Sure Bet (Out of Left Field #1)

14. Liam

Chapter 14

Liam

“ I can’t believe you insisted on coming,” Brooke hissed, holding the door and waving me through. “You have to be all over me suddenly? Like a rash?”

“More like a cozy sweater, Brooke. A big, warm hug.” I breezed inside the building with a smirk. “You didn’t think I was going to let you hide for the next week like a coward? Avoid me, rather than be forced to contend with your obvious and, quite frankly, aggressive attraction?”

Her screech could be heard in a three-block radius. “My aggressive—” She sighed and rubbed her temple. “Really? This is you proving a point? You’re going to follow me around until I break my word and beg to kiss you? That’s your game?”

Kind of. Brooke wanted to kiss me. And judging by her flushed skin, lust-blown pupils, and shuddering breaths when dancing last night, she wanted to do more than just kiss me. But getting her to drop her pride would take some finessing. Some wooing, if you will. I’d have to give her my best moves.

Leaning close, I whispered in her ear. “Still counts if you beg me to kiss you just to get rid of me.”

Okay, I was a little rusty, but I’d get there. Besides, I had an ally.

My twin sister was not only loud but diabolical.

‘Get him to beg you to kiss him! Now that’s how you cultivate a confident, bad bitch vibe. ’

Whose side was she on, anyway? So much for blood ties.

That blush on Brooke’s cheeks—such a pretty color. It looked just as good on her today as it had last night in the club. My new favorite, I think. What was it? A coral? Rose? Carnation? Something sweet and light, but obvious.

“So embarrassing,” Brooke mumbled, rolling her eyes and stepping away from me.

I winked. “You’re not that bad.”

Red-cheeked and stammering, she managed an angry, “I meant you.”

“Did you? I assumed that muttering had something to do with my seeing your Fruit of the Loom wedgie-free underwear last night. Blue is a good color on you.”

Goddamn, I couldn’t stop thinking about the round, fleshy curve of her ass. I wonder what it looked like with a little pink on those cheeks. Something closer to red, preferably blooming in the shape of my handprint. Was she into a rough hand? Fuck, kneading those doughy cheeks, digging my fingertips into the smooth skin until it dimpled as I pound into her from behind... Brooke needed to be fucked from behind.

She gaped and sputtered, her jaw hanging open and her eyes impossibly wide. When the receptionist waltzed into the lobby, I tipped two fingers beneath her chin to close it.

On second thought, those big eyes warranted face-to-face contact. Please-me-eyes, wide and thick-lashed. They would look phenomenal staring right at me as she bounced in my lap and pulled my hair and demanded I make her come. No, Brooke needed to be fucked face-to-face.

Both, and more. She definitely needed both—and more. So much more.

“Namaste, friends. Welcome.” A tall and confident man greeted us, his palms pressed together in front of his chest as he bowed. “Please, Brooke, would you sign your companion into class today? What’s your name, friend?”

He relaxed his hands, but not his intense eye contact.

“Kale,” I answered before she jumped in. “Kale Moonstone, and I love yoga.”

Not a word of that was true. Brooke coughed, the sound catching in her throat like a strangled gasp. I patted her back, shaking my head. “I’ve warned her to switch to edibles.”

She coughed harder, her face crimson as she shoved me away. Mostly recovered, she ignored my grin and gestured to a door left of the reception desk. “Studio A today?”

I peeked over Brooke’s shoulder while she signed me in as Kale Moonstone. She glanced up and smiled coyly.

“Rule breaker,” I whispered as she led us into the studio.

She sighed, and I believed the struggle in her voice. “There’s a first time for everything, I guess.”

I followed her through the door to my first yoga session. Stretching was an integral part of training in baseball, but I’d never, not once, been forced to Om .

The room was as expected—sparse, humid, and reeking of incense. Sunshine poured through the skylights, reflecting light from the hardwood floors and mirror-lined walls. Soft music floated through the warm, open space. Something vaguely familiar…

“Is this the song from those animal rescue commercials?”

Brooke elbowed me in the gut. “Not a word. Especially when we get to the Kegels portion of our breath and core work.”

“Kegels?”

“Men have pelvic floors, too,” she hissed, leading us to a spot in the back. “Daniel will demonstrate. Feel free to volunteer.”

“Daniel will demonstrate Kegels? How? That’s not possible.”

She scoffed. “Daniel is a masterful instructor.”

Brooke was already off, plodding in her bare feet toward a closet to retrieve mats and foam blocks. She set up our space and shrugged off her oversized sweatshirt. I tugged off my hoodie and struggled to keep my eyes on my mat instead of lingering on the high-waisted leggings that hugged her curves in all the right places.

