The Rookie and The Rockstar Read online

  “I’m gonna need to go take care of…” I drift off, but Charlotte knows what I’m talking about.

  “Condom,” she finishes with a smirk, slowly lifting her hips. And holy fuck, I think I could be ready to go again with a few more slow strokes like that, sheathed in her warmth. The second I’m no longer inside her, I miss it.

  Lifting her the rest of the way off of me, I slide off the bed and head for the bathroom connected to her bedroom. “I’ll be right back.” Turning my head over my shoulder, I catch Charlotte’s eyes drinking me in—hooded and approving. When she sucks in her bottom lip and bites down, I know we’re not done here.

  Later, after we’ve had another round of mind blowing sex, visions of Charlotte beneath me, over me, and beside me are running through my mind on replay, keeping me semi-hard.

  “I have to tell you something,” Charlotte mutters sleepily. I actually thought she’d dozed off due to how quiet she’d been for the last fifteen minutes or so. My hand stops stroking her hair and pauses at the middle of her back.

  When she lifts her head from my chest, I see worry etched on her brow.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Terry called me earlier.” Her words sound ominous, but I kind of figured he’d called her before I’d made it to her house. “He wants me to play up this thing between us,” she admits, her gaze falling to my chest and her voice dropping with it.

  “Okay,” I say, letting her know I’m listening, but giving her space to get whatever she needs to say off her chest.

  She huffs and rolls her eyes. “He thinks you’re good for my career.”

  “Am I?” I ask. “Good for your career?”

  Her smile is sweet and endearing. Shaking her head, she brings her arms up and folds them across my chest, leaning her chin on them, putting us right at eye level. I decide right here and now, this is how I want to have every serious conversation with Charlotte from now until eternity—naked, in bed with her, looking deep into her soulful brown eyes.

  “I never want you to think I’m using you in any way,” she states. “That’s not me. I see people do it every day, all around me, but that’s never been me.”

  We sit there for a moment and the realness of her words sinks in. If I had a magic eight ball, and asked it: would Charlotte Carradine ever use me? Its answer would be: no.

  “I believe you,” I say emphatically. “I know you, Charlotte. I haven’t known you long, but during the time we’ve spent together, you’ve only ever given me the truth. So, whatever Terry wants you to do, us being an us, I’m all in.”

  The small smile on her lips grows.

  Leaning forward, I pull her into my lap and my semi-hard cock brushes against her, earning me a quirk of an eyebrow, as if to ask me if I’m serious. I shrug and let out a chuckle. “What can I say?” I ask nonchalantly. “I’ve been in a drought and you are my oasis.”

  Her arms wrap around my neck as she settles on my lap.

  Brushing her lips against my cheek, she whispers, “I like the sound of us...being an us.” When her mouth skims the line of my jaw, I’m suddenly very aware of every slight movement she’s making. A shift of her hips and I’d be sliding into home without anything between us.

  I want that, someday.

  “So,” I tell her when she leans back up to look me in the eyes, her forearms resting on my shoulders, “we’ll be an us and if it’s good for your career, that’s bonus.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready for that?” she asks, seriousness back in her tone—concern for me. It’s not the first time. Actually, Charlotte has been trying to warn me since our first night together, but I’m not afraid of her or her reputation or anything the media wants to throw at us.

  I nod my head silently, licking my bottom lip. “Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m getting myself into and I can handle it.”

  She swallows and her eyes grow hooded. “That’s maybe one of the sexiest things you’ve said to me yet, and you’ve said some pretty sexy things, Bo Bennett.” When she shifts and drags her warm, wet slit up the base of my cock, I groan.

  “Charlotte,” I warn.

  “Did you bring another condom?” she asks.

  “No.” I swallow, wanting to kick myself for not being more prepared. “Sorry,” I tell her. “Because I want you...again and again…” pausing I nip at her jaw and then her ear. “And again.”

  “How many days until you’ll be back?”

  “Eight.”

  Eight days too fucking long when it comes to seeing her.

