Straddling The Line: Play-By-Play Book 8

by Jaci Burton

  She was being cool and remote and she knew it, but she had to maintain a level of professionalism around the crew. And to protect herself.

  She was being ridiculous. But she couldn’t help herself. This was who she had to be, how she had to act. She was making the right decision.

  Right?

  The other interviews went well. She talked with Gavin and Garrett, and they gave great commentary about the team, and Trevor’s place in it. They weren’t bitter about him only playing part time and both stated he was a valuable asset to the team. They understood when he had to drop out to handle football duties, and they were used to it. The team accommodated him because he was good at what he did, and he didn’t act like he was any better than the rest of them.

  Actually, none of the guys she interviewed professed any jealousy or bitterness toward Trevor. They teased him on camera about being a hotshot, but, as Gavin said, if you had the skills to back it up, then you should do what makes you happy.

  They were good interviews. Maybe her producers wanted some professional jealousy on some of the players’ parts, or someone calling out Trevor for being a dick, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen. At least not with any of the players she’d talked to so far.

  And then she got to his coach. Manny Magee was known to be grouchy, and he hated giving interviews. She was actually surprised he’d agreed to this one, so when he sat down with her, she knew she’d have a limited amount of on-camera time with him.

  “Tell me about Trevor Shay.”

  Manny shrugged. “Good player. Shows up on time, does his job.”

  “How do you feel about him playing two sports?”

  “I hate it.”

  She knew she’d get blunt honesty from Manny. “So you’d like to have him full time.”

  “Of course I would. But I’m not gonna get him to play for the Rivers full time. So I’ll take what I can get.”

  “He’s that good?”

  “He’s that good. With someone as talented as Trevor Shay, what coach wouldn’t? I’m just glad he’s playing for our team and not someone else’s, you know what I mean?”

  Haven didn’t comment, but yes, she did know. They talked about tonight’s game and the Rivers’ chances to make the playoffs, which they’d use for tonight’s clip. Haven thanked Manny for his time, and they finished up.

  The camera crew took some shots of the players warming up, including a few close-ups of Trevor fielding the ball and throwing it back. And when he took some swings in the batting cage, Haven stood there with the crew and watched. She couldn’t help but be impressed. He was tall, athletic, a strong presence as he knocked the ball with power. And as his muscles flexed, she remembered him moving over her last night, the pure mastery he had over her body.

  It was cool outside today, but her body heated as she recalled every moment they’d spent together, the way he had taken her with his mouth, his hands, and his cock.

  No. That was definitely not going to happen again, and thinking about him in that way wasn’t helping the situation at all.

  “I think we have enough shots,” she said to her camera guy.

  Once the game started, the camera crew worked independently to take some game shots of Trevor, while she did some edits on her laptop up in the club suite. She’d look up on occasion to watch the game. The Rivers were down by three runs in the fifth when Trevor came up to bat.

  He took the first pitch, high, barely even moving. He read pitches well. The second was low and in the dirt and Trevor didn’t budge, refusing to be fooled into swinging.

  He’d been out on a fly ball his first at bat, and had gotten on base with a single in his second, only to be left stranded.

  On the third pitch—a decent one—he swung, blasting it foul into right field.

  On the fourth pitch, he connected, sending it sailing.

  Home run. Too bad no one else was on base because he’d rocketed that pitch into the bleachers. Haven swore she could see the grin on Trevor’s face all the way up in the club suites where she was sitting. She cheered along with everyone else, and hoped her camera crew had gotten a decent shot of that home run. She texted down to Andy, her head camera guy, who texted her back that he’d definitely gotten the shot.

  Awesome.

  Unfortunately, Trevor’s solo home run didn’t help the Rivers, who ended up losing the game. They’d come back and scored three more runs in the sixth, but Los Angeles had scored two in the eighth, closing the door on the Rivers’ attempt to win it, and since Atlanta had won their game tonight, it was looking more and more like the Rivers were not going to make it to the postseason.

  But it wasn’t over yet, and anything could happen.

  She was disappointed for Trevor and for the team, but she still had her job to do.

  She met with her camera crew after the game, and they submitted their work to the network in time for the broadcast that night. The crew was finished with the work they’d do for now, and they’d meet up again once Trevor started up in Tampa.

  After the game, Trevor was quiet. She stepped up next to him as he walked to the car.

  “Tough loss,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Great home run, though.”

  “Thanks. Didn’t help the team, though.”

  She wanted to console him, to put her arm around him and make him feel better, like he’d done for her last night. Her fingers itched to touch him.

  Why couldn’t she bridge that gap of inches and just lean into him to offer him comfort? What would it cost her to do that?

  Nothing.

  So why couldn’t she make the move? What held her back? Did she think if she touched him, he’d read something into it and want more? More than she was willing to give?

  In the end, she couldn’t do it, just walked to the car and climbed into her seat, keeping her distance, which felt all kinds of shitty.

  “There’s still hope for the team, Trevor,” she said as they drove back to his house.

