by Tara Wyatt
Jess: Have FUN
Maggie: Thanks y’all. I’m gonna hop in the shower.
Maggie put her phone down on the kitchen counter and chugged her smoothie, nearly giving herself a cold headache. Adrenaline buzzed through her as she moved through her apartment to the bathroom, shedding her sweaty clothes as she went. She slid back the glass door to the shower and cranked it as hot as it would go, then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was a sweaty mess, her face flushed, and she smiled at herself. Sex with Dylan was exactly what she needed, for so many reasons.
She just needed him to say yes.
“We welcome you to Longhorns baseball here on NBC Sports Dallas. I’m Wayne Hopkins, and I’ll be joined by Ron Whittaker and Aubrey Norris during the broadcast. This afternoon concludes the three-game series against the Minnesota Twins, with the Longhorns hoping to avoid a sweep. The big story, of course, is the debut of Dylan McCormick, who’ll be playing right field this afternoon and batting seventh in the lineup. Let’s go to Aubrey now, who’s standing by with Dylan McCormick.”
The camera cuts to Dylan, in his Longhorns uniform, and Aubrey, holding a microphone.
“How are you feeling this afternoon, Dylan?” she asks.
“I’m truly excited to be here,” he says, glancing into the camera. He doesn’t look excited.
“Any thoughts on what’s happening at the plate?”
Dylan shrugs. “Everyone goes through slumps sometimes. Just gotta roll with it and keep working hard.”
“Fans may not realize this, but you’re from the Dallas area. How does it feel to be home?”
“Yeah, I grew up in Ivy Hills, about thirty minutes from here. It’s always nice to come home.” He smiles, but it’s tight, forced.
Someone off camera calls to Dylan.
“All right, I’ll let you get back to your warm-up. Let’s send it back up to Wayne and Ron. Guys?”
Ron shuffles papers in front of him. “It’ll be interesting to see what McCormick can do. If he can bust out of his slump and get hot, he’ll be a major asset to the team.”
Wayne chuckles. “And if not, he’ll be a darn expensive minor leaguer. Let’s take a look at today’s lineup.”
Three
Today had already been a long ass day, and it wasn’t over yet.
Dylan had slept restlessly the night before, dreaming about kissing Maggie, about Maggie laughing at him for getting sent down to the minors, about wandering alone down a dark road with no one to tell him where to go. He’d known, the way you can just know something in a dream, that he was looking for her. Looking for Maggie.
When he’d peeled his eyes open, the hotel room had still been dark, with only the feeblest gray light filtering in around the edges of the curtains. Wanting to chase away the lingering sour hollowness the dreams had left, he’d let his mind wander back to the night before and seeing Maggie again at the gala. Everything inside him had warmed, leaving him wanting more.
He hadn’t been able to get back to sleep, so he’d gotten out his laptop and started hunting for a place to live. Around nine, he’d headed to the park, where he’d joined the team for their stretch, and then had taken batting practice. Abby had focused her attention on him, working with him on everything from his stance—she wanted him a few inches farther away from the plate—and his grip, to his swing speed and his timing. She’d put him through walkthroughs off of a tee, extensions, and stop and contact drills until his hands were buzzing. Finally, she’d rapped her knuckles against his batting helmet.
“Get out of here,” she’d said. “Your body knows what do to.”
Easier said than done, apparently, because he’d gone 0-for-3 in that afternoon’s game, but at least one of his outs had been a pop fly to right field. He’d actually made contact with the ball, which was something he hadn’t done during a game in a while. The Longhorns had lost to the Twins 8-2, and after a quick shower and a little downtime in the clubhouse as he got to know his new teammates, Dylan was back on the road in his rented BMW. It was nearly six, but he was already running on fumes and wasn’t sure where he was going to find the patience to deal with his father. But he’d have to figure it out, because his father had told—not asked—Dylan that they were having dinner tonight at the Rosewood Mansion, and his father was bringing his latest girlfriend so Dylan could meet her.
