Page 75 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.” I murmur the term I’d never heard before I received the hysterical phone call that afternoon. “A massive heart attack from a condition he never even knew he had.”

“All of us players had always thought we were invincible. We ran every day, ate healthy, were in top physical form, and then that happened to him. It freaked a lot of us out for a while. Like, if it could happen to him, then . . .”

“It could happen to you. Yeah, I know. I think I’ve had my heart checked every which way possible to make sure I don’t have the same condition.” I nod, the nagging worry just something I live with. “And obviously, my dad was checked too . . . but his situation is a different issue all together . . . and now it’s going to take him from me, too.”

Easton reaches out and pulls me into him. And this time, I let him. I accept the warmth and comfort and reassurance of his arms around me. I listen to the beat of his heart and memorize the feel of his skin beneath my cheek as I nuzzle his neck.

“When Ford died, it broke my dad. He was his pride and joy. He was the light in our house, the one we looked to for our laughter. And then, like that, he was gone. I was left to try and pick up the pieces and fill the holes that seemed to surround us constantly. So, I changed my major in school. I’d always been interested in following in my dad’s footsteps, but my dad wouldn’t let me. He told me I had to go take the world by storm and do my own thing. But when Ford died, it was like he wanted to keep me close to make sure I was okay, and so he finally agreed to let me learn the trade. Once I was given the chance, I threw myself into everything about it to make him proud. To try and make him happy.”

“He’s proud of you, Scout. I have no doubt about that,” he murmurs into the crown of my head, the heat of his breath hitting my hair.

“Pride doesn’t mend a broken heart, though.” I speak my thoughts out loud and am grateful that he doesn’t refute them, doesn’t disagree with my opinion, no matter how irrational it may seem. “So that’s why I’m here in Austin. Securing the last job for him, so he can know he fulfilled the one career goal he still had remaining.”

“That’s honorable and selfless.”

“I’m terrified that I’m going to let him down.”

“You won’t,” he murmurs. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

I snuggle further into him, appreciative of the reassurance, but more than aware that the front office has the final say. Not him.

“Is there anything else we need to lay on the line before we get up from our naked ball-field confessional?” I tease. His chest vibrates against mine with his laughter, but when he doesn’t say anything, I’m suddenly paranoid. “What is it? What else do you need to tell me?” When I try to lean back and look into his eyes, he just holds me still.

“For a girl who spooks easily, you sure ask a lot of questions. Didn’t anyone ever tell you to not ask questions you can’t handle the answers to?”

“Easton.” His name is a playful warning, but my pulse quickens with his comment. “Please tell me you don’t have a wife in every city, or I’m going to be royally pissed.”

“Hardly.”

“Then what?” Impatience rings in my tone as my body comes to life with the feeling of his naked body and dick slowly hardening against me. I try to tickle him to get an answer. We wiggle and squirm away from each other, but he has the upper hand in the strength department.

“Let’s just say, you’re not yet ready to hear what I have to say,” he laughs out amid my tickle torture, but the simple statement knocks all the fight out of me as my mind races with possibilities. Good possibilities, ones I never dared to think could even be possible but which flicker and fade through my mind nonetheless.

And he uses my momentary lapse in attention to scoot away from me. I scramble on all fours to go after him.

“I know how to make you talk, Wylder.” My voice is full of suggestion, and my body is renewed with desire as I crawl slowly toward him.

“Naked batting practice?”

It’s sad that there’s hope in his voice when he says it, but I burst out in laughter. And it feels good to laugh after everything tonight—my trip to visit my brother at the cemetery, the tension with Santiago, our fight, my confession, him making me feel, the last hour we spent talking—that I welcome the humor.

“Mmmm,” I murmur with a raise of my brows. “That’s not exactly the bat and balls I was thinking about using right now.”

“They weren’t?” He fights his grin but lets his eyes roam over my breasts as I crawl over his legs so my face is perfectly poised above his cock.

“Nope. Besides, I’m more fixated on making you talk than proving I can swing a decent stick.”

Easton shifts his hips beneath me. “Fixate away.”

It’s my turn to give him a lightning quick grin as I slowly dip my head and take him into my mouth and all the way to the back of my throat.

His groan fills the room as his taste assaults my senses in the most intoxicating of ways.

“Good God, woman. You’re going to be the death of me.”

She’s gorgeous.

An absolute mess of gorgeous chaos with her hair fanned around her, pillow creases in her cheeks, a soft smile on her lips, and a well of emotion in her eyes.