  “Wanna shower with me?” she asks, pulling back and sitting further back on my lap, removing her sweet pussy from the vicinity of my dick. “Then we can get some sleep and I’ll have Frank drive you to the field in the morning.”

  “You twisted my arm,” I muse, leaning forward to place a kiss on her chest.

  Showering with Charlotte was distracting, but also soothing. She washed her hair and then I washed her. When it was my turn, I got a nice rub down, exactly what I needed after the game and extracurricular activities.

  Now that we’re out and dried off, we’re lying under the cool sheets and a thick, fluffy blanket. Charlotte is tucked into my side. It’s the most relaxed I’ve felt in months. She sighs contentedly, snuggling deeper into me, and after a few moments, I feel myself drift off.

  Sleep comes easy.

  The soft breathing next to me, a lullaby.

  Hours later, I feel movement to my side and crack an eye. Charlotte is slipping out of bed and I’m rewarded with her gorgeous sleek back, but what I really want to see is her beautiful face.

  I dreamt about it while I was sleeping.

  “Good morning,” I murmur causing her to turn to me, a bright smile on her face and my heart lurches forward. How long will she do that to me? How long will my first sight of her, in the morning or after a few days apart, cause me to lose a heartbeat?

  “Good morning.” Her voice is raspy and sexy from sleep. It’s always a little raspy, but even more so this morning. Once she finds what she’s looking for in her dresser drawer, she pulls a loose t-shirt over her head and then goes back for some pants. Tossing her messy hair up on top of her head, securing it with a rubber band, she walks back over to the bed and kneels beside me.

  “I thought it was a dream,” she says, an uncharacteristically shy smile on her face. “When I woke up, for a split second, I wasn’t convinced you were really in my bed, but then I felt you...smelled you...and I knew it was all true.” She twists her lips to hide an even wider smile. “Kinda felt like something that belongs in a song.”

  I laugh, pulling her to me, loving how she feels falling against my chest. “You’re gonna write a song about me, huh?” I ask, tickling lightly at her sides and being rewarded with a hearty laugh.

  “I already have,” she says, a bit breathless. Turning in my arms, she brushes her nose against mine and whispers, “It’s probably gonna be my number one release.”

  Swallowing, I push my head as far back as I can so I can get a good look at her. “Are you serious?”

  She nods, biting down on her lip. “Yeah, Hard Hitter.”

  Hard Hitter.

  “I want to hear it,” I tell her, not sure how to feel about the fact that Charlotte wrote a song about me.

  “Well, it’s not completely finished yet,” she begins. “And everyone won’t know it’s about you...it’s kind of symbolic, but I’ll know—”

  “I want to hear it.”

  Her eyes go wide with my demand. “Okay, I’ll, uh, send it to you while you’re gone.”

  “And then promise me you’ll sing it for me live one of these days,” I insist, because God, what I wouldn’t give to hear Charlotte sing a song for me...inspired by me.

  “Promise,” she says with a soft kiss to my cheek. “Want some coffee before you have to leave?”

  I gently push her back and slip out of bed, grabbing my boxer briefs and jeans, pulling them up my legs and making quick work of the button and zippe
r. “I’ll come down with you.”

  Charlotte’s eyes are on me and a dreamy smile is on her lips. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that,” she muses.

  “What?” I ask, looking down to make sure I’m fully contained.

  “That,” she says, painting the air with her hand, motioning to me—my chest, torso. “It’s a little overwhelming.”

  “You’re quite the eighth wonder of the world, Miss Carradine.” I don’t miss the way her breath hitches or the way her eyes flutter. But it’s the truth. I’m kind of gone when it comes to this woman. I don’t know how it happened. My feelings are inexplicable. But they’re there and there’s no going back from here, only forward.

  After a cup of coffee and a banana and a quick goodbye, Charlotte’s driver, Frank, picks me up at the side door of her house and gets me out without much notice. There’s a car camped out a few feet from her gate, parked on the side of the road, but they don’t seem to move when they drive by. I kind of wish they would. That would mean they wouldn’t be around to bother Charlotte. I hate that I won’t be around for the next eight days. But maybe with me being out of town, the media attention will die down.