Hoo-fucking-ray.
As Dylan turned right from McKinnon onto Wolf, he wondered why he’d agreed to dinner. Maybe it was out of a fucked-up sense of loyalty to the man who’d raised him. Or maybe it was because Dylan knew that saying yes was a hell of a lot easier than saying no in the end. He knew how manipulative his father could be when he didn’t get his way. Deep down, he knew that this dinner wasn’t about catching up or reconnecting or any of that shit. It was about his father showing off—showing off his girlfriend to Dylan and showing off his major leaguer son to her. As always, everything was about how it benefited him. Dylan had learned a long time ago that his father wasn’t capable of caring about anyone but himself. Life had gotten easier when he’d stopped trying to earn the affection of a man who didn’t have any to give.
Dylan pulled into the Mansion’s courtyard, his car bumping over the cobblestones as he navigated around the large concrete fountain and circular garden. Live oaks lined the courtyard, giving it some shade from the late afternoon sun. He pulled up to the valet stand and tossed his keys to an attendant, taking a breath and squaring his shoulders before heading inside. At least he’d be able to get a decent scotch here.
The interior of the restaurant was dimly lit, with cream drapes swagged over the leaded windows to block out some of the relentless sun. Everything about the place screamed money. The thick, textured wallpaper. The plush, deep red carpeting. The buttery leather dining chairs. The gleaming dark wood of the tables. The air that smelled like steak and faintly of cigar smoke.
To Dylan’s father, money was everything. As far as he was concerned, what was the point of having any if you didn’t let everyone know just how much you had? How else would everyone know his worth? To him, net worth and worth were one and the same, completely inseparable.
Dylan saw his father and an unknown woman already seated at a prime table in a little alcove off of the main dining area. Seeing his father was always like looking in a future-casting mirror; Dylan knew pretty much exactly what he’d look like in his mid-fifties. His dad had a full head of salt and pepper hair, and lines around his eyes—which were the exact same shade of blue as Dylan’s—but was still attractive. Still fit and trim. At least his dad had passed along those good genes, along with a handful of other shit Dylan could’ve done without. He gestured at their table as he passed the hostess at the front, and she nodded at him, letting him through. His father stood, smiling broadly, waving him toward their table. He clapped Dylan on the back and then gripped his shoulders, giving him a little shake.
“There he is, my son the big leaguer,” he said with false joviality. It left Dylan feeling hollow and wishing that for just once in his goddamn life, the man could be sincere. “Signed a fifty-million-dollar contract two years ago,” he said, slapping him on the back again. Dylan didn’t care that he was still standing; he signaled for their waiter, who came over right away. He ordered a scotch and then sat down, tugging at his tie.
“Dylan, this is Ashley,” his father said, introducing him to the pretty brunette who looked closer to Dylan’s age than to his dad’s. She smiled politely and shook his hand. As he moved to sit down, his dad elbowed Dylan in the shoulder. “Isn’t she gorgeous?” he asked in a stage whisper, bouncing his eyebrows up and down. Dylan just nodded and smiled at Ashley. It would’ve been awkward if he wasn’t used to his father’s never-ending parade of girlfriends. It had started when Dylan was ten and his mom took off, deciding she’d rather swan around Europe than raise a son, and nearly twenty years later, it was still going on.
“I was surprised to hear from you,” said Dylan, helping himself to the charcuterie
board and artisanal cheese plate already on the table, even though no one else was eating. He was starving after the game and couldn’t be bothered to be polite.
“You were?” His dad arched an eyebrow.
Dylan shrugged. “Sure. We don’t talk much.” He didn’t know why he was poking the bear, only that he couldn’t seem to help himself.
His father laughed, a fake, brittle sound. “Ha, that’s not true. Well, maybe it is, but only because you’re so busy, traveling around and being a big baseball star. And when I heard the news you’d been traded to Dallas…well. Of course I wanted to see you.”
“I’m just going to use the ladies’ room,” said Ashley, rising from the table. Dylan watched her walk away and then turned his full attention to his dad.
