I know it.
And that’s the weirdest feeling of all.
“Hey.” I press a kiss to her temple.
“Mmm.”
“I’ve gotta go,” I whisper when all I want to do is climb back in bed beside her warm and way too tempting body and pretend like I don’t have to leave.
Her body jerks as she wakes and realizes that even though my room is still dark, it’s time for me to go. My duffel on the kitchen counter and my dad waiting in the car to drive me to the airport confirm that.
“East.” Her voice is a sleep-drugged rasp and her hair is a wild mess that I’m sure still has leaves in it from last night. Both call to every part of me to stay. And when awareness hits her, she sits up in bed, eyes alert but movements still sluggish. “Let me brush my teeth. Get up. I need to walk you out. I just—”
“Shhh,” I say as I lower myself to the bed. “Don’t get up. Stay in bed and get some sleep.”
I pull her into me and just hold on. Breathe her in. Her perfume. Her shampoo. Our sex still on her skin.
“I’m gonna miss you,” she murmurs against my chest and fuck if I don’t feel her chin quiver as she fights back tears.
“Me too, but we’ll see each other soon. We’ll talk every day. We’ll make this work, Scout. I haven’t fought this hard to lose you.”
She clings to me, and I can feel her shoulders shudder. I fucking hate that I’m doing this to her—leaving—when I promised I wouldn’t. “I meant what I said,” she finally says.
“What was that?” I ask, hand smoothing down her hair.
“I love you.”
And right there—three simple fucking words and I’m a dead man. A total goner to this woman who is a mess of contradictions and who unexpectedly stole my heart along the way.
Yeah, she said it the other night. She hurled it at me in a fucking argument, but I’m no stranger to a woman desperate enough to declare her love for me to try and keep me on the line. So I let it go. I didn’t bring it up. And I figured if she meant it, she’d say it again.
And she just did.
So this, right here, right now, is real. She means it. And fuck me, it feels damn good.
“It took you long enough.” I chuckle into the crown of her head and pull her in a little closer as she struggles to get away from me.
“You’re an arrogant ass,” she says as she swats playfully at my chest.
“Yeah, well, this arrogant ass is in love with you, too.” I bring my hands to the side of her cheeks so I can look at her eyes through the dim light. I want her to see I mean it.
“Oh.” Her smile is unsteady and her eyes glisten with tears.
“Yeah. Oh. But it’s true,” I murmur before brushing my lips against hers, morning breath and all, because I’m not going to pass up one last chance to kiss her.
And when I walk out of my house to this new unknown, I feel like maybe all of this can work out.
I never let her broach how we’re going to manage this.
I never let her have a chance to get spooked.
I just told her how it was going to be. Me going to work. Her going to work. And us making this thing between us work.
Besides, she loves me.
Me.
Just when I felt like everything was falling apart, I’m beginning to wonder if maybe they were finally falling into place.
He told me he loved me.
Of course I was naked, half asleep, and he was leaving, but he told me he loved me. Was in love with me.
How perfect was that since we’re so far from perfect anyway?
He told me he loved me and I didn’t spook.
For a girl who’s shied away from those emotions her whole life, to hear those three words and feel like I’m walking on air instead of wanting to run, is a pretty crazy about face.
But I’m in his bed, surrounded by his scent, and I know it’s going to take everything I have to leave it, knowing I won’t see him again for a while. I roll over and am met with my cell phone next to me. Odd. I know there’s no way I left it there. When I reach for it, there is a Post-It note on its screen. All it says is “Listen to me.”
I scramble to sit up, eager to hear the message like a ridiculous schoolgirl waiting for her crush to call.
“Good morning,” Easton’s voice comes through the speaker in that rough grit of his that has me closing my eyes and missing him already, although it has only been a few hours since he left. “Grab my shirt. Put it on. And then listen to your next message.”
