He reached for my hand and squeezed it affectionately, laughing when I wouldn’t let go. He gave in with a sigh and changed the conversation to neutral topics like the season finale of the Canadian cooking show we’d started watching together. I don’t think either of us realized we’d held hands for the entire drive until we arrived at the restaurant.
We scored a killer table at the cottage-style café with panoramic views of the Pacific. We feasted on pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, and hash browns and talked about movies we loved as kids and our favorite shows on the Disney Channel and Nickelodeon. After breakfast, we drove along the canyon road and parked on a side street in front of the batting cages.
I hadn’t been to this facility in years, but I had sweet memories of coming here with my family when I was a kid. In fact, this whole day was a flashback to simpler times when everyone in the Maldonado clan got jazzed up about pancakes, baseball, and the beach. Phoenix didn’t know it, but I’d accidentally invited him into my inner world.
He laughed when I threw his Diamonbacks cap in the backseat and set my Dodgers cap on his head. I kissed his nose and grabbed my gear from the trunk before leading the way to the kiosk-style desk. This was a bare-bones operation catering to all ages and skill levels, which meant it was popular with kids and families. I rented a cage for one hour, picked up a helmet for Phoenix and tokens to feed the pitching machine. The attendant gave us a quick tutorial and assigned us a cage at the end. I sidestepped a posse of grade-school-age kids and turned to give Phoenix a reassuring smile when he stepped inside.
“Smile. This is fun,” I said, handing over the rented helmet. “Here. Put this on. I’m gonna grab a bat for you. I have an extra pair of gloves too.”
He nodded politely and took the helmet by the bill, holding it between his thumb and forefinger like it was a potentially dangerous object. I pulled the gear from my bag and chuckled at his expression.
“Do I need this?”
“Batting helmets are mandatory, babe. Take the cap off.”
“Is it clean?”
“I’m sure they sanitize them between use. You want to wear mine? It’s got my cooties all over it,” I singsonged as I yanked his cap off and placed my helmet on his head. “Put the gloves on too. Get snappy. We only have an hour. It goes fast.”
He obeyed, then cocked his head and set his hands on his hips. “Where are the balls?”
“They’re in the machine at the other end of the cage. Here’s how this works…the machine is the pitcher. I’ve got it on a slow setting so you should be able to hit the ball easily. You just stand up to the line, wait for the pitch, and swing the bat. Got it?”
“No. Maybe you should go first.”
“Okay.”
I took my helmet back, grabbed a bat and gave a couple of practice swings. Then I stepped up and told him to push the button. It was far too easy to crush the hell out of the ball, but I still loved the sensation. I pivoted toward Phoenix with a stupid grin on my face that turned into laughter when he cheered like a loon, jumping up and down and clapping.
“That was so good!”
“Gee, thanks. Now it’s your turn.” I transferred the helmet to his head, handed over the bat, and gave a quick lesson. “Your grip is important. Palm up, palm down. Wrap your fingers around first and curl your thumb over them. Now your left hand goes underneath your right. Good job. Next thing you need to know is where to stand. You’re set up to succeed at a batting cage. On a real field, you gotta figure out your personal sweet spot. Some players like to be on top of the plate, others take a piece of it.”
“Do you like to be on top?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes.
I shot a cocky grin at him. “Always.”
“Mmm. Maybe I should top sometime.”
“Maybe you should.”
“You’d let me?”
I stared at him for a long moment, willing my dick to behave. “Are you gonna hit it or not?”
He flashed a mischievous smile and shook his ass before stepping to the line. “So baseball is where ‘hit that’ comes from? I want to hit that. Did you hit that? I’m ready to hit that.”
I put on a stern “coach” face and scowled at him. “Are you going to be serious?”
“No, I don’t think so.” He bit his bottom lip and widened his eyes. “Gosh, I don’t want to make you mad, ’cause I want you to hit that. Not here, of course. Although, sport sex could be really hot. We could pretend this is a game and you’re coaching me on the side, but I’m just not getting it. You’re frustrated with me, so you decide to show me how it’s done. Picture this…” He spread his hands wide for effect and continued in a sex-hazed tone. “You get behind me to correct my bat swing and—”