“You should take some pointers from my girl here,” Willow says as I turn to look at her. She’s being her usual outgoing self, but as always, she has my back. “We always leave early. No way are we missing warm-ups.” She wiggles her eyebrows, and I can feel my face heat.
“Warm-ups.” He nods, a grin playing on his lips. “That’s the best part, is it?” His voice is teasing.
“Well, if you play for our team, it is.” Willow laughs. “I mean, hot guys in tight pants. We. Are. Here. For. It.” She nods, returning his smile.
“What about you?” the sexy guy asks.
“Me?”
“You digging the tight pants too?”
He’s teasing, and I feel myself relax a little. “That’s part of it,” I admit.
“And the other part?”
“There are lots of them. The smell of the dirt, the food, the crack of the bat… hell, even the wave is essential to the experience.”
“Uh-oh,” Willow says with an eye roll, “now you’ve done it. You got my girl here talking about baseball, and now we’re doomed to hear all about it the entire game.”
“Stop.” I laugh, which earns me a smile from both the sexy guy and my best friend. “I love the game. Baseball was a major part of my household growing up.” I don’t tell him that Easton Monroe is my dad. I also don’t tell him that my uncle Drew, who is not my uncle but one of my dad’s best friends, is the general manager of the Blaze. He retired from playing for the team and took over when the current GM retired. Baseball was more than just a big part of my life growing up. It was my life.
Still is.
“What about you?” Willow asks him.
“I’m a fan,” he says, lifting his hat from his head, and running his hands through his hair.
“If you’re not a Blaze fan, don’t tell us. Well, don’t tell her.” Willow points toward me. “She’s a ride or die.”
Our sexy seat neighbor raises his eyebrows in question. “She’s not wrong.” I shrug unapologetically.
The crowd roars as the Blaze team takes the field, and I turn my attention to the game. Mindlessly, I take my seat, watching as the game starts to unfold. We have a great team this year, and our chances of going all the way are high. “Hell yeah!” I cheer when the Blaze strikes out the Tomahawks.
Willow leans around me to talk to our sexy neighbor. “Told you so.” She laughs. “By the way, I’m Willow, and this is Paisley,” she introduces us.
He offers Willow his hand, which crosses over in front of me. “Cameron,” he says. His voice is deep and husky, and the ink covering his arms has me squirming in my seat. What is it about this man that has me reacting like I’ve never been in the presence of a hot guy? He’s hands down the hottest, so I’m guessing that’s my hang-up.
I feel another elbow, and my head whips around to glare at Willow, who nods toward Cameron. His lip is tilted up in a grin, his dimple playing peekaboo. His eyes flash to his hand that’s just hanging out there, waiting for me to accept his handshake. My face heats, and it’s not from the sun.
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “Paisley.” I offer my name even though Willow already told him as I slide my hand into his. His hands are so much larger than mine, and they’re rough and calloused, which makes me wonder what he does for a living. However, I can’t seem to form the words to ask him from the spark that’s shooting up my arm. It’s as if I’ve been zapped with electricity. My eyes widen, and if I hadn’t been watching, I would have missed the slight widening of his eyes.
Does he feel it too?
“Pleasure to meet you, Paisley.” His voice drops to a low octave that’s even sexier. I don’t remember him saying something similar to Willow. Then again, I was zoning out too. Willow clears her throat, and I snap out of my Cameron trance and realize I’m still holding his hand as I stare at him.
“So hot,” Willow whispers. I hear Cameron’s low chuckle, which tells me he heard her.
“Stop,” I reply to my best friend under my breath.
“I’m just saying,” she replies. This time, she doesn’t even bother to try to lower her voice.
I’ve never been embarrassed and turned on all at the same time. This is most definitely a first for me. What’s also a first? Me being at a game and not being able to focus. It’s usually the other way around. I tune out the world as I let myself get lost in the game and the happenings on the field. Today, that’s not the case. I’m hyperaware of every move Cameron makes. A shift of his legs, the stretch of his arms, and the way he’s constantly stealing glances my way.
I feel it all.
Every movement.
It’s driving me insane.
Normally, I’m glued to my seat, and it’s Willow or my sisters who bring me more snacks. On the rare occasion that I do leave my seat, it’s for a run to the bathroom. Not today. Today, I need a break. I stand abruptly and turn toward Willow. “I’m going for more snacks. Do you want anything?”
“Oh! Cracker Jacks.” She grins. “Hey, Cameron, do you need anything?” she asks. I shoot her a warning glare, but she pretends not to notice.
“You making a run?” he asks, standing and stretching his arms over his head. My eyes go to his waist, where his shirt rides up, and I can see just a sliver of his toned abs, and oh, God, is that a V I see? Just when I thought he couldn’t be any more attractive.
“Paisley?” He bends down, his eyes capturing my attention.
“Yeah.” I nod. I think he asked me if I was going to get snacks, but I can’t be sure. My answer seems to be the right one when he gives me a nod of his own.
“I’ll come with. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to refuse, but Willow speaks up before I can. “In that case, a refill, please?” she asks sweetly. She can pretend to be sweet and innocent all she wants. I know what she’s doing. She’s playing matchmaker. She’s always after me to date more. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard her tell me that there is more to life than baseball, and well, softball by default. If my college would have let me play with the guys, I would have. It’s bullshit if you ask me.
“I can get whatever you need,” I tell Cameron.
“It will be good to stretch out. Come on.” He offers me his hand, and I stare at it for three heartbeats before he takes the decision away from me. He reaches for my hand and laces his fingers through mine as he guides me up the steps.
My heart pounds against my chest, and my ears ring. My palm is sweating, and that just causes me to be embarrassed all over again. Sweaty palms when you’re holding the hand of the sexiest man on earth is not my idea of a good time.
When we reach the top of the stairs, he drops my hand and places his own on the small of my back. He’s walking close, too close, and I’m sure he can hear the rapid stutter of my heart inside my chest.
I expect him to drop his hand when we reach the concession stand, but he does the opposite. When someone needs to cross through since the line is long, he pulls me into his side, wrapping his arm around my waist.
“Excuse me,” the woman with two small kids complaining they have to potty says as she walks in front of us, cutting through to the long line for the bathrooms.