That night I scroll the internet searching for Darcy’s social media profiles, hoping for more insight into my mystery woman. Unfortunately, her profiles are set to private which prevents a stalker like me from discovering much of anything.
I sigh and toss the phone to the nightstand by my bed. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough, though a piece of me worried that she wouldn’t answer when I called. She’d seemed flustered when I asked—not to mention her friend butting in. That had really annoyed me.
Turning off the lamp, I try to fall asleep but thoughts of Darcy swirl in my mind, taunting me, until finally I reach down my sweatpants and take hold of my erection—a familiar move. My eyes close, seeing Darcy in that oversized Eagles tee—except this time she’s naked underneath like I wanted.
In my mind, she’s fresh from a shower, cotton clinging to her wet skin. I slowly walk closer until I lean into her with a hand braced on the wall above her head. My grip tightens as I imagine Darcy’s hand replacing mine, jerking me off in slow strokes before gradually increasing. Soon I’m hoping I can enjoy the real thing with Darcy, but for tonight, my hand will have to do.
* * *
The phone rings as I sit in my office, praying that Darcy answers my call, but after a few more rings, it goes to voicemail. Okay, not a problem. She probably doesn’t answer numbers she doesn’t recognize which is smart.
“Hey, Darcy! It’s Corbin from the stadium last night. I wanted to know if you’re free for lunch tomorrow? Or the day after that? Whatever works for you is good. Just give me a call ﹘” The message cuts off with a beep, and I curse my stupid babbling. It’s obvious I don’t have much experience asking women out because I have no game.
Which isn’t that big of a surprise considering women don’t really care—they hear that I own a baseball team and dollar signs cha-ching over their heads. No need for me to even try. Setting the phone face up on my desk, I try to focus on work instead of obsessing over hearing from Darcy.
As if she heard my plea, the buzzing of a call coming in goes off, and I snatch up the phone and swipe to answer. “Darcy.” Her name sounds like the answer to a prayer. Tone it down. “I mean, hey! Thanks for calling me back.” Smooth.
“Hi…” She sounds hesitant. Like she’s wondering why the fuck she’s talking to me. “Was there something you forgot last night? You don’t have to go through the trouble of lunch; you can tell me now.”
My brow wrinkles in confusion. I’m not sure what she’s talking about. “No, nothing like that. I just want to have lunch with you.”
“Is this about Bethany?”
And now I’m really confused. “Your friend?” A small laugh leaves me. “No, it’s not about her. It’s about you.” And the fact that I want you to sit on my face. But I can’t say that or risk her blocking me from ever contacting her again.
“Oh.” Silence hangs in the air.
Deciding to take charge, I say, “So, tomorrow at one? We can meet here at the stadium.” It might be unconventional bringing a date to work, but I want to be alone with Darcy—not in a restaurant full of people. Besides, it could be fun showing her around what I’ve worked hard to build.
When I bought the team a few years ago, it’d be a struggling franchise with a decaying stadium and players past their golden years. Primed for an influx of new blood and cash.
“Sure, I’ll see you then.” We hang up, and I sigh a breath of relief. One obstacle down.