With a smile on my lips, I frantically look around the room for his shirt only to notice it’s actually on the pillow beside my head. I laugh to the empty room as I pick it up, bring it to my nose and breathe him in before putting it on.
“First things first, Kitty. I left something for you on my favorite spot in the kitchen.”
I’m out of the bed, racing down the hallway to the kitchen island, my mind thinking back to last week when he was making us grilled-cheese sandwiches for dinner. How I hopped up on the counter to watch and before I knew it, my thighs were parted, his tongue was working me into a frenzy, and the sandwiches ended up burned to a crisp.
Best grilled cheese I’ve ever not eaten.
When I reach the kitchen, there’s a calendar on top of the counter. It takes me a minute to figure out what I am looking at. In his scrawled chicken scratch, Easton has marked the days of the month through to the end of the season with a D for Wrangler’s games and an A for Aces games.
“See the orange circles,” he says in the message. “Those are the days we get to see each other, whether we’re in passing cities or we have a day or two off. I’m staking a claim so you don’t decide to hang out with your other boyfriends on those dates.” I know he’s joking, but my head is shaking back and forth like he’s crazy. “Next clue: The first time you ever came to my apartment, how was it I finally got you to come here?”
I stand with my hands on my hips for a second as I look toward the glass wall of windows and then realize what he’s referring to. The bathroom. I jog to the guest bathroom in the foyer and laugh at what I see there. On the counter is a CD case. It’s an audiobook. Stephen King’s The Last Gunslinger.
“If I’m stuck listening to whatever romance book this is that you uploaded to my iPod, then you have to listen to my kind of book too. Besides, those plane flights to and from cities can be boring and the last thing you want to do is talk to Tino and Drew. I plead the fifth to anything they say about me . . . so listen to this book instead. I’ll be giving you a test, and you’re going to want the reward for getting all the answers right.” My smile couldn’t grow any wider if I tried. I pick up the set of CDs and listen to the rest of the message. “What’s the one place you couldn’t wait to see? I believe I had to fight to kiss you because you wouldn’t shut up about it.”
Right now, I’m going to kiss you senseless, Scout, and I want to fucking enjoy it. So, for the love of God, woman, use those lips of yours on me and not on words.
I’m on the elevator in a flash, the car descending to the private field down below. When the doors open, I’m hesitant to step off it. It feels strange being here without Easton. This is his place. His solace. And yet curiosity gets the best of me.
I flick on the lights and begin to walk around, looking for the next item. It takes me a second to see the Mason jar on home plate. When I pick it up, all I can do is shake my head at the dozens of Wint O Green Life Savers inside it.
“There’s one Life Saver for every day left until the season ends. Our own little countdown of sorts. Plus I threw a few extra in there in case one of our teams makes it to the playoffs. When you suck on it, think of me.” His chuckle is deep and suggestive. “And finally, where is the one place I stood, looked at you with the stadium lights in your hair and knew there was no turning back when it came to you?” I make a face at the phone. “Don’t roll your eyes, Kitty. Think about when you stood there and got me like no one else ever had.”
Excite
d, I get on the elevator to head to the wall of windows where Easton and I first realized there might be more between us than passing lust. When I get there, I’m not sure what I’m looking for. I stare at the empty stadium below, mesmerized for a moment as I recall that first night: the linking of our pinkies; the darkened apartment and stadium-lit sky; the feeling of being understood.
It takes me a moment to see a key ring with a key on it sitting at the base of the window. Uncertain how this makes me feel, I stare at it for a moment as I try to comprehend what he’s giving me. What he’s saying to me. Because yes, he offered it the other day . . . but that was before everything, and now there it is—a new and shiny and silver key to his house attached to an Austin Aces keychain.
