Switch Hitter

Mine.

“Only one of the best and worst weeks of my life.”

“Sometimes the anticipation is the best part of playing the game, don’t you think? The expectation, the tension leading up to the big play.”

“Is that what you think this was? A game?” I’m trying to be flirtatious, but I don’t think it’s going very well; he scrunches up his nose.

“No. I don’t think either of you were skilled enough to keep it going that long. You seriously suck at method acting.” He grabs my hand, and I feel butterflies. He kisses my forehead.

Ugh.

“Come on, let’s go.”

I go, willingly.

***

“Your friends aren’t going to think this is crazy, right?”

We’re outside on the large front porch of the baseball house, about to go inside. Dante’s left hand is poised to pull the screen door open, foot propped on the threshold, his right hand gripping mine.

I stop him from going in with a gentle tug, worrying my bottom lip.

“No, why would they?”

“You dated one sister, now you’re dating the other,” I explain. “You don’t think your friends are going to have a problem with that?”

“Mi cielo, my friends aren’t going to know the difference. They’re a bunch of idiots.”

I blush at the term of endearment. My heaven.

“Okay. I just don’t want them to think I’m, you know…shady.”

“No one is going to think you’re shady.” His laugh is deep, amused. “If anything, they’ll think it’s fucking awesome I dated twins.”

I snort. “You’re not Hugh Hefner—you didn’t date us at the same time.”

“But I kind of did.” He turns to face me, stepping down off the stoop and pulling me into his body, hands sliding to my waist.

“But it’s not like you knew.”

I watch his mouth, engrossed by his lips. “My friends would still think I’m badass if I told them about it.”

“They’d think you had a threesome.” I roll my eyes. “Because most guys your age are perverts.”

“I’m not.”

“That’s right—you haven’t even tried to kiss me.” My chin tilts up smugly in his direction, cocking my right brow.

“You didn’t want me kissing you, remember? I’ve waited because I’m a nice fucking guy.”

“I didn’t want you kissing me because I liked you.”

His head gives a perplexed shake. “That makes no sense.”

“I didn’t want you kissing me as Lucy. I wanted you kissing me as me.”

He moves to cup my face between his palms, stroking his thumbs up and down my cheeks, giving me the tingles. “You are seriously the fucking cutest.”

“No, you are.” I’m trying to pucker my mouth between his hands, but just end up with fish lips.

“We’re not going to be one of those disgusting PDA couples, are we?”

“You’re the one with your hands all over my face.” His big, rough, perfect hands. “Are you going to kiss me?”

His face inches closer. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’ve waited forever for you to put those giant paws on me.”

I don’t know what I expected to happen when our mouths finally connected, but this wasn’t it.

It’s so much better.

Charged.

The slow, deliberate probing from his delicious tongue is like a dream.

Wet.

Jesus, he tastes so good, so stupid good.

Impulsively I push against his chest, backing him up against the siding of the house with a gentle shove, rubbing up on him.

Dante’s palms grip my ass, squeezing. Drag me onto his firm body, into his hard-on, running those fantastic catcher’s mitts up and down my backside. Tense.

His lips are full. Hard.

Soft.

I could swallow him hole.

It’s not enough, not nearly.

I’m so hot right now, and horny, and God I hate that word but it’s so true. I want to rip my clothes off so he can touch my body, so I can touch his. We’ve done the three-date thing; I’m ready to take it to the next level.

This kiss is ruining me—I wonder what actually having sex with him will do.

When we finally tear ourselves apart, Dante blinks. Blinks again.

Mutters, “Let’s get inside.”

“All right,” I say breathlessly, eagerness vibrating all my nerve cells. “If you don’t think your roommates are going to judge me, I’ll go inside.”

“I really think it’s adorable that you think they’d be able to tell the difference—really goddamn adorable.” He plants another heated kiss on my lips, leaving me dazed and feeling cold when he pulls back to push open the front door. “Besides, most of these guys aren’t with the same girl twice, so who the fuck are they to judge.”

They’re sitting around the house when we walk through the door, Dash tugging me in. We pause in the entry to the living room, and I give a short wave.

“Hi.”

“Guys, you remember Amelia.”

They’re all openly staring, friendly and interested. Curious, like a group of toddlers would be.

One guy—a huge ballplayer sprawled in the center on the couch, remote control in his hands—looks me over from head to toe, then back again, wrinkling his forehead.

“I thought you said her name was Lucy.”

I grin, responding before Dante can. “Nope. It’s Amelia. You must be confusing me with someone else.”

The guy looked sheepish. “Shit, sorry.”

Dante’s index finger tickles my palm as we move toward the hall. “Anyway, we’ll be in my room. Don’t bother us.”

When we’re in his bedroom with the door closed, he turns to me and says, “That little fib slipped right off your tongue, didn’t it?”

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” I grin, slipping off my shoes, already comfortable. “Mostly with family members and a few unsuspecting teachers in grade school.”

“You didn’t even bat an eye when you lied to his face. Please don’t ever do that to me.”

“I was just teasing him.” I grab Dante’s thick arm, squeezing. “Which would be impossible with you since you can tell us apart.”

“Lucy said I’m your unicorn.” He laughs, tossing his jacket on a chair.

This gives me pause. “She did?”

“Yup. I’m a motherfucking unicorn.”

***

Dash

The differences are remarkable now that I know she’s a completely different person; they stick out at me like red flags.

Obviously, there’s the hair, and the dimple. Her brows are arched higher, eyes sharper. Amelia has an air about her that Lucy doesn’t; she’s deliberate and thoughtful.

Her lips? Incredible.

She sheds her jacket, sliding it down her arms, hanging it on the chair I have at the table functioning as my desk.

Truth? Now that I have her in my room, I’m not sure what to do with her.

She surveys the space, hands on her narrow hips, taking it all in. There isn’t much to see, just a bed, table, chair, floor lamp. The bare minimum, not even a television.

Nothing to watch, nothing to see, no where to go but the bed.

Really it’s just a beige box where I sleep, and now I seem to have acquired a girlfriend to go along with it.

I take a seat on the edge of my mattress, legs kicked apart, leaning back. Watch her preoccupying herself with my shit. The laptop on my desk and the sticky notes on my wall above it. The few books I have stacked on the table.

“This is nice, clean.”

“I’m really boring.” It sounds like an apology.

Amelia turns. Starts toward me, stepping in between my legs. “I don’t think so.”

My hands automatically slide to her waist like we’ve done it a million times, pulling her in for a hug. I bury my face in her flat abdomen, nuzzling her sweater.

Her deft flingers pluck tenderly at the black hair atop my head then trail down my neck, landing on my shoulders. Back and forth, fingertips kneading the muscles there.