Live Without Regret (A Touch of Fate) (7 page)

Her blonde hair was pulled up in a ponytail and tucked into her Cardinals hat—an incredibly sexy look on her—and she had her face painted with a red number four proudly displayed across her left cheek.

“Oh my gosh, there’s Yadi!”

Who the fuck is Yadi?

My eyes follow her gaze. Sure enough, there he is—number four. Apparently,
Yadi
is the object of my date’s affection.

“Have you always been a Cardinals fan?” I ask, genuinely interested.

Dragging her eyes back to mine, she nods. “Yep. My dad is a huge baseball fan. He used to bring me to games all the time, but we sure as hell couldn’t afford seats like these. We were usually in the nosebleeds. Way up there,” she says, pointing to the top of the stadium. “But that didn’t matter. It was our thing.”

I wish I had memories like that. Hell, I wish I had a dad. I take that back. I’ve got a dad—somewhere—but the piece of shit decided drugs were more important than his own kid.

“How about you?” Brittany asks. “How long have you been a fan?”

I tilt my head to the side. “About three days.”

“What?” she asks, crinkling her nose.

“I’ve never been much of a sports fan.” I shrug, leaving out the fact that I didn’t even have a TV to watch sports until I was put into foster care at the age of fifteen. And even then I wasn’t allowed to actually watch the TV. “When your sister told me how much of a Cardinals fan you were, I decided I should rectify that.”

Brittany watches me for what feels like hours, her blue eyes churning with emotion. Warm fingers tangle with mine, and I look down at our joined hands and then back up at her. “I’m not really sure what to say.”

Leaning over the arm rail, she kisses me gently on the lips. I don’t know what it is, but I’m starting to think she has a magic mouth. Every time we kiss, it’s as if nothing else in the world matters but
that
kiss. At first I thought it was just a fluke, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t happen every single time.

Brittany pulls back and my mouth follows hers, begging for more. “You’re getting major points for this,” she says softly.

“Hmm, I like the sound of that.”

Brittany glances over my shoulder and her eyes light up. “Cotton candy!”

“What?” I ask, caught off guard by the sudden change of subject.

Standing up, Brittany waves down a vendor loaded down with bags of sugar on a stick. When the young girl reaches our row, Brittany says, “Two bags, please.”

“Why two bags?” I ask, pulling out my wallet. No way am I letting her pay for a thing today. Brittany swats at my hand, but I’m taller and my arms are longer. I hand the girl a twenty-dollar bill and she gives me change, along with two bags of cotton candy.

“Because,” Brittany says, grabbing the pink one from my hand, leaving me with the blue. “I don’t share well and you’ll undoubtedly want a bite of mine. This eliminates that problem.”

Chuckling, I open up my bag and pull off a chunk. “Well, aren’t you a smart cookie?” I say, popping the bite in my mouth.

“I am a doctor, you know.” She gives me a smug smile then tosses a bite into her mouth.

My jaw nearly hits the floor.
She’s a fucking doctor?
What in the hell would a doctor see in me? I’m not at all ashamed of what I do for a living, and I’m certainly not living paycheck to paycheck, but still… “You’re a doctor? How did I not know this?”

Wrapping her lips around her thumb, Brittany sucks the sticky flesh into her mouth. My eyes follow the movement, and my blood starts pumping to places that have no need for it at the moment. Now if we weren’t in the middle of a crowded stadium…

I shift in my seat as Brittany slowly drags her thumb out of her mouth. “Did you like that?” she asks, sounding coy.
The little minx.

“Hell yes, I like it. Now answer my question.”

“I forgot what it was.” Her eyes drift to my mouth and I bend my head to capture her gaze.

“I didn’t know you were a doctor.”

She smiles. “You never asked. Plus, this is only our first date so there are lots of things about me you don’t know.”

“Tell me something.”

“Okay,” she says, pushing up from her seat. Looking around, I notice everyone around us is also standing, so I follow suit. “I get a little crazy at Cardinals games.”

“Like how crazy?” I ask.

Brittany turns her attention to the field, where the players are starting to take their positions, and starts clapping along with everyone else. “Crazy enough that I feel like I should apologize now for my behavior.” She winks, not taking her eyes off the field.

“Come on, you can’t be that bad.”

Holy shit, she
can
be that bad.

It’s the bottom of the fourth inning and the crowd roars, heckling the umpire. Brittany jumps from her chair and pushes her face against the screen that’s separating our seats from the field. “You’ve gotta be freakin’ kidding me!” she yells. “That’s the worst call I’ve seen all year. Did you even see that ball—?”

Spinning around, the umpire glares at Brittany, and I slap a hand over her mouth. She continues to scream, but at least this way it’s muffled and won’t get us kicked out of the ballpark.

I hope.

I press my lips to her ears. “Shh. You’ve got to calm down,” I say, fighting back laughter. Turns out Brittany is a little spitfire, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a huge turn-on.

Wiggling from my hold, she opens her mouth, no doubt to tell me where to shove my words, but she doesn’t get a chance. I slam my mouth against hers and push my tongue inside for a searing kiss. Then, just as fast, I pull away.

Brittany stumbles backward, looking a bit stunned.