  When Frank pulls up at the player entrance, I pop my head out the window so George knows it’s me and he opens the gate. Thankfully, I have everything I need either in my bag or in my locker, so there was no need to go home before coming here, which bought me another hour with Charlotte.

  “Thanks, Frank,” I tell him as he pulls up to the entrance.

  “Any time, Mr. Bennett,” Frank says from the driver’s seat.

  I poke my head back into the car. “Just Bo,” I instruct with a smile.

  Frank nods, “Bo.”

  I give him a smile and a wave before disappearing into the clubhouse.

  Walking down the long corridor, I feel lighter, which is weird because leaving Charlotte standing in her kitchen, knowing I’m not going to see her for more than a week felt wrong, yet right. I can’t explain it, but knowing she’s here, and by here, I don’t mean in a literal sense, just here—wherever she is, I know she’s with me. It’s what makes committing to this relationship and all the bullshit that comes with it easier.

  Once I’m in the locker room, I’m relieved there’s only a few people in here, mostly relief pitchers and coaches. The veteran players usually show up about an hour after everyone else. Davies and Mack, being the dynamic duo they are, show up half an hour later. It’s not that they’re slackers, they’re just a well-oiled machine.

  Going about my business, I change into some warm-up gear and head out to the field to get some batting practice. A whistle from behind me has me turning to see who’s here.

  “Rook,” Davies says with a cheesy ass grin on his face. “Did you get laid last night?”

  What the fuck?

  “What the fuck?”

  “Yeah, fuck...fucking,” he continues. “Is that what I’m sensing here?”

  I roll my eyes and turn to grab my batting gloves. “I…” I start, but stop, because how the fuck?

  “You,” Davies reiterates. “Your shoulders are looser, like visibly, and your stance is relaxed...less of a stick up your ass.” He smirks, arms crossed over his chest. “You got laid and if I’m reading the signals right, more than once...and it was good.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I silently warn him to stop, because that shit is off fucking limits.

  Ross casually unfolds his arms and puts his hands up between us. “Hey, I’m happy for you. And when you play your best game today, I’m going to be there to tell you I fucking told you so,” he says with a cocky smile.

  Groaning, I brush past him and head out, ready to crush some balls.

  “Don’t even say it,” I warn, shaking my head at Davies as we walk to the locker room.

  “Say what? That every game we’ve played this week has been better than the last? That this has been the best week for a rookie, or any player, really, this entire season so far? Or is it that you don’t want me to remind you that I was right and all you needed to do to hit your stride was get laid?”

  “Fuck off, man. If you spent as much time worrying about your game as you do my love life, you might be able to keep up with me.”

  Ignoring my dig, Davies focuses on exactly what I hoped he’d missed.

  “Your love life, huh? Damn, Rook, you move fast...on the field and off.”

  Bastard.

  We reach our lockers and I quickly grab my bag before flipping him off and heading to the showers. His boisterous laugh behind me lets me know he’s not pissed I told him off. It also tells me he won’t be letting up on giving me shit anytime soon. Not that I really expected him to.

  I consider Ross Davies to be one of my best friends on the team and I know when he’s busting my balls it’s just his way of checking in on me and making sure I’m handling things all right. He’s looking after me, like a big brother would, and I appreciate it. Being an only child, I can’t help but look up to him in that way.

  Stepping into the shower, I let the hot water pound against my muscles, coaxing them to relax and loosen. Davies was right; this has been the best week of my career. With twelve hits, five RBIs, eight runs, and three homers, hopefully I’m on my way to an invite for the All-Star Game, in addition to bringing a lot more attention to the team.

  It’s also been the worst week, though, because I’m away from Charlotte. I know I sound like a sad, love-sick sap but I can’t help it. Finally having her the way I’d dreamed about for so long, only to be separated for eight fucking days is enough to drive any man insane.