I pick up the phone and laugh at myself and my trembling fingers as I dial up the next voicemail. “I know right now you’re probably standing there wondering if you should be spooked or not. Thinking you might have said the words but this makes things real—it makes us real—and that part freaks you out. I didn’t go to bed last night, Scout. I sat and watched you sleep and wondered how this was going to work out. How with two crazy schedules and being in different cities was going to work for us . . . But it’s going to. So take this key. Use it. Don’t use it. But know it’s there for you. The closet is half-empty for you. The drawers. The everything. And while you’re hyperventilating, know this . . . I’ve never met anyone like you, Scout. You challenge me. You make me laugh. You encourage me. But more than anything you get me. My need for this game that I love as much as I hate. How I love my parents even when I feel like the strings I still have tied to them are strangling me. How a picnic on a hill watching a Little League game where we root for strangers is what I need sometimes. So when you get scared, when you wonder how any of this is going to work, remember that I left you a key because I plan on coming home to you. Did you hear that? I plan on coming home . . .”
Every part of my body is covered in chills when the message ends. I just stand there looking at the key on the silly keychain with tears blurring my eyes and push replay again.
And again.
“Hey.”
His voice. It’s exactly what I need to hear. After my dad being stubborn and refusing to speak to me. After dealing with Cory and his bullshit.
This unexpected phone call from Easton is what I need to center me.
“Hey, Hot Shot.” I try to play it cool and not feel silly that it’s only been hours since he left and I’m already a mess of female hormones I don’t want to lay claim to.
“What are you doing?”
“Making my eyes cross working on plans, schedules, and staff for the team. Sam’s last day is Wednesday, so I’m trying to figure what personnel I should keep, who I should bring in, all that kind of stuff.” I look at my desk covered in papers and then out the window to the locker room beyond and half expect to see Easton there, calling me and pretending not to be talking to me as he’d done before.
“Sounds thrilling.”
I laugh, the gravel in his voice sexy as sin. “It is. For me, anyway. I take it the team made it there okay? How’s Chicago?”
“It’s muggy as hell. But good.”
“It’s a great city. I worked there last year for a while, but with the Cubs, not the Sox. How are the other players treating you so far?”
“Good. Like one of the guys. They’re all a little shocked about the trade and being supportive. Some of them heard through the grapevine that this isn’t the first time Cory has screwed over a player so they’re asking a lot of questions. For all I know, they’re rumors and so I’m not really commenting. . . it’s just different, you know?” There’s a trace of sadness there that he clears from his throat. “But guess what?”
“Tell me.”
“I’m cleared to play tonight.” The excitement in his voice matches the sudden surge of it I feel.
“Really?”
“Mathers couldn’t believe the Aces hadn’t cleared me.”
“Mathers is a competent therapist. I figured he’d see through my lie and reinstate you,” I add, wondering what Mathers must be thinking about my own competency considering I deemed Easton not fit to play. “I’m happy for you, but then again, I already knew it.” My voice wavers on the last word as I try to keep my emotions at bay.
“You’ll watch?”
I laugh and draw the attention of some of the guys wandering in and out after their workouts. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“’Kay. Thanks. I’ve gotta go but I wanted to call, tell you . . . hear your voice.”
And that softening heart of mine continues to melt.
“Hey, Wylder?”
“Yeah?”
“Have a game.”
He laughs. “Is this like have a day?”
“Yep. Have a game . . . but make it a kickass one because I’m keeping points.”
“Points? Are those like the brownie points I cashed in before?” he asks playfully.
Damn, that was fun.
“Something like that.” I laugh as his name is called in the background.
“Call you later?”
“Have a game, Easton.”
The call ends.
I love you.
I test saying it in my head, those ridiculous female hormones taking over again, but when you’re not used to saying the words, you don’t know how often is too often? Because it’s almost as if now that I’ve acknowledged it, I realize I’ve felt it all along.
I would have never let him in otherwise.
“You look pretty damn good in blue, Wylder.”
I chuckle as I glance over to Stidwell and bump fists with him. “Thanks, man.”
“We’re glad to have you but fuck, man, you got a raw deal.”