“All right, cut the shit. Why did you want to see me?” Mercifully, the waiter brought his scotch, and he took a healthy sip.
Everything about Caleb McCormick’s demeanor changed, and he leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers. He dropped the happy-go-lucky facade, looking suddenly older. “I really did want to see how you’re doing. With the knee injury and everything. Things aren’t going so well for you.”
Dylan didn’t say anything, just took another sip of his scotch. “Thanks for noticing.”
His father took a sip of his own drink. “I used to tell everyone I knew about my son, the major league baseball player. The pro athlete. The millionaire.” He shook his head ruefully.
Dylan blew out a breath, his nostrils flaring. “And let me guess. Now you’re too embarrassed to brag about me because I’ve hit a rough patch. You made me drag my ass out here just so you could give me the whole ‘living up to the McCormick name’ shit?” A few other diners glanced their way and Dylan lowered his voice. “Are you kidding me?”
“I spent a lot of money sending you to fancy baseball camps and making sure you had everything you’d need to be successful. I do expect you to live up to that, yes.”
Dylan scoffed and threw back the rest of his scotch. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
Caleb arched an eyebrow and didn’t say anything, letting the silence speak for him. The irresistible urge to poke the bear again reared up and Dylan leaned back in his seat.
“You know who I ran into the other night? Maggie Jennings.” He twisted his empty glass in his fingers, the glass sliding soundlessly over the tablecloth.
Caleb’s lips pursed into a thin line. “Oh really? Did you have a midnight craving for chicken and waffles?”
“She works for the Longhorns now. She’s the manager of media relations.”
“Oh, well. Good for her. See? Everything worked out.”
Dylan nodded slowly, toying with the steak knife on the table. He wasn’t so sure things had worked out at all. “Why didn’t you tell me her mom died?”
Caleb shook his head. “How would I know about something like that?”
“Because you know everything that goes on in Ivy Hills.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t think it was important.”
Dylan fought back the urge to slam his fist down on the table. “You didn’t think I’d want to know something like that?”
“And then have you come running back to comfort your little trailer trash girlfriend and derail everything you’d worked so hard for? Hell no, you didn’t need to know.”
“So you did know.”
Silence hung between them, his father’s ugly words echoing through Dylan’s brain. He pushed out of his chair and reached into his pocket for his wallet, tossing down a twenty-dollar bill to cover his drink. Now that he had his own money, he wanted nothing from this man. Not when he knew what owing him cost. “Great seeing you, as always.”
“You’re not leaving.” His father’s voice was pure steel. He was so used to everyone bending to his will, to playing puppet master. But Dylan was done with it. So, so done.
“Fucking watch me.” He turned and walked through the restaurant, bumping into Ashley on his way to the door.
“Oh, are you leaving?” she asked with a confused little frown.
“Yeah, sorry, something’s come up. It really was nice meeting you. Enjoy your dinner.” He turned to head for the door, but her voice stopped him.
“You’re so like him, you know. It’s really something to see it in person.”
With his back to Ashley, he felt his lip curl. Not because she was wrong, but because deep down, she was right. Everything he hated about himself, he saw in his father. Everything he hated about his father, he saw in himself. He knew he could be just as controlling. Just as manipulative. Hell, look at what he’d done to Maggie all those years ago. He’d made decisions for her, pulling her puppet strings the way his father had pulled Dylan’s. Even though she’d gotten something out of it, remorse and loss suddenly overwhelmed him. He turned back to look at Ashley with a small smile.
“Oh, I know.”
Maggie felt like a complete stalker as she paced the large open area around the corner from the Longhorns clubhouse on Monday morning. As the media relations manager, it wasn’t at all unusual for her to be here—she was privy to their schedules and it was where she often waited to talk to players to arrange interviews. She only felt like a stalker because this morning, her intentions weren’t work related at all.