Fuck. Those thighs. I’d always loved Brooke’s thighs. Strong and full and kissing at the top. I licked my lips, remembering the feel of them brushing against mine as she ground against me last night.

She stole a glance at me and quickly tied the sweatshirt around her waist rather than hang it on one of the hooks lining the back wall.

I frowned. “Want me to hang your stuff with mine?”

“Nope. I’m good. Thanks.” The words were rushed, and she stared ahead and adjusted her loose bun. Strands of hair framed her face in the soft halo of light, bringing out the honey undertones.

My fingers twitched as I imagined burying them in those thick curls. And my cock woke the fuck up when I pictured wrapping her hair around my fist while her mouth licked along my body.

Christ. Not here. There was no chance I could hide my… enthusiasm, and Kale Moonstone was a gentleman.

Insecurity activated the pink on her cheeks, not the blaze of confidence I wanted to see.

“Give me the sweatshirt.” I held out my hand, and my tone must have registered as serious because, for once, Brooke listened. Even if she huffed and grumbled about it as I hung it with mine.

I had plenty to hide in my current state, but it irked me that she dared to conceal any part of her body because it embarrassed her. I doubted she would have tied that sweatshirt around her waist if I weren’t here, which meant something about me seeing her made her self-conscious.

But I enjoyed looking at Brooke, and perhaps that was one thing I wouldn’t try to hide.

She wore a simple, snug-fitting tank that left her shoulders bare and revealed the elegant lines of her collarbones.

I admired the graceful curve of her throat and the heavy swallow within it as I leaned closer and murmured, “If you think I won’t enjoy watching you stretch and bend while in Lycra, you’re severely mistaken. And if you think there’s something about your voluptuous curves that requires covering up while in Lycra, you’re catastrophically wrong. I faked my identity and am willing to do Kegels for you, Brooke.”

Her abrupt laugh caused heads to turn in our direction. She held up her hands in apology, just as a man with a bun and yoga pants that matched Brooke’s took his position at the front of the room. That must be Daniel. He greeted everyone, but my attention remained on Brooke.

She rolled her eyes at me but did not move to cover herself. In fact, I swear she arched her back more notably.

And fuck me, I noted.

The class flowed through Daniel’s yoga sequence, and Brooke’s focus proved unwavering, her breath steady and calm. Until I cracked a joke, and whatever fluid movement and pose she held faltered beneath her laughter.

“Did you and Daniel call and coordinate your look today?” I whispered. “I feel so left out. I’m regretting these shorts.”

Her eyes shot to my compression shorts as she chewed her bottom lip. She mumbled a breathy “Yeah.”

Oh, I wanted to hear that again. Preferably not in a crowded yoga studio, but I could be flexible.

“Shit,” I groaned, attempting to pose like a warrior. I could be flexible, but not with my body. I sincerely hated yoga, which Shana knew when she threw me into the fire, but I’d burn for the chance to spend the day with Brooke.

It didn’t matter that my muscles protested every stretch or that I could hardly touch my toes without assistance since ending my baseball career and the rigorous training schedule that went with it. It didn’t matter that the scent of sweat lingered in the air or that Daniel called me up front to demonstrate deep breathing and ask me about the squeezing strength of my pubococcygeus muscles.

None of it mattered when Daniel instructed the class to pair up for partner poses.

I perked up. Might there be touching?

Brooke, that teasing little minx, pushed off her mat and headed toward a woman waving from the other side of the room.

I caught her by the elbow. “Where do you think you’re going? You didn’t tell me there’d be partner poses. Do these require touching?”

She turned to me with a playful glint in her eyes. “Why do you think I let you come in the first place?”

There she was.

‘Remember, it only counts if you kiss him. There’s a hell of a lot you can do without kissing.’

This was going to get interesting. God bless my diabolical sister.

A subtle sheen of sweat glistened on Brooke’s skin as she inhaled through her nose and rocked her hips to adjust on her mat. As directed by Daniel, I kneeled behind her.

“Wonderful,” he said, observing my glaring partner and me. “Hold her hips to keep them square. Be forceful, and don’t be shy. The intimacy of partner work is to be celebrated through the gift of purposeful touch. Brooke, you must trust Kale not to let you fall.”

“You’re in charge,” I said to the yogi with a solemn nod. I leaned closer to Brooke. “Daniel is masterful, is he not?”

Her breathing hitched ever so slightly as I guided her body into position. My thumbs slid over the peek-a-boo gap of soft flesh above her waistband. I held Brooke steady, spotting her as she practiced arm poses with an unexpected strength.

