Sliding In Read online

  Sliding In

  Sean Moriarty

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Bucking Bear

  Also by Sean Moriarty

  Copyright © 2016 by Sean Moriarty

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Published by Sean Moriarty

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 Sean Moriarty

  Editing and Formatting By Izzy Sweet

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter One

  Jackson

  The smell of dirt, grass and leather. It’s unmistakable, there is no other smell like this one.

  The smell of beer, hotdogs, popcorn, peanuts and soda... They surround me like an aura.

  Only one other smell excites me as much as this and that’s the one between a woman’s thighs.

  The screaming fans, the angry stares and the loud booing almost give me a hard-on.

  Fuck, playing baseball is better than any drug I have ever heard of.

  My game is on fire tonight; I can hear the fans feeling it too. My body is fucking sexy, it’s all muscle and tendons. Working to create fucking perfection. My throwing arm is a work of art. It’s what gives me the ability to stand here, under the lights, playing baseball.

  Right here is where I love to be.

  It’s the top of the eighth inning.

  Normally I don’t go this long on the mound, but I am working on a no hitter right now and I feel pretty fucking good about it.

  No one is on base so I get to stare down the batter for a moment, then I look to the catcher.

  He is signing me to throw a fast ball high and to the right. Same fucking throw as the last time I pitched to this guy—Suarez—fucker hit it pretty damn well. Thankfully, the ball went far right into foul territory.

  So why throw the same damn pitch? I keep wondering to myself.

  Shit. I hate fucking throwing to Raleigh. We have two catchers on the team and this jackass doesn’t give a shit about what I want. He should have been traded off the fucking team long before now, especially with how damn well we’ve been doing this season.

  We were going to trade him… then didn’t. From what I heard, it was either him or two prospects we have in the minors, and the Cleveland Hawks wanted the prospects.

  They know Raleigh is an over-priced turd.

  I shake my head to tell him no. There is no reason to throw that pitch right now, that’s just a asking trouble.

  My fastball is fucking beautiful, but not if I have been pitching for eight innings and the fucker has the timing down on my throw.

  He signals the same pitch twice more before he gives me the sign for a slider to the left and away.

  How the fuck can he not understand that we need to throw something different?

  I stand up, and just as I am reaching back I see Raleigh move his mouth. I have no clue what the fuck he says but just as I am throwing the ball, Suarez gives me a big smile.

  It’s too late to change what I am throwing.

  And after I throw, Suarez connects with the ball.

  Shit.

  I turn towards the third base line and I’m helpless as I watch Hernandez dive to catch the ball.

  Thank the fucking gods of baseball diamonds he is talented. He catches a fast hopping ball and spins to throw to first.

  I turn with the ball, watching it reach the first baseman, Rich Smart, and he catches it.

  It’s a split second too late though.

  The first base umpire swing his arms out to the side. “Safe!”

  God dammit!

  Looking over at the guy standing on first fucking base, I let out a growl. That shithead should not be fucking standing there. He’s standing there, grinning to the base coach about how he got a base on me.

  Fucker just ended the no-hitter I had going.

  I held the Robins until the eighth but they still got one on me. Next time I throw against Suarez, I might just throw at him instead. Leave a bruise on that big fucking shoulder of his.

  That’s if I don’t put a fucking hole through Raleigh first.

  Turning away from the guy standing on first, I look to my dugout and see the manager Jim Harrison twirling his finger in the air.

  “Fuck!” I growl out loud.

  So that’s it for me tonight? That’s how this game is going to fucking end?

  A win for the team but missing out on my no-hitter because Raleigh is a jackass.

  Jim jogs up the stairs from the dugout. Raleigh has a snide grin on his face as he slowly saunters up to the mound I am standing on.

  I would love to punch his smirking fucking mouth right now, maybe knock out a couple of teeth.

  “Don’t fucking ignore the signs I call, Crass,” he says.

  “Did you fucking tip him off?” I growl at him.

  He doesn’t bother to answer as Jim Harrison comes up to us.

  “That was some great throwing…” Jim starts to say, but I quickly talk over him.

  “I asked if you fucking tipped him off, Raleigh,” I say very loudly this time as I roll my shoulder.

  Fucker could have hurt my damn arm pulling shit like that.

  There is a small twinge from where I tried to adjust the pitch. Adjusting it didn’t work and now it feels like I may have strained it.

  Jim looks shocked for a moment as the words register with him. We may be in a stadium full of loud rabid fans but he fucking heard me. I don’t doubt some of the guys heading to the pitcher’s mound heard it too.

  Raleigh, for his part, does try to act innocent, but he doesn’t do it well.

  Raising his hands, he says, “All I know is I called for a slider to the right, you through too wide. Suarez hit it.”