Nerves fluttered through her stomach and she wiped her palms on the front of her dress, smoothing down invisible wrinkles. She’d gone through what had felt like half her closet this morning before finally settling on a navy blue A-line dress with a small pink and white floral print on it. God, she felt like she was eighteen again, waiting for Dylan after one of his games.
Which was more proof that she needed to address the sexual chemistry lingering between them and get him out of her system for good. And then she’d be able to get back to her normal life, closure in hand and a few orgasms the richer for her trouble. Her body warmed as she thought about having sex with Dylan again. She knew she was supposed to hate him, but she had to admit, lusting after him was a lot more fun.
A few players came up the ramp from the back entrance and waved at her. She did a quick scan, but didn’t see Dylan among them.
“Morning, Miss Jennings,” said Hunter Blake with a rakish wink. “You waitin’ for me?” He ran a hand through his impressively thick bronze-colored hair and flashed her a charming smile. Given his reputation, she took his flirting with a grain of salt.
“Not today, Hunter, sorry,” she said with a smile. “I’m looking for the new guy.”
Hunter shook his head. “Damn. Thought it might finally be my lucky day. Think I saw him pulling into the parking lot when I was coming in.”
“Great, thanks.” She nodded as Hunter walked by on his way into the clubhouse. Sure enough, only a minute later, Dylan strolled in, wearing a gray T-shirt and dark jeans, a few days of stubble coating his perfect jaw. Her stomach dropped to somewhere around her feet when she saw him, and unbidden, more memories came rushing back. Good ones. Sweet ones. Tender ones. With a shake of her head, she pushed them away, knowing she needed to focus on her mission. She couldn’t erase the memories, but she could finally shut the door on the past. Then, once the itch was scratched, she’d be free from this craziness taking over her body.
Playing it cool, she looked down at her phone, pretending she was busy working. She felt it the second his eyes landed on her. It was as though her skin were buzzing, and she felt the urge to arch her spine. Instead, she bit her lip, looked up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Oh, Dylan, hey,” she said as casually as possible.
He nodded, stopping a few feet away from her. “Maggie.”
“Do you have a sec?”
He glanced from her to the clubhouse doors and back again, shifting his weight. “Sure.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started scrolling.
She hesitated slightly. Had she completely misread him Saturday night? Suddenly, she was floundering. Dylan glanced up.
“What’s up?”
&nb
sp; “Oh, um…” Oh, God. How was she going to do this? It had seemed so easy, so effortless and simple when she’d planned it out in her mind. But now, standing in front of him, she could feel her confidence slipping. “Do you have a sec?”
He smiled, flashing those dimples. Her entire body warmed. “You asked me that already, and I’ll tell you what, for you, I’ve got all the secs.” His face went red, and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Shit, I didn’t mean…that sounded…” His eyes met hers and she felt a tug low in her belly. From the way his eyes darkened, she’d guess that he felt it too.
Maggie laughed, pressing her fingers to her lips, feeling as though she had her feet back under her. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Dylan frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. “Come again?”
“That’s the idea. Let’s go talk in private.”
She led him past the clubhouse and to a series of meeting rooms, all currently empty, and closed the door behind them. The room was small and windowless, most of the space taken up by a table with the Longhorns logo embedded in the center and surrounded by leather swivel chairs. A white board hung on one wall, the glare from the fluorescent lights reflecting harshly off of it. Maggie leaned her butt against the edge of the table, summoned her courage, and then opened her mouth.
“I think we should have sex.”
Dylan’s eyebrow arched and a cocky smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. “Right here?”
Maggie laughed. “Um, no. At my place. Or yours. Doesn’t matter. But we should definitely sleep together.”
He took a step closer to her. “You do, do you? You think that’s a good idea?”
“I do.”
“And why’s that?” Another step closer, his blue eyes smoldering.
“Because we both want to, so why not?”
“Mmm.” The sound came out in a low, masculine rumble that had her toes curling in her wedges. “What about the past? What about ‘fuck you, Dylan McCormick, I hope I never see you again?’”