Storm, Meet Raine

Not Satisfied.

HER.

"Home run!" The annoying, and extremely melodramatic commentator roars into the speakers, causing an overflow of rage and excitement to rush through the crowd.

Grunting, I take off running, forcing myself not to roll my eyes. Heading back to the dugout, our team cheers, punching Carson in various places as they congratulate him on his third home run of the game.

"Sick hit, Speros. Hella sick." Even Vinny couldn't deny how great Carson did hit the ball. I was just standing there on second base, as usual, and then we heard this earth shattering crack of what seemed to be thunder.

I almost ducked out of the way. Carson "Storm" Speros had struck again. And I was not happy about it.

We all looked up, lips parted, eyes bigger than a house as the ball soared through the sky. My breaths were heavy as I watched the ball fly up and out of the damn stadium.

"Thanks man," Carson's smooth, deep voice was full of gratitude as he and Vincent did some weird handshake thing before bumping fists.

"Thanks man," I mock in a high pitched voice before sitting down and grabbing my water bottle.

"Hey, nice running out there, Carter." Hunter winks at me, making sure he includes me into the applause and cheers. I roll my eyes.

     Carson takes his place next to me, but instead of making a remark, he stares. I kept my eyes straight ahead, absentmindedly looking up at the fence caging us into the area.

     But I could feel his cool, steel gaze on the side of my face. He was assessing me. He's observant, very observant. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew my period cycle.

     It felt like fire—no. It felt like a lit match, the one with the little flame on the red tip. As if he was dragging the match down from the top of my head, dipping into my eyes, running down the bridge of my nose before stopping at my lips. Tracing them.

     And he kept it there until he felt like he was satisfied with scorching me with his pretty, grey eyes before trailing the heat of his gaze down my body. Slowly. Tantalizingly.

     It felt so hot that it could've been mistaken for ice. Every part of my body his eyes roamed, goosebumps broke out.

Wait a minute.

Snapping my gaze to his direction, he visibly shook at my abrupt turn, which made me smirk. Did I just startle him?

"The fuck are you smirking at?" He grumbles, taking off his baseball cap which was turned backwards and running a hand through his damp, brown hair.

I drop my elbows to my knees, resting them there as I give him a less harsh glare. "What the fuck are you staring at me for? See something you like?" I pull the most cheesy pick up line that I see in every romance movie, book, and show I've ever watched.

He scoffs, untucking his shirt and leaning back in his seat, spreading his long legs and rolling up the sleeves of his jersey, which reveals the prominent veins in his forearms, thick with heavy blood flow. "I didn't see your momma in the stands, so no."

"My mother wouldn't give you the time of day." I roll my eyes. The guys don't really bring up my mom unless they see her, which is only during our home games at our campus.

When they first saw her, they left her blushing like a damn school girl getting hit on by her teacher. I kept telling her to tone down the giggles, but she just couldn't help herself, absorbing all the compliments and filthy underlying meanings they were throwing her way.