  “Yeah, there is. Until the last game. Unfortunately, we have a road trip to Atlanta up next, and if we lose even one game to them, we’re out of the postseason.”

  “When does the road series against Atlanta start?”

  “Friday.”

  “Then you’ll have to kick ass against Los Angeles and make these games count.”

  “We’ll do that. Believe me, we will.”

  She did believe him. She was impressed by how fast he shook off the loss, because they went out to eat, and he was his happy, animated self again, signing autographs for fans and joking with the waiter. After dinner, they went back to his house, where she was once again faced with being alone with him.

  Maybe it was time she moved into a hotel, to give herself some distance. Instead, when they got inside, she turned to him.

  “I have a lot of editing to do. If you don’t mind, I’m going to close myself up in the office and work.”

  “That’s fine. I’m going to go watch TV.”

  He seemed okay with her decision, which relieved her. “Great.”

  She grabbed her laptop and notes and headed into the office, closing the door behind her. She dove into work, going over her notes, uploading the photos she’d taken, and after several hours, she had made serious progress. She sent the file off to her producer.

  She got up and stretched, gathered up her laptop and notes, and turned off the light in the office. She was about to head to bed, but decided to stop in the kitchen for a glass of water first.

  It was late, so she didn’t expect to find Trevor in there, fixing himself a sandwich.

  “Oh. Hey. You’re still up?”

  He smiled at her. “Yeah. I was watching a movie and I got hungry after.” He pointed to the sandwich on his plate. “Want one?”

  “No, thanks. I was just going to grab a glass of water before I headed to bed.”

  “I’ll get that for you.” He dropped ice into a glass and filled it with water, then handed it to her.

>   “Thanks. Good night, Trevor.” She turned.

  “Haven?”

  She stopped, her eyes closing for a fraction of a second before turning back to face him. “Yes?”

  “What’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you?”

  Laying her stuff down on the counter, along with the glass, she went over to him, knowing she shouldn’t get so close, but unable to help herself. She laid her hand on his forearm, feeling the instant connection, that sizzle of chemistry she couldn’t deny, no matter how much she wanted to. “No. Not at all. I’m just . . . tired tonight. It’s been a long day, and I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. I just want to go to bed and crash.”

  He swept her hair away from her face, and before she could take a cautionary step away, he cupped her face between his hands and brushed his lips across hers. A burst of heat ignited inside her.

  “Sleep well tonight. No bad dreams.”

  With that short kiss he’d awakened all the longing she’d tried to push away, but couldn’t. She wanted to linger, to lean against him and soak up his strength. She wanted to get him naked and devour every inch of him right there in his kitchen, then take him to bed with her again so she didn’t have to be alone. Instead, she nodded. “Right. No bad dreams. Thanks, Trevor.”

  She grabbed her stuff and walked down the long hallway toward her wing, feeling the loneliness of another long night wrap around her like a cold chill she wouldn’t be able to shake.

  It didn’t have to be this way, but she had no one to blame but herself for being alone.

  When she got to her room, she undressed and got ready for bed, then climbed in, pulling the sheet over herself. She’d already finished work for the day, so there was no appeal to her laptop, though she could surf the net.

  She didn’t want to, so she decided to read a book instead, settling back against the pillows, hoping getting lost in one of her favorite series would help her unwind and maybe she’d get tired.

  An hour later she was still wide awake, and she kept reading the same page over and over again. Not the book’s fault, because it was a great romance. The problem was, the characters in the story were hot for each other—and they were actually doing something about it. They were communicating, and having awesome hot sex.

  She, on the other hand, kept doing her best to avoid her own feelings, and as a result, she was not having awesome hot sex with a man she should be having awesome hot sex with.

  Even fictional characters faced their demons better than she did.

  She glared at the book, right now hating those characters, and threw off the covers and got out of bed. She went to the window and stared outside, wishing she were at home.

  She missed her mom.

  She really missed her dad, missed their long talks. She could use a long talk with him right now.

  Not that she could have had a conversation with her dad about Trevor. She and her father could talk about anything—except men and sex. Those conversations had always been reserved for her mom. Sports and television and books and anything else? Her dad. But whenever she’d had boy trouble, he’d grown decidedly uncomfortable and had suggested she talk to her mom.

  She looked over at the bedside table. It was late—too late to call her mom, and really, what would she say? That she and Trevor had had sex, and then she’d pushed him away because—well, she didn’t even have a valid reason.

  That wasn’t even the kind of conversation one had with her mother. It was a girlfriend kind of talk. Maybe she could discuss it when she went out with Alicia and Liz later this week. She definitely needed some advice.

  Or maybe she should just go with how she felt. And right now she felt alone, and lonely, and felt like spending time with Trevor.

  Who’d likely think she was out of her ever-loving mind if she searched him out in the middle of the night after basically ignoring the hell out of him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She was an indecisive idiot. And maybe he’d tell her to get lost, but that was the risk she was willing to take.

  Determined to finally get the hell over herself, she put on a pair of shorts and opened her door.

