by Meghan Quinn
True.
Yes, he’s had words about the things I’ve asked him to do, but what’s this really about?
This has nothing to do with his professionalism and everything to do with the feelings building up inside of me and the personal connection I’ve tried to form with him. I can’t really hold him accountable for that when he doesn’t even know what’s running through my head.
Oh boy, I’m totally being a girl right now, expecting him to know what’s going on when he’s probably the most clueless man on the planet.
Might as well get it out in the open.
“Yes, you’ve done everything I’ve asked and I appreciate that.” I clear my throat, shifting a piece of paper on my glass-top desk. “I guess I’m just dealing with the small matter that is . . . um, I find you—” I pause, hating myself. “I find you to be the kind of a male type, that, you know . . .” I clear my throat. “That has a nice, uh . . . the sort of”—I wave my hand over my face as his lips curl up—“you’re of the more . . .” I cough delicately. “Um, nicer to look at kind of people.”
There.
I said it.
In a roundabout way.
“That’s one way to say you’re attracted to me.”
“Well, you get the point.” I pick up a pen and start fiddling with it. “And to add, it seems as if you have the same kind of attraction toward me, and if I’m way off base here, I’m sorry, I just—”
“Don’t apologize,” he practically growls.
My initial reaction is to say sorry for saying sorry but I hold back and take a deep breath. “I know you’re a professional athlete and probably have tons of women throwing themselves at you—not that I’m throwing myself at you or anything. It’s—”
“You’re hot, Kate. Really hot, and it’s distracting.”
Oh.
Well, there it is. He thinks I’m hot.
Do not smile.
Do not react.
The corners of my lips twitch.
DO NOT SMILE.
But Walker Rockwell thinks I’m hot. How could I not smile about that?
“Distracting, huh?” I ask, looking at anything but him.
“Very, and it’s why I’ve been so off and on with you, because I can’t seem to focus when you wear dresses like that.” He nods at my form-fitting wrap dress.
“It’s just a dress.”
“You know damn well it isn’t just a dress, and those skirts that frame your ass aren’t just skirts, either.”
“Okay, yeah, they’re pencil skirts.”
His eyes zero in on me, and for a second, I have a brief glimpse of what pitchers see right before they throw to him, an intense gaze that’s so incredibly intimidating.
“I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“Nothing.” He pulls his hand over his face while exhaling. “But we needed to get it out in the open. If I touch you, it’s not because I’m trying to confuse you, it’s because I’ve held back for so long that if I don’t reach out and feel your skin, I might combust.”
The blood in my veins heats up, warming my entire body.
The breath in my lungs is stolen from me, making it hard to breathe.
And the beat of my heart crawls up my throat, to my ears, making it almost impossible to hear anything else but my yearning for this man.
“Is that why you were touching me in the suite?”
He nods. “I couldn’t fucking take it any longer. There’s a strict no fraternizing with the players policy, and I get that, I respect it, but I want you to know where I stand when it comes to you.” He shakes his head, almost as if he doesn’t believe what he’s about to say. “You’re different, Kate. You struck a chord with me that I wasn’t ready for. I’ve never met a woman like you, and it’s hard for me to adjust to that.”
“You’re just infatuated because of my sock idea,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
But his face doesn’t crack a smile; if anything, it grows exponentially more intense.
“I’m infatuated because you’re the first woman to connect with me on a different level. The first woman who’s tried to help me rather than use me. I’m infatuated because when you look up at me with those chocolate eyes of yours, I can’t help but get lost in them.”
Wow.
Okay.
There’s something to be said for someone who doesn’t talk very much. When they speak, their words hold more of a punch than ever expected.
I blink a few times, unsure of what to say.
Is it weird to say thank you?
What about swooning at his feet? Is that acceptable?
I’ve never had a man blatantly tell me how he feels without some sort of pick-up line attached to it. Walker is throwing me for a loop.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” I reply honestly.
“You don’t need to say anything. Just know, that’s where I stand. When you get frustrated or irritated with me because one second, I’m pulling you in close, and then the next, pushing you away, that’s why. Because I want you but I can’t have you.”
He stands from his chair and heads to my office door. Facing me he asks, “Can you sign me up for a speech?”
“Uh . . . yeah,” I answer, feeling breathless. “I can do that.”
“Thank you.”
Without another word, he exits my office, leaving a tumultuous wake that shakes me to my core behind him.
What am I supposed to do with that information besides obsess incessantly over it?
Chapter Twenty-Five
WALKER
The locker room is buzzing with music as everyone gets ready for the game. It’s one of the more relaxing moments we have during our season, the moments before we take the field. While the fans hustle around the stadium picking up their food and drinks and playing mindless giveaways, we’re floors below them, fucking around and trying to ease the tension before going out on the field and giving it our all.
“What?” Brad laughs in the corner next to Penn. “What do you mean she’s ghosting you?”
His voice carries through the locker room, drawing the attention of everyone, even me.
“Say it a little louder next time,” Penn says, irritated.