I admired the flush of her skin under my touch, the goosebumps that pebbled when I grazed my nails along her back after she released her pose.

“Kale, hips up,” Daniel prompted me next, but with my elbow and piss-poor flexibility, there was little chance of my succeeding with arm poses.

Huffing and puffing through Brenden’s runs was bad enough, but embarrassing myself in front of Brooke had me regretting my lack of conditioning these past few years. Her role as a spotter proved unnecessary, and Daniel put us in yoga timeout.

“It’s called child’s pose,” Brooke murmured beside me. “It’s relaxing, not a punishment.”

“Seems pretty punishing not to give me another pose to guide you through. What about downward doggy style? That’s a partner pose, correct?”

Brooke snorted, and her face turned red when Daniel called for quiet in the room.

“How about a plow me pose?” I whispered, sneaking a sidelong glance at her.

She rested on her knees with her arms stretched ahead. I imagined kneeling behind her and sliding my palm along the arc of her spine. Hitching her hips high and driving into her from behind. God, the sound of skin slapping on skin as I slammed into her...

She tapped her fingers against the mat.

I smiled. “You’re thinking about it, huh?”

Brooke sputtered a laugh and glanced at Daniel, but his back was turned. She used the opportunity to punch my shoulder and hissed, “Those modifications are indecent.”

Maybe, but her laugh . God, her laugh. It lit me up when she cracked with every lewd and dirty pose I suggested, and I didn’t even mind when she pummeled me with foam blocks until Daniel warned her to behave.

I didn’t want Brooke to behave, and I would do anything to encourage her to welcome this uninhibited, feisty, and vivacious ownership of what she wanted.

The tension between us was palpable, and as the session ended, I couldn’t shake the exhilaration coursing through me. Her gaze flickered to mine as she exchanged post-class smiles and chatted with other students. And though each passing glance was brief, the frequency left no question that she knew it just as well as me: something had shifted with us—something undeniable.

I had a good feeling that I wouldn’t be packing my bags next week.

After yoga, I suggested we run Shana’s errands. Brooke and I wandered the aisles of the health food co-op. She pushed the cart, and I made up a list of shit to grab for my sister.

“I thought it was just the party store today,” Brooke said, searching the shelf for dehydrated berries. She grabbed a pack and tossed it into the cart. “And why would she insist on going all the way to Magnolia?”

With a heavy sigh, I said, “You know Shana.”

Not a lie.

“Gluten-free bread.” I nudged Brooke with my elbow and nodded toward the shelf. “The blue label. I think that’s the one she loves.”

No fucking idea, but it was the one too high for Brooke to reach. She huffed a groan and gripped the metal shelf as if she meant to scale it.

“Let me.” I stood at her back, caging her against the bread as I pressed closer. My nose brushed through her hair, catching the scent of her shampoo—something floral and light. One hand flattened on her back as I supported myself, and rightfully so, when her breathy little exhale nearly caused my knees to collapse.

Grabbing the bread, I handed it to her. “Check that for me, would you? Is it what she likes? I’d hate to piss off my sister.” I didn’t necessarily care, but it allowed me an excuse to stare at Brooke openly without annoying her.

The apples of her cheeks had been flushed since yoga; her skin slightly dewy. Loose wisps framed her face, and she pushed them out of the way. Scanning the label, she murmured, “What is sorghum flour?”

She glanced at me, and I dropped my eyes and pretended to double-check the imaginary list on my phone.

“It’s harvested outside of Heidelberg in the Baden-Württemberg region of Germany, hence the upmarket price. That’s it for the list.” I shoved the phone into my pocket and blinked, smiling at Brooke. Finally, years of strategic board games paid off. “Shana requests we stop by the salon to grab her conditioner.”

She sighed. “Really?”

No.

“You know she’s prone to split ends.”

Brooke snickered, tossed the bread into the cart, and headed for the checkout line. “No, I mean about the Baden-Württemberg region of Germany. I don’t doubt Shana would have us do her bidding.”

Well, fantastic! My sister technically only requested we stop by the party store to pick up her order, but I figured she would appreciate us popping into the expensive grocery store to buy her pricey health food.

But it wasn’t enough. These hours with Brooke weren’t enough. I wanted more.

Brooke parked the cart at the conveyor belt. She reached to unload the groceries. I saw my opportunity, reaching to grab something at the same time. Our hands brushed, and she blushed but didn’t pull away.

“Germany? Oh, no. Of course not. I was fucking with you.” I leaned over her to toss the mushroom powder onto the belt, crowding her space. I caught her subtle inhale as she pressed a little closer.