  And nearly jumped out of her skin, because Trevor was right there, his hand raised as if he were about to knock.

  EIGHTEEN

  TREVOR WAS SHOCKED THAT HAVEN ANSWERED THE door before he even knocked.

  He was kind of surprised that he’d made his way over to her wing, and hadn’t exactly prepared what he was going to say to her once he got here, but now she’d opened the door, so he’d better start talking.

  “Hey,” was all that fell out of his mouth. Not exactly earth-shattering or comforting, but it was all he had.

  “What are you doing here? Never mind. Come in.”

  Okay, that went well. At least she hadn’t slammed the door in his face.

  “I thought you might be sleeping,” he said.

  “I wasn’t. Actually, I was about to come to your room to see if you were still awake. Or, I guess I was going to wake you up if you were asleep.” She looked as uncomfortable and awkward as he felt, shifting from foot to foot and looking around the room. “I don’t really know what I was going to do once I got to your room. You kind of saved me from having to figure that part out.”

  He relaxed a little when he realized she was nervous. “Figure what part out?”

  “Um, how about we sit down?” She motioned to the two chairs over by the window.

  “Sure.”

  He took a seat, and so did she, then laced her fingers together, still looking as nervous as if she’d been called to the principal’s office.

  He’d bet Haven had never once been called to the principal’s office in all the years she’d gone to school.

  He had. Plenty of times.

  She didn’t say anything, so he guessed it was up to him to say something. “I came to your room to talk to you.”

  She looked up at him. “Oh. You did? About?”

  “About you avoiding me.”

  She looked down at her hands again. “Yeah, that.” And then she lifted her gaze to his. “That’s part of the reason I was on my way to talk to you. I’m sorry. The other night when we . . . when we had sex, and I had that nightmare, I backed away.”

  “I know. What was the nightmare really about?”

  She took a deep breath. “It was about my dad. He was in the hospital, and I couldn’t get to him. It’s a variation on a theme. I’ve had dreams similar to that one before since he died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She rubbed her finger across her forehead. “I’m just having a hard time dealing with it. I really miss him.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Too much, maybe.”

  “No such thing as too much, Haven. Maybe the problem is you’ve been suppressing your emotions and you haven’t let yourself feel the full extent of your grief.”

  She tilted her head to the side, giving him a look of disbelief. “Oh, believe me, Trevor. I’ve grieved for my dad.”

  “Have you? Or did you think you were supposed to just get over it in a week or two and get back to work?”

  He saw the truth in her eyes. “What was I supposed to do? I had a job in Dallas back then. I couldn’t just take a sabbatical so I could stay home with my mom.”

  “But you wanted to, didn’t you? You felt responsible for her because she’s all alone now.”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s not your responsibility to look after, Haven. She’s a grown woman, and if anyone knows how independent Ginger Briscoe is, it’s me. It’s time you focus on your own needs.”

  “I’m fine, Trevor. Really.”

  He stood, took her hand, and pulled her out of her chair, then over to his, setting her on his lap. “You’re not fine. You have nightmares. How often?”

  He thought for a second there she was going to bolt. Instead, she stayed. “A few a month.”

  “Always about your dad?”

  “Not always.”

  He s
wept his thumb across her cheek. “It’s no wonder you’re such a mess, Haven. You miss your dad. You’re not sleeping well. And you never allowed yourself the time to grieve over him.”

  She let out a sigh. “You know what? You’re right. I do miss him. A lot. He was more than just my dad. He was my best friend.”

  He saw the tears shimmer in her eyes, saw how much she tried to battle them back.

  “Just let it go.”

  “It makes me feel weak. It’s been almost a year. I’ve already cried bucketsful. How much more is there? Shouldn’t this . . .” She made a fist and clutched it to her chest. “Shouldn’t this pain go away?”

  “I don’t know. Eventually, it will. But you have to feel however you feel. Trying not to feel is what’s hurting you the most.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Think of it as honoring your dad whenever you cry for him. You know you’ll always miss him, and sometimes you just need to go with your feelings.”

  Haven felt such a well of emotion at the moment. Not just for her dad, but for Trevor. Most men walled up their emotion, and definitely didn’t understand, or even want to be around weepy women. She knew plenty of guys who’d just tell her to suck it up and get over it. But here Trevor was, holding her on his lap and rubbing her back while she tried like hell to hold back the floodgates. And he encouraged her to release it.

  She shuddered in a breath, finally tired of the fight. She let the tears fall and lay on his chest, releasing what she felt was a year’s full of pain. She clutched his shirt and cried. Not as long as she did the other night after her nightmare, but for about five minutes she had a good, hard cry. And all the while, Trevor stroked her hair and her back and didn’t say a word. It was comforting to know he was there for her, and for those few minutes, she wasn’t alone.

  That was the first time in all these months since she’d lost her dad that she didn’t feel alone in this. She pulled back, using his shirt to wipe her eyes.

  “I made a mess of you,” she said.

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  She splayed her hands across his chest. “You should take off your shirt.”

  “Why? Do you need to blow your nose in it?”