  “That’s fucking bullshit and you know it!” I say as I step towards him.

  Jim and Felicio Hernandez are quick to get between us and Jim pushes me back towards the dugout.

  Raleigh is all smirks until he hears Jim say very loudly, “Don’t worry, Crass, if he pulled shit like that it will show up on the video.”

  Mother fuck. I had a damn no-hitter going.

  Rolling my shoulder again, I still feel something, but I don’t think it’s too bad. Least it doesn’t feel injured, just strained. Like I over did it.

  I don’t bother with the bench as I head past the guys in the dugout. They all have questioning looks in their eyes but don’t ask as I head further down the stairs towards the long hallway to the locker room.

  * * *

  An athletic trainer is rubbing my shoulder and checking everything over as I lay down on one of their tables.

  From here, I am able watch the rest of the game.

  We win like I knew we would. Shit, it would be kind of hard to blow the lead we had going into the bottom of the eighth—six to nothing. Not a bad score fo
r the evening, not a bad score at all. But it’s hard not to be bitter about missing out on my no-hitter.

  I watch as the guys filter in, I’m waiting for one guy in particular. I almost think he skipped out completely before I see him coming through the door.

  Pushing the trainer away from me, I stand up from the table and head over to Jeff Raleigh. “What the fuck were you thinking tipping him off?”

  There are guys instantly between us, and it’s pretty damn clear Raleigh doesn’t like the attention he’s getting. He isn’t smirking now.

  “Fuck off, Crass. I didn’t do shit.”

  I look around me at the guys standing between us, and I really do want to push through them to strangle that fucker.

  “You ever pull shit like that again, I will beat you senseless, you stupid fuck,” I say, barely keeping it below a yell.

  “I didn’t do shit. You just lost your edge against him.”

  “I lost my what?”

  “That’s right you fu—” Raleigh starts but doesn’t get to finish.

  “That’s enough gentlemen!” Our manager, Jim, yells to us.

  Pointing to me, Jim says, “Shower now. Go home.”

  He points over to Raleigh. “I’m going to watch the game film. Anything fishy happens with that pitch and I am going to see it.”

  “Whatever,” Raleigh says as he turns from us and heads to his locker.

  Nodding my head to Jim, I say “I wouldn’t feel this twitch shit in my shoulder if I hadn’t tried to throw it to a different spot. He tipped Suarez.”

  Turning away from the whole fucking mess, I rub my temples. My head hurts and I really want to get the fuck out of here right now.

  Walking past Emilio Hernandez, I ask “You want to go get a couple of beers?”

  “Hell yeah,” he smiles to me.

  He’s my party buddy most nights.

  The team pretty much insists if we go out drinking we have another guy with us for safety reasons and to keep our shit out of the press.

  We get a couple more of the guys who aren’t married pussies to go and it looks like it will be a fun night. We are all single and ready to fuck after our win.

  * * *

  We hit three different clubs tonight, and each club got disgustingly worse.

  Not a single fresh face for me to stick my dick into.

  Fuck.

  After a night like tonight, I really need to release some inner pressure and blow a wad out of my balls.

  Fuck, I would even suffer through just a blow job if I could get some kind of pressure release right now.

  Nothing is going my way today.

  Emilio is doing fucking amazing though. He’s latched onto some sexy little blonde piece of ass, and I am pretty sure he is going to try knocking her ass up from the way they are moving on the dance floor. Fuck, I am surprised they are still clothed.

  The end of the night comes to a close. My head is starting to hurt and all the beer I’ve drank is souring in my stomach.

  I nod to Hernandez as he heads to his black Porsche with the little blonde. “See ya Thursday.”

  We are off tomorrow and I don’t pitch again until Thursday. I could go in and work out but I just don’t fucking feel like it right now. This whole thing with Raleigh has me mad as fire. Jim should be able to see what I was talking about.

  I climb in my Lexus and I try to not puke out the liquid swirling around in my stomach. I’m far from drunk though, I don’t even have a buzz.

  “Fuck,” I mutter. I need to eat something to soak up all this cheap swill I’ve drank or I am going to be sick in the morning.

  I push the car into gear and ease out of the parking lot. This is one of those clubs though that isn’t in the nicest parts of town so I don’t feel like a pussy when I lock the doors.

  We rarely come here, it’s usually our last-ditch effort to find some pussy or get too drunk to care. I didn’t do either so now I get to be the lone guy.

  Everyone else either found someone or went home after the second club. Even if we are off tomorrow we still need to rest.

  I’m not too far away from the club or the seedier part of town when I spot an all-night diner sign lighting up the night like a beacon from the gods. Food. Food will be good for me.

  Looking around my car, I make sure I won’t be mugged the moment I get out. I’m too damn good looking to be mugged by some asshole.

