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—Holly—
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“Eeeeep,” I squealed as I rushed into the locker room the millisecond the door swung open. Now that the guys’ post-game debrief had concluded, family was allowed into the innermost private area of the clubhouse.
I searched out Isaiah’s winning grin through the crowd and beamed like the proud-ass girlfriend I was when I spotted him.
My heart kicked erratically as he rushed across the room and effortlessly boosted me into his arms. “There’s my good luck charm! See my home run, Mama?”
With my legs wrapped around his waist—being careful not to drop the box in my hand—I squeezed the hell out of my man. “You almost hit it out of the park. My blood pressure is still through the roof!”
“World series here we come, baby!” Isaiah crowed.
One hand shifted from my booty to my upper back, then he took my breath away with a searing kiss that turned me giddy inside. The kiss also lowered my guard and loosened my grip on the pie box. The instant it got plucked from my hand, I broke away from Isaiah’s mouth with an indignant cry.
“What happened?” he demanded, dark eyes flashing.
“Your pie!” The two simple words had him dropping me to my feet.
“Who—” His searching eyes landed on Scout grinning his ass off. “You m’fucker! Give me my pie back,” Isaiah roared.
Effectively forgotten, I stood back and ate imaginary popcorn as Isaiah chased Scout around the clubhouse, dodging in and out of players and their families.
My laughter ended in an abrupt gasp when Isaiah tackled my uncle onto one of the empty—thank God—locker room couches.
Isaiah scrambled to snatch the box from Scout’s firm grasp, crushing a portion of the box in the process, then stood and flicked back the lid. Like a crazed animal, he planted a foot on Scout’s stomach to keep him locked down and stood over him while taking a stupendously large bite of the leftover pecan pie from yesterday.
Scout laughed and shoved Isaiah’s leg away, then rolled to his feet. They heckled and shoved each other, all while laughing their asses off. Within that smack talk, my name must have come up because both pairs of eyes flicked across the room and landed on me. Grinning, I shook my head, wanting to be appalled by their behavior but finding it funny.
I saw the moment Isaiah’s brain registered my other surprise for him. His laugh halted and mouth dropped a little as his eyes roved over my Bears jersey.
No fucking way, he mouthed, blindly shoving the pie box into Scout’s chest.
Scout fumbled to catch it as Isaiah strode my way, not breaking eye contact for a single second.
“Baaaaabe,” he proclaimed when he got close, dipping back and looking me over with appreciation.
“Surprise,” I cheered.
“Hot damn, I like that more than I thought I would.”
“You like?” I asked, twisting to show him the back of my club jersey with his number on the back and breast, not Scout’s.
“Yeah, Mama.” Chocolate-colored eyes dropped down my body. Isaiah shook his head while biting on his lower lip. “Damn, my number looks good on you.”
I snickered and welcomed his lips to mine in a quick yet hard kiss. A deep hum vibrated within Isaiah’s chest at the same time his arms tightened possessively around me.
“Ain’t nothin’ sweeter than my girl wearing my number. Twenty-three looks m’fuckin’ fine on you, Mama.”
Butterflies flooded my belly. I leaned in for another quick kiss before murmuring against his mouth, “You realize Scout is eating your pie?”
“Fuck the pecan. I got my favorite kind of pie right here.”
Unable to stop the bubbling giggle, I nuzzled into his chest. “And I’ve got my favorite MLB star right here.”
Firm fingers captured my jaw and lifted my chin. “Ain’t that the truth? G’me another kiss, Mama. Twenty-three to be exact.”
—The End—
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