“Please, we all have women problems. Check out Langston, for instance.”
Our outfielder looks up.
“His girlfriend is looking for a proposal and he’s not ready, but doesn’t want to lose her, either.”
Langston shakes his head. “Why can’t they just be fucking patient? I’m going to marry her. Just give me a goddamn second to establish my career.”
“And Gerry over there just got his baby mama pregnant with no intention of putting a ring on it,” Brad continues.
“She’s hot, but we have nothing in common.” Gerry grimaces. “My mom thinks we should still get married. I told her boning like bunnies isn’t a great foundation for a long-lasting marriage.”
“I think you have your priorities messed up.” Penn laughs. He leans back in his chair and observes the room, scouting out all our teammates. When his eyes land on me, a huge smile spreads over his face. “What about Rockwell?”
“I’m not sure,” Brad says, head tilted, studying me.
“He’s got something hidden in there. Walker has to have some kind of girl problem.”
At that moment, Ryot walks into the room, yogurt in hand, and absentmindedly says, “He totally is lusting after a girl he can’t have.”
The room erupts in “oohhhs” as Ryot realizes what he just said.
What the actual fuck?
“Rockwell wants a girl he can’t have, interesting,” Penn says, practically frothing at the mouth with excitement.
“Drop it,” I mutter while pulling up my socks and pants to just below my knees.
“Who’s the girl?” Penn asks, ignoring my muttered threat. Penn doesn’t wait and turns his attention to Ryot. “Who’s the girl, Ryot?”
“Uhh . . .” He looks between me and Penn and then
says, “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.” Penn laughs. “What’s the problem? Why can’t you have her?”
I stand and adjust the belt of my pants while asking, “Do you really think I’m going to talk to you about this shit? Drop it and move on.”
“Come on, I think all the boys here would love a little story time from you, am I right?”
Cheers erupt from around the locker room.
I shake my head. “You’re delusional if you think that’s going to happen.”
“At least tell us one thing about her,” Torres pipes up. “Gives us a little something.”
I tug on my jersey and button up the front. I concede with a huff and say, “One thing? Fine, if she were in the locker room right now, all of you sorry motherfuckers would be begging to have a second of her time.”
“Just like you, right?” Penn counters.
“If I truly wanted to make her mine, I would. Don’t doubt that.”
The boys all whistle out their warnings as I take off out of the locker room, toward the cafeteria. Ryot follows closely behind, looking guilty as hell.
“Dude, I said I was sorry,” Ryot says, chasing after me as I walk down the halls of the stadium, freshly showered and thankful for another win for the Bobbies. I went three for five with three RBIs and another home run. I haven’t seen the ball this well in a while. It almost feels as though the ball is the size of a beachball and I can poke it anywhere on the field that I want to.
But even though we had a win and I felt every crack of the ball off my bat today, I’m still fucking pissed.
What the hell was Ryot thinking?
When I asked him in the cafeteria, he had zero explanation other than he’s a dumbass. I agreed with that.
I told him about Kate the other day, not revealing her name or going into detail about her, because I wanted to protect Kate’s name in case Ryot had a slip-up—like today.
What an idiot.
“Are you really going to give me the silent treatment? You can’t do that. You saw how I hit today. We can’t be in a fight; it affects my game.”
“You should’ve thought about that before you said anything.”
“But I said I was sorry.”
I stop and turn to face him. “Cutler is never going to let this go. You realize that, right? You practically gave him gold in the locker room.”
“I know.” Ryot puts both his hands on his head, clearly distressed. “I’m really sorry, man. The last thing I want is for your life to be more difficult, you know that.”
“Yeah. I know.” I lean against the wall. “Fuck, why is he such a dick?”
“He’s only a dick to you. Everyone else loves him. It’s the history, the competitive nature in him to always want to be better than you. I think he’ll take your rivalry to his grave.”
“And I want nothing to do with it.”
“Maybe he’ll get struck in the head one of these days and forget all about it.”
I chuckle, imagining Penn taking a ball to the head. “Amnesia really is the only solution.”
“Hey, who knows, maybe you two could be friends if that ever happens.”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “I hate the guy too much even if he had amnesia. This rivalry stays in my bones. Forgiving and forgetting doesn’t come easy to me.”
“Even the forgiving part?” Ryot asks with a squint to his eye.
“You know I can’t stay mad at you, even though the temptation to punch you between the eyes is heavy.”
“Go ahead, punch me, I deserve it.”
I shake my head. “It’ll get back to the media somehow that I got in a fight with my best friend. Don’t need that shit.”
“Ah, I’m still your best friend.” Ryot opens his arms up and charges toward me. Before I can prevent him from making an ass of himself, his arms fly around me and he squeezes me tight. “I love you,” he whispers in my ear, taking this to next-level creepy.
A throat clears from behind us. “Am I interrupting something?”
Still in a bro embrace, we turn to see Kate standing in the hallway, looking fine as fuck, with her arms crossed over her chest.
