brave. It takes guts to go after what you want instead of what’s expected of you, and it sounds like she made that choice long ago, when it would have been easier to give in to the pressure and expectations. I don’t know the full story yet, but I will someday soon, and when I do, that’s what I’ll tell her. She’s brave. She’s not letting anyone dictate her future but her, and that’s the most admirable thing I’ve ever known.

“Maybe outdoor sex can be our thing,” she says teasingly. She traces down my chest, playing with the buttons of my uniform. “What do you think?”

My mind is racing a million miles a minute, but I don’t indulge the thoughts. Not now, when I have Mia sitting on top of me, looking good enough to eat. Not when letting them in would mean acknowledging what I can’t push away any longer.

I have a future, but not in baseball.

Even though I loved tonight’s game—even though I love playing every game—my father’s legacy belongs to him. My life can’t be an imitation of his just because it was what he wanted for me before he died. I have to make my own future, even if it means giving up the sport I’ve revolved my life around for as long as I can remember.

And that’s fucking terrifying.

So instead, I pull Mia into another breathtaking, overwhelming kiss. “Come here, gorgeous.”