Page 40 of Bad Call
“So do you,” I lied, running my fingers through his silky dark blond hair.
Damn, when he grinned like that, my heart stuttered.So fucking hot.
During the third inning, we ordered popcorn. I bought two more beers to share with him. Was I trying to keep him loose? Yup! He was less dickish when he drank.
I reached into the bucket at the same time Casey did, his hand knocking my arm accidentally, and spilling popcorn over his lap.
I saw an opportunity, not a mess. “Let me help you with that,” I offered, brushing my knuckles over his dick as I picked up the kernels. Casey chuffed, smacking my hand away.
“Quit that! I’m not gonna sit here hiding an erection for the next three hours.”
So I’d made him hard?! Sweet!
The Padres scored an RBI, and I jumped to my feet, cheering.
“Christ!” Casey muttered, rubbing his face. “It doesn’t take much for you to get excited, does it?”
“They don’t score often,” I pointed out, grinning hugely. I wouldn’t point out that he excited me easily too.
In the sixth inning, we ordered two more beers, and when the Mariners scored a home run, Casey jumped to his feet with more than half the stadium and cheered wildly. He shoved his popcorn in my lap. When he finished shouting and took his seat, he grinned wickedly, his blue eyes a little glassy, and reached for my cock.
“Here, let me return the favor… I mean, let me help you,” he amended, turning my trick back around on me.
The joke was on him because I didn’t bat his hand away. I leaned back, folding my arms behind my head, and let him touch it all he wanted.
Shit, I was hard, and would likely stay that way, but fuck it. Casey Collins had touched my dick. It was progress.
In the bottom of the eighth inning, the Mariners’ shortstop injured his leg sliding into third and they paused the game briefly while tending to him. It was the perfect time to fire up the Kiss Cam on theJumbotronfor a fun diversion. For fifteen minutes, the camera scanned the crowd, looking for willing and unwilling victims, and we laughed and cheered along with the rest of the crowd until the fucking thing landed on us. Casey froze beside me. His eyes grew wide, panicked, and he flipped off the camera. The cheers around us grew louder, whistles, and catcalls, until I gave into the peer pressure, not that it was really a hardship for me, and turned toward Casey. Boldly, I grasped his jaw and planted a big, fat, wet kiss on his lips. Eventually, the camera moved on, but we remained lip-locked, and Casey’s lips became pliant. He started to kiss me back until someone clapped him on the shoulder, laughing that the camera was gone.
Just like the moment.
When the game was over, I sighed, coming to my feet.
“You want to get out of here?” he asked.
“Yeah. Let’s go.” I sounded as defeated as I felt.
We fought the crowd to get to the truck, and I stopped him just before he climbed into the cab.
“You good to drive?”
“I’m good. I wouldn’t risk it if I wasn’t.” I trusted him. Casey was a responsible guy. “I’m sorry your team sucks,” he teased.
“Whatever.”
Casey laughed. The stadium lights reflected in his blue eyes, making it hard to look away.
“Anytime you want to switch over and join the Mariners, let us know. There’s always room for another fan.”
“Not likely. You don’t have to be a bad sport about it and rub it in.”
“And you don’t have to be a bad sport about them losing.”
“I’m not,” I defended, realizing I sounded like a toddler.
“You kicked over your beer when they lost.”
Asshole. “My foot slipped.”