I push Ryot away and say, “Nah, we’re good.”
“Are you sure? Because I can give you some privacy.”
“We’re good.” I push Ryot farther away. He looks between us and I’m pretty sure it clicks in his head, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Yeah, we’re good. A late-night dinner is calling my name. Catch you tomorrow, man.”
“See ya,” I say, stuffing my hands in my pockets, letting Ryot gain some distance before I ask, “Was there something you needed?”
“Nope.” She shakes her head with a smile. “Just headed out for the night.”
“Cool,” I answer lamely.
“We can walk out together, you know.”
“Yeah, sure,” I respond, feeling as though I’ve lost all of my swagger overnight.
Together—awkwardly—we make our way toward the players’ parking lot exit. Staff will park in the spaces occasionally as well depending on their credentials. Looks as though Kate scored a parking spot. She deserves one, having to deal with us on a daily basis.
“You played a good game tonight,” she says, breaking the bumbling tension between us.
“You got to watch?”
“Here and there. I might have stopped what I was doing to catch your at-bats.” Shyly, she looks up at me and smiles.
I grind my molars together, trying to keep myself from reaching out and touching her, from pushing her up against the wall and feeling the curves of her hips, or tasting that sweet mouth of hers.
“Did you cheer me on?”
“On the inside. Didn’t want to show favorites, you know,” she answers.
“I’m your favorite?”
She turns her head down and fiddles with her purse. “If you asked me that question a few months ago, my answer would’ve been different.”
“But now . . .”
She chews on the side of her lip and says, “I think you know the answer to that.”
“I want to hear you say it.” We reach the door to the outside, but instead of opening it, I keep my hand on the handle and wait for her to answer.
Slowly, her eyelashes flutter open and those expressive eyes connect with mine. “You’re my favorite Bobbie, Walker.”
“Damn right,” I say while opening the door and letting her walk through it first. I want to kiss her. I want to wrap my arms around her and kiss her senseless. You’re my favorite Bobbie, Walker. Fuck yes, I like that.
She pauses and looks up at me right before she passes through the threshold, her body vibrating with energy next to mine. “Thank you,” she says barely above a whisper before passing through, her sweet scent hitting me right in the gut.
Fuck, I want her.
Bad.
“What are you doing for the rest of the night?” she asks, walking backward while talking to me.
“Going home, sleeping. You?”
She faces forward, her hair floating over her shoulders as she spins. “Getting some ice cream.”
“Yeah? Where?”
“There’s this place right around the corner from here that’s open late and has the best soft serve I’ve ever had. Once a month, I treat myself. Tonight’s the night.”
“Sounds good,” I say, unsure of what else to say.
Smiling devilishly, she asks, “Do you want to join me?”
“I shouldn’t,” I answer automatically, causing her face to fall.
“Yeah, I don’t know why I asked.”
“Because you want me to go.”
She walks toward a white Toyota Corolla and pulls her keys from her purse. “It’s nice to have company.” She shrugs. “But I get it.”
She unlocks her car and I follow closely behind her.
“Have a good night,” she says and opens the door to her car.
Without saying a word, I round her car and open the passenger d
oor. I squeeze myself into the small car, my knees hitting the dashboard.
Peeking her head through her door, a confused look on her face, she asks, “Uh, what’s happening right now?”
“I said I shouldn’t, not that I didn’t want to.”
The corners of her mouth curve up, showing off her brilliantly beautiful smile as she sits in her seat. If all it takes is an ice cream trip to garner such a sweetly innocent reaction from her, I’ll get ice cream every goddamn day.
“I’m buying,” she says.
“Only because I don’t think I can get in and out of this tin box more than once.”
She starts her car and says, “Don’t exaggerate, my car isn’t that small.”
“If you get in an accident, my knees will impale my belly button.”
“Who knew you were such a drama queen?” She pulls out of the parking lot and onto a main street.
“My knees are rubbing my nipples.”
“Promise a guy some ice cream and he loosens up, all of a sudden.” At a stop light she leans over, reaches between my legs—fuck—and then yanks up, sending my seat flying back and giving me much-needed leg room. “There, that better?” she asks, sitting back up.
“No. I think you need to reach between my legs again, but higher this time.”
Eyes wide, she slowly meets my gaze. “Oh my God, you did not just say that.”
“I’m a man, Kate. You can’t reach between my legs like that and expect me to think anything else.”
“But to say it out loud?”
“I don’t bullshit. I say it like it is. You should know this by now.”
She makes a left-hand turn and says, “I guess you’re right, given your last confession of thinking I’m hot and all.”
“Digging for compliments?”
“Well, I did wear this dress just for you today.”
“Did you?” I ask, surprised.
“No.” She chuckles. “But the satisfied look on your face was worth the lie.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
KATE
Carefully, I balance both ice cream cones in my hand and open my door, and a wave of Walker’s fresh soap smell invades my surroundings as I take a seat in the car. I hand the ice cream over to him, our fingers grazing.