“Am I forgiven?” I ask, stifling a smile when someone behind us hollers for us to get a room. Brittany nods and lowers herself into her seat. “Good, because I’d hate to—”

“Strike three!” the umpire yells, signaling an out for Brittany’s boy, Yadi.

Oh shit.

“
What?
” In a split second, she’s pressed against the screen.

Again
.

“Come on, Blue!” She tosses her hands up in the air. “Are you even paying attention over there? Pull your head outta your ass!”

The bear of a man that was sitting next to Brittany joins her at the netting, mimicking her displeasure, then they high-five each other. The umpire turns around and points a finger at Brittany and her accomplice.

“I’ve got her,” I say, wrapping an arm around her stomach. She struggles when I lift her up and settle her in my lap. At least this way I can keep a firm grip on her. Brittany continues to bounce around, trying to break free, before finally giving up.

I realize in this moment that I won’t let her go. Not now—maybe not ever.

“You do know we’re winning, right?” I ask.

“That doesn’t matter.” Brittany crosses her arms over her chest. The movement causes her shirt to rise, revealing a hint of skin above the waistline of her jeans. “It’s the principle! That was clearly a ball, which would’ve been ball
four
, which would’ve been a walk for Yadi. With the bases loaded, Wainwright would’ve walked into home and Carpenter was up to bat. Do you know what Carpenter could’ve done with the bases loaded?”

“No.” And to be honest, I don’t care. Right now, the only thing I care about is the creamy skin playing peekaboo above Brittany’s waistband. My arm is already wrapped around her stomach, so I slip my fingers under the hem of her shirt, praying that she doesn’t ram an elbow into my gut. When I stroke the soft skin with my thumb, she shivers but doesn’t pull away. “What could Carpenter have done?” I ask.

Glancing over her shoulder, Brittany looks at me and furrows her brow. “Huh?”

I chuckle and bury my face in her back. She’s so damn cute. “You asked me if I knew what Carpenter could do with the bases loaded.”

“I did? Oh, right, I did.” She shakes her head and turns back around, mumbling something that sounds an awful lot like
‘I can’t think straight when you touch me.’

“What was that?” I ask, wanting to make sure I heard her right. She may not like that she can’t think straight when I touch her, but I sure as hell do.

“Nothing.” She sighs. “I didn’t say anything.”

The next few innings go by without incident. All too soon it’s the seventh inning and everyone is, in fact, standing to stretch. Pressing my lips to Brittany’s neck, I whisper, “I’m proud of you. You went three innings without calling the umpire an asshole
or
a jackass.”

“Thank you,” she says. I loosen my hold around her waist and we stand up. Puffing out her chest, Brittany raises her arms and stretches like a cat. “I feel like I deserve some sort of prize or something.”

“A prize, huh?” Funny, because being here with Brittany, I feel like I
won
some sort of prize.

She nods.

Grabbing my beer from the cup holder, I tilt my head back and take a swig. “Name it and it’s yours.”

She smiles like the Cheshire Cat. “Anything?”

“Anything.” I’m secretly hoping that whatever she asks for involves the two of us getting naked.

“Nachos,” she states firmly.
Nachos?

“I said you can have anything you want, and you choose nachos?”

Tossing her head back, Brittany lets out a deep, throaty laugh that travels straight to my dick, stroking it several times. This woman is going to be the death of me. No woman’s laugh should be able to make a man feel
that
.

“But I’m hungry,” she says, slipping her hand in mine. I follow behind her as she leads us toward the main aisle then weaves through the crowd, presumably in search of a food stand. “How can you be hungry? You had lunch, cotton candy, a jumbo hot dog, and half of my pretzel.”

“What can I say?” She shrugs, not stopping in her quest for nachos. “I love ballpark food.”

“C
onnor?” My stomach rolls, and when he doesn’t answer or look at me, I tap his arm. “Connor?”

The crowd goes wild and it pains me to say I have absolutely no idea what just happened. Connor jumps up, fist pumping the air, and despite my ever-growing nausea, I love that he’s enjoying the game.

I nudge him one more time. “Connor?”

“Sorry. That was intense,” he says excitedly. Dropping onto his seat, he looks over at me, and immediately his brows dip low. “Are you okay?” he asks, pressing the back of his hand against my forehead. “You don’t look so good.”

Closing my eyes, I swallow past the burning in my throat. “I hate ballpark food,” I grumble.

“Shit,” he hisses, and suddenly the empty nacho tray is no longer in my hands. I open my eyes to see Connor looking around us frantically. “Are you going to get sick? Do they have barf bags around here somewhere?”

“No.” I start to chuckle but my stomach clenches tight, so I bend over in pain instead. “Can we go home?”

“Yes,” he says, grabbing at my purse and foam finger, which I insisted on buying earlier. “Can you walk or do I need to carry you?”

“I can walk.” Ever so slowly, I stand up and follow Connor to the aisle. As we start up the stairs, he wraps an arm around my shoulders, bearing the majority of my weight. My stomach churns with each step we take toward the stadium’s exit. When warm saliva fills my mouth, I run for the nearest trashcan and bend over as my stomach heaves. Pain rips up my throat as I lose every single thing I ate today.