  Walking through the glass doors, the restaurant is mostly empty. I see two older guys sitting next to each other at the long counter, and a small older lady at the register dozing.

  Sitting myself down at one of the booths, I lean my head back and blow out a long sigh of air.

  Fuck the game.

  Fuck tonight.

  And fuck just about everything.

  I smell more than hear my waitress come up to the booth. I’m pretty sure she thinks I am asleep by all the muttering she does.

  She smells so fucking good though. All around me are the smells of a greasy spoon type of diner, but she smells like flowers and all woman.

  Sitting up, I take in what has to be one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen in my entire life. Fucking hell, I have never seen a woman this damn hot.

  Fuck me. I want to fuck her.

  She looks tired as shit and maybe a bit annoyed with me already because I’m just staring at her… but wow. She’s on the shorter side of things, pale skinned, red haired, blue eyed and lightly freckled fucking perfection. She is hot. Hot like I want to put my babies in her hot so I can keep her for myself.

  “What can I get for you?” she asks, and for the first time in a very long time I don’t have any words.

  Well I do, but they are all filthy and about what I want to do with her body on top of the table right now.

  “Your name, number and when you get off for starters?” I give her my best smile.

  Heh, I am pretty sure I know when she will get off, right after my face gets between those thighs of hers.

  Chapter Two

  Clarissa

  What a bad night.

  It’s slow and the only customers that have showed up are the two guys sitting at the counter - Joe and Bob, my regulars.

  More like regularly don’t tip to be honest. Why they come here to eat, bitch to each other and not bother to tip is beyond me. I make it a point to tip when I am out eating away from home, I know just how much a tip means to a waitress.

  Ugh, to crap with it. Tonight is going to be yet another wash, I can just feel it. We don’t even get a crowd from the night clubs.

  This just sucks.

  I really need to talk to Tony about switching to first or second shift.

  At first, I did this stupid third shift as a way to go to classes for college and to be home for grandma during the day. Those two things are still needed but grandma has improved to the point now where I could work in the mornings and take some night classes.

  The only thing keeping me on this shift is the stupid hope it would provide money like it does during the school year.

  It doesn’t.

  I set the steak with fries in front of Joe, then the burger with fries in front of Bob. Same thing they get every night they come in.

  I really want to pull the plates out from under their faces as they dig in, then tell ‘em to tip me if they want to eat…

  But I don’t.

  Inside my head I am so much bitchier and mean than I could ever be in real life. Well, perverted too, but that’s an entirely different issue all together.

  In my head, I snatch those plates away and give ‘em a good smirk. Instead, I turn around, fake smile in place, and grab the coffee pot to refill their quickly emptying cups.

  They both give me the stink-eye as if I’m interrupting them or something.

  Big stupid jerks.

  Damn, when Tony comes in this morning I am asking him to switch my shifts as soon as he can.

  I clean all the table tops and the empty space at the counters one more time before I
have nothing left to do.

  I did all the busy work earlier. Silverware rolled, salt shakers filled. Plates stacked. Thankfully, the bathrooms were cleaned on the shift before mine.

  I have nothing left to do but stand here and look out the window.

  Time crawls by.

  In a matter of minutes Joe and Bob have scraped their plates clean, and now they are back to sipping their coffee and bitching about the current state of the world.

  I head over to grab their empty plates and carry them into the kitchen.

  By the time I’ve put the dishes up and come back, I see a customer has walked by Doris and seated himself at one of the tables.

  Holy shit, he is good looking too. Damn. I was completely prepared for a night of grumpiness, and now there is a sexy guy waiting in one of my booths for me.

  Maybe this night is looking up?

  As I walk over though, I notice his head is tipped back and his eyes are closed. He looks either drunk or asleep with his big body sprawled out in the booth like he owns the place.

  And… my enthusiasm instantly dampens.

  Okay, drunk is not sexy, not sexy at all.

  My mom and dad were high functioning alcoholics, and they died because of it. I’ve made a vow to myself to never fall for an alcoholic, no matter how hot he is. Not ever. It’s just not worth it.

  Walking up to him, I stand there for a moment and stare at the bulging muscles of his forearms. They’re crossed over his large… well, okay… massive chest. This guy is in peak, physical shape. A prime example of the best the male sex has to offer women.

  He’s all muscles and smooth, lickable skin. Even his face is nice to look at. A smooth brow and straight nose. There’s a thick, dark beard covering most of his chin but it’s trimmed and well-kept.

  Why does he have to be so hot and a drunk? I really don’t like how my body is responding to him.

  His eyes open and lock on me. They’re gorgeous baby blues.

  Shit.

  “What can I get for you?” I ask hurriedly.

  I’m anxious to take his order so I can get away from him. I need some space between us.