Page 33 of Off Limits: The Firsts

Both pull at me. Tempt me to look closer. Dare me to want what they are showing me.

It’s a sight—his darkness against the light—and I can’t help but stare at him for a moment. Study his lines. The broad shoulders and trim waist. The wide stance and arms relaxed at his sides.

I fool myself as I take the first step toward him, past the gourmet kitchen on the left, with its white cabinets and granite slab, that I’m just here to use the restroom.

I lie to myself as I walk past the huge living room, with its oversize couches and state of the art electronics, that wanting him to kiss me was only a passing fancy that has come and gone.

I push away the notion as I pad past the massive dining table, that I’ll be leaving here in a few minutes to head home and get a good night’s sleep. Alone.

The worst part about telling yourself lies is you know the real truth.

And the truth is I want everything I just tried to convince myself I didn’t.

The realization echoes in my head as I prepare myself for his irrevocable pull, because it’s pointless to pretend he doesn’t affect me when my body is already humming at the sight of his silhouette.

“Your place is gorgeous. The only thing missing is a scruffy . . .” My words trail off before I can say mutt to snuggle up with, because when I step beside him, I’m rendered speechless by the sight before us—the source of the bright lights beyond.

“Wow.” It’s all I can say, and I sound like a little kid seeing Santa Claus for the first time—astonished. Mesmerized. Staggered. “You’re forgiven for not having a mutt,” I murmur, my words barely audible as I stare.

“A mutt?”

“Shush and let me enjoy the view.” I swat at him to reinforce my words, transfixed by a sight that’s as beautiful to my eye as the man standing beside me.

Like mouth-dropping, chill-inducing incredible.

Beyond this wall of windows high above the city, the buildings dotting the darkened skyline paint a uniquely beautiful picture, but they’re nothing compared to what lies directly below us: the home of the Austin Aces.

The lights are on, bringing the ballpark to life despite the fifty thousand vacant seats. They highlight the brilliant green of the outfield grass and its mesmerizing mowed crisscross pattern. They brighten the brown of the infield’s dirt, the white of the chalk lines, and the blue uniforms of the grounds crew who seem to be working on the pitcher’s mound.

He chuckles and pulls me from my trance. “I’m glad I’m forgiven when I wasn’t even aware you liked dogs.”

“Mutts. I prefer mutts. Preferably the no-one-else-wants-them kind of mutts. And I want one desperately, but with traveling for work and . . . just wow . . .” I’m rambling because my attention is engrossed elsewhere.

And for the first time tonight, it’s not on him.

“I know.”

I appreciate the fact that he doesn’t say anything else. That he just allows me to appreciate the view before us—the only diamond this girl has ever dreamt of. And right now I’d challenge anyone who told me this diamond doesn’t sparkle as brightly as the rock you wear on your finger. With empty seats or with a sold-out crowd, this one outshines jewelry any day.

“It’s your church,” I whisper, not even certain I say it out loud until I glance over to Easton and find him watching me. There’s a look on his face. His expression is part awe, part disbelief, and a whole lot of little boy mixed together, and it steals my heart when I had it firmly protected under lock and key.

But he’s stolen it nonetheless.

“This is the place, isn’t it?” I murmur like he should know what I’m referring to—the fabled house I’ve heard some players talk about, with its sparkling views and the private field in its depths, twenty-something floors below. And because I’ve never heard them say who owns the place, I thought it was a legend of sorts, a fantasy home some players aspire to have, and yet here it is.

And, of course, it’s Easton’s.

“It is.” He nods his head, eyes intense, and I can’t figure out which thing I want to look at more: the field or him.

“Is it true?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“There’s really a personal batting cage and mini-field beneath the building that came with your place?”

“There is.” He nods again, but his eyes say so much more. I’m drawn to look closer but am afraid of what I might see because deep down I already know it might be something I won’t be able to walk away from.

“Why would you need that when you have this in your backyard? Your office?”