“Well . . .” I lift my eyebrows and laugh. The sting is still there but my brand new blue catching gear on the bench beside me dulls it a bit.
“I get it. You can’t talk about it,” he says. “For what it’s worth, everyone’s talking about Tillman. About the shady shit he pulled with you, and now because of your high profile, people are listening to Reagan’s complaints about what he did to him in Baltimore last year. How he pulled the same crap there. Cutting costs at any price isn’t the way to win a pennant . . .”
“True,” I say but shrug it all off. Right now I have a game to play—my first one back—and hell if I’m not amped up to cross the line and dirty up my cleats. I look up and a few more of the guys have gathered around. Some I know in passing. Some I’ve never met. Some I’ve played with before when they were Aces. Well aware anything I say can be quoted, I play it safe. “Karma’s a bitch.”
“It is,” he says as he hands me my hat. “Like I said, we’re glad to have you.”
“Thanks, guys.”
And when I tip my hat onto my head, a shower of blue glitter rains down on me. Hair, face, clothes, floor. Every-fucking-where.
The guys are doubled over in laughter while Stidwell tries to keep a straight face. “Tino said we needed to welcome you properly to the team. Besides, he said blue’s your color.”
Motherfucker.
I can’t help but laugh, the damn glitter falling in my mouth when I do, because my boys—the anti-Santiago brigade—knew the perfect way to get me to relax before I take the field for the first time in what feels like forever.
They made it feel just like home.
“Oh come on. You can tough this out,” I encourage as I press Dillinger’s leg from where his calf rests on my shoulder. He grimaces and hisses out a long low-sounding breath as I stretch the tightened tendons he overextended last week.
I hear the comments made under the breaths of some of the guys. I’d be deaf if I didn’t. I’m more than aware of what my body position with Dillinger looks like to them—like I’m trying to mount him—and yet I can’t care. This is my job. To get him feeling okay before he pitches tonight. Every win counts with the Aces one game out of first place, and the season slowly coming to an end.
<
br /> “Can I be next?” I glance over to where Santiago stands and then return my attention to Dillinger as I ease the pressure off and lower his leg back down.
Moving from my position between his thighs, I look back to Santiago. “I wasn’t aware you were injured.”
“I’m not but if you’re handing out free therapy like that, count me in.” He smirks and everything about it makes my skin crawl.
“There’s a long and distinguished line in front of you, Santiago. Guys who really need me. So I suggest you get in the back of the line. If I have the time, we’ll see about working on your problems, but I’m pretty sure fixing your issues is above my pay grade.” I lift my eyebrows and just stare at him to let him know I’m not taking his shit.
Dillinger whistles low and soft as Santiago narrows his eyes and then turns and walks away.
“Not all of us are assholes,” he says garnering my attention, “but it seems a lot of them are acting like it lately.”
“It goes with the territory,” I say with a nod, trying to keep my professional, tough-girl façade in place. At the same time though, I’m relieved to know I’m not seeing things that aren’t there. The overabundance of towels accidentally being dropped when I enter the locker room. The suggestive, snide comments here and there. The offers to go out on a date despite my continued refusals. Things that never happened when Easton was here, his claim staked even though we thought we were on the down-low. “You good and stretched? Ready to strike ’em all out tonight?”
To have a game. I smile and think of Easton.
“Always.” He offers me a big grin before heading out to the main part of the locker room.
“You okay?” Drew asks the same time he knocks on the doorframe.
“Yep,” I say as I blow out a breath, but the look on his face says he’s not buying it.
“You sure?”
“Yes. Thanks. Can I help you with anything?” I ask, this little visit out of the ordinary for him.
“Easton’s looking good. Strong. Only that lucky fucker would return to a new team after such a long stint on the DL, hit three homers, and throw out every person who attempted to steal on him in his first week back. It’s like he’s superhuman or something.” He laughs with a shake of his head.