  And, it’s not just about the sex. Being with Charlotte like that is beyond anything I’d imagined up until that point, but it’s everything else—spending time with her, laughing with her, the smell of her on my t-shirt, those brown eyes, that voice. It’s the quiet times and the loud, the funny and the sweet—in addition to the amazing fucking—that all add up to her being the total package. And I fucking miss her.

  On our way back to the hotel, I pull my phone out of my bag to see if I missed any calls or texts since the last time I checked, but there’s nothing there. With my thumb hovering over the text box, getting ready to shoot her a short message to let her know how the game went, a text pops up on the screen.

  Charlotte: Where are you?

  I smirk, wondering if she’s trying to sext me. By the way, I’m totally down with that.

  Bo: Just finished our first game in Boston. On the bus headed back to the hotel...where are you?

  A few seconds pass, the three little dots telling me she’s typing a reply and I’m this close to asking for a photo, anything. I’m literally jonesing for a fix—a Charlotte fix.

  Charlotte: Boston

  Chapter 18

  Charlotte

  Walking up to the room number Bo texted me half an hour ago, I feel butterflies take flight in my stomach. It’s not a completely foreign feeling. I get them from time to time on stage, especially if I haven’t performed in a while. But never over a guy. He does that to me, though. He makes me feel things I thought would never be a possibility.

  I’ve been jaded when it comes to love for so many years. I’ve watched my parents have a loving, successful marriage. I’ve seen people I know find love. But I’ve always felt like that was asking too much for myself.

  When I was younger, on the set of Life with Charli, I had a friend in the industry. She and I had similar backgrounds and lifestyles. She was a childhood actress too and was homeschooled. She knew what it was like to live under the microscope. We’d spend afternoons laughing and joking around on set, when things were simpler. We hadn’t even got our period yet, but we’d spend hours reading through Cosmo magazines she stole from her mom. There was a quiz in one issue about finding love, predicting when it would happen for you.

  My results were always along the lines of “you’re gonna have some trouble.”

  We decided that it was unfair to have everything. No one person deserves to be prett
y, talented, skinny, funny, and in love. It was just too much. And we’d laugh and laugh, making ourselves feel better with juvenile rationalizations.

  Being with Bo makes me feel like I can have it all...everything.

  I’ve missed him this past week. Eight days felt like entirely too long to go without being in his presence, which is why I’m now standing in front of his hotel room door.

  That, and the fact that the paps have been atrocious since he left. I thought I might get a reprieve with him out of town, they’d assume there were no photos to be had or juicy gossip to obtain. But no. It’s been worse. It’s like they’re waiting on me to screw up.

  At the grocery store.

  And the restaurants.

  Outside my gate.

  Everywhere.

  Feeling like a prisoner in my own home is something I used to feel when I lived in L.A., but not in New Orleans. My hometown has always been my safe haven, a place I can be myself and blend in, but not lately. I knew it was coming, I could feel the storm brewing, but it didn’t mean I had to stick around like a sitting target.

  So, Boston it is.

  Knocking lightly on the door, it takes a few moments before it cracks open and then further when he sees it’s me. One second, I’m standing in the hallway. The next second, I’m being pulled into the dim room, Bo’s strong arms around my waist and his soft lips on mine.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he growls, low and rough. “God, I missed you.”

  When his nose goes to my neck, breathing me in and his arms wrap tighter, I melt into him.

  “I kinda missed you too.” With my arms around Bo’s neck, I soak him in, immediately feeling the tight strings that have been wound up since he left loosen.

  Leaning back to look me in the eyes, he laughs lightly, shaking his head. “What’s with the get-up?”

  My hand instinctively goes to my head, covered in the blonde wig. “Oh, ha,” I laugh, tugging and pulling it off, exposing what I’m sure is a rat’s nest beneath it. “Uh, well, it’s my way of going places under the radar. The last thing I want is for the fucking paps to figure out where I am. I’m sure they have a good enough guess, which means I won’t be leaving this hotel room for the next two days.”