“Of course you were,” she murmured. She cleared her throat, skirting around me to greet the cashier.

We checked out and loaded the car and then stopped at the salon before finally making the one necessary stop at the party supply store. And gosh, the place happened to be on the opposite side of town!

Brooke was surprisingly patient during the drive. Probably because I asked her about robotics, and while I didn’t understand the majority of what she said, her excitement to talk about it was pretty damn clear. She kept going even once out of the car.

“Sorry,” she said as we waited inside the store for the employee to grab Shana’s order. “You’re probably bored by now.”

Kinematics and actuators and control systems weren’t so boring when Brooke’s passion led the charge.

“Nah, it’s interesting. Though you’re probably exhausted from breaking it down to someone with a kindergarten level of understanding.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but the employee assisting us returned with Shana’s order, a giant box sealed shut. I insisted on carrying it, though I reassured Brooke her yoga arms were more than capable of carrying the load. “Let me be a gentleman or whatever.”

Brooke shot me a sidelong smile. “Okay.”

We shuffled through the parking lot with a drag of our feet; the last task checked off a list I made up to buy myself the time that I’d given Brooke no choice in taking. But I couldn’t even feel guilty when I enjoyed it so much.

“It wasn’t exhausting.” Brooke closed the trunk after I dumped the box inside the car. She squinted into the sun. “Breaking down concepts from robotics, I mean. I appreciate that you listened. I assume nobody wants to hear about it, but get me going, and I can’t stop, so.” Her foot kicked at the concrete.

I shrugged. “You assume incorrectly.”

She smiled and shook her head, her eyes focused on her feet. “I’m working on it. The things I tell myself and how true they are.”

I could relate to being stuck in old narratives. Unlike me, Brooke found a way to challenge those beliefs. All she needed was a catalyst—her breakup, her work, my taunts. With it, she adopted this mission to change.

I didn’t just want her. I admired her. I suffered through a class I didn’t want to attend just to spend time with her. I ran my sister’s unsolicited errands to hold her hostage for the day.

“Party supplies are checked off the list.” I opened the car door for her. “Are you good with sushi?”

“Like… for dinner?”

“Yes.”

She fidgeted with the hem of her sweatshirt, twisting it between her fingers. “With you?”

“Ideally, though not a requirement.” I leaned against the door and smiled. “I can wait in the car.”

“No need.” Brooke slid into the passenger seat. “I love sushi.”

As if I’d forgotten.

I closed her door and circled around to the driver’s side. Alight with energy, I drummed my thumbs against the steering wheel. “I’ll drop you at home and go grab it.”

She stared out the window on the drive, but I caught the smile in her reflection as the sun cast a shadow across the glass. “Thank you. I don’t want to sit and eat in a restaurant when I need a shower.”

As if I hadn’t anticipated that. I dropped Brooke off and ordered from a hole in the wall around the corner that she and Shana regularly visited. Brooke always ordered the veggie hand rolls, and I doubled up on those, adding some salmon rolls she described to Shana as “orgasmic.”

I tripled up on those.

My fingers drummed along the counter as I waited for our food. My mind replayed the entire day with Brooke. The curves of her body and the sweat on her skin during yoga, yes, but the melody of her laughter and the shine in her smile at my dumb jokes. The shy glances and sweet blushes when I touched her unexpectedly.

The day had been fun. For me, anyway. But honestly? I think for her, too.

Wild.

I trudged into the condo, half expecting her to have slipped out while I was gone or declare a change of plans. But she was home and waiting when I arrived with food.

But what I hadn’t expected was that Brooke would shower before eating—a benign act on any other evening, but not tonight.

Tonight, she emerged from the bathroom as I prepared to set the table, shaking out her wet hair. Her cheeks were still pink from the billowing steam, and she smelled like amber, musk, and a hint of citrus.

She smelled like my body wash.

She smelled like me.

There wasn’t so much as a faltering step when she brushed by me at the kitchen table to grab dishes and set the table. No second guessing or fear that I’d catch my scent on her beneath her crop top and sweatpants.

Brooke knew precisely what she was doing.

She peeked into the takeout bag. “I’m famished, but I can wait if you want to shower before we eat,” she said.

Oh, I was hungry.

I slowly pushed up from my seat, stalking toward her.

“I’m ravenous,” I murmured, boxing her in from behind. I reached above her head to grab a glass from the cupboard. My chest pressed against her back, forcing her hips into the counter when mine thrust forward. She had nowhere to go.

I knew what I was doing, too.