I stretch up to meet his mouth with mine, groaning into his kiss. Everything about last night was so perfect. Even if I have a tinge of soreness today, I know it will fade and Bax will make me forget it by delivering waves of pleasure again. “I want to feel all of you,” I tell him. “I want to figure out my favorite way to be close to you.”
He smiles and rubs his stubble against my cheek. “I’ve got some ideas to test out,” he says, and for the next few hours, we work on some experiments.
My alarm goes off at the same time as Baxter’s, but I realize I don’t actually need to be up at this hour. I am not going to the training room today. I’m not going to stretch anyone’s sore muscles, tape any ankles, or heal anyone’s injuries. I untangle my limbs from Baxter’s and try to roll to the side of his bed.
He tugs me back closer. “Oh no you don’t,” he says, spinning me to face him. I see his brown eyes twinkle in the morning light. “No feeling sorry for yourself today.”
“You said I could have a day…”
“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” he says, swatting my back side. I yelp from the sting of his palm, and then I moan when he starts to rub the spot he smacked. “Mmm,” he says. “I wish I had time.” He crawls under the covers and bites me on the ass, making me shriek. “I gotta get to the weight room, Livvy. But I’m marking this spot for later so I can pick up where we left off.”
I hear someone pound on the door. “Morgan,” Scotty yells. “Get your shit together. Finnegan’s driving in five.”
Baxter kisses me one more time and springs up, pulling on sweats and a pair of sneakers from his closet. “I’ll find you later, ok?” I nod. “Leslie is supposed to call you today from financial aid. Be ready.”
I smile again, watching him walk away. Eventually, I get up and make myself a coffee in Baxter’s kitchen before heading to class. My phone rings, and I start to think that Leslie is pretty damn efficient to be calling before nine on a Monday, but when I look at my phone, I see an out of state number.
“Hello?”
“Olive Hampton? Bradford Clark. We met at the athletic banquet.”
Bradford Clark? I rack my brains and come up empty. I’m about to mutter some excuse, when he carries on. “I know there was some excitement there toward the end. That’s what I’m calling about. I just spoke with Tim Peterson.”
Bradford is the kinesiology professor from Ann Arbor. I remember meeting him at the banquet, before everything erupted. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to email, sir…”
“Well, from the sound of things, you’ve been a busy lady,” he says. “Look, I won’t keep you from class. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve got my eye on you. Anyone who can pull off a Boss-Holzach Matter technique in heels at a banquet is someone I want in my program.”
“I, um…I don’t know what to say,” I manage to mutter as my insides swirl with possibilities.
“I’ve known the Peterson family for a long time,” he continues. “Tim’s dad and I go way back.” He pauses, and I wonder if he’s aware of Tim’s falling out with his family after the events of this past weekend. “Anyway, between this hero move and your excellent work getting Tim into butterfly shape after the back spasms, I think it’s safe to say we have room for you. Have you done much work with baseball?”
“Baseball?” This is all moving so quickly. I can’t quite keep up and I feel like I should be taking notes. Bradford explains that he’s going to be the principal investigator on a shoulder study for the pitchers on the top-ranked Ann Arbor baseball team as soon as his grant comes through, which should be next fall. “It’ll be good to have my research team in place,” he says. “Have you applied for our program yet?”
Bradford and I talk a bit more about my situation. When I tell him I’ve been fired from the training room at SCU, he says, “Hmmm,” in a low growl, but doesn’t elaborate. After a long pause, he says, “Well, like I said, anyone who can keep her cool while an athlete pukes on her and still reset the joint like a boss…Olive, I want you in my program. Put your application together and send it all directly to me, ok?”
By the time we hang up, I’m late for class and I’ve evidently missed a call from Leslie. Everything is happening at once, but I can’t help smiling at the anticipation of it all. So this is what it feels like when things are going well for a change, I think, typing my grad school application on the sly from the back row of my econ lecture.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Six Months Later
Baxter
Draft day. The day I’ve been looking forward to for twenty years. I wake up with my girl in my bed and my dick hard against my stomach. I don’t even think I can concentrate to even deal with a hard-on. My insides are a wreck.
The past couple of months have been surreal for me. Olive got to stay in school thanks to the work study job in the laundry room. She said she didn’t mind washing sweat towels, but I think that’s mostly because I helped her shower after every shift. And I’ve gotten really fucking thorough when it comes to making sure my girl is clean.
The situation with Justin took care of itself when a couple
