Fletch gives a sharp shake of his head. “And we’re done. Good chat, Owner.”
I snort. “See ya tomorrow, Coach.”
Fletch is nearly through the locker room doors when he stops and turns, his hand on the frame.
“You know, you don’t actually have to come to tomorrow’s game, right?”
The words hit like a fastball to the chest. After the way today’s gone—and with Sean not showing up—it feels like another door quietly closing.
“Do you not want me here?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from sounding as small as I feel.
Fletch’s eyes close like having to talk about feelings physically hurts him. “That’s not what I mean. I just think someone else might want the time more.” He tips his chin past me. “Hey, man.”
I spin, and time folds in on itself.
It’s Sean.
Standing in the tunnel, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, beard a little scruffier than usual, eyes locked on mine like I’m the only thing in his orbit.
“Hey, Boss,” he says, taking me in appreciatively. “You look even better in person.”
I run—no hesitation, no filter, no pretense.
I launch myself into his arms, and he catches me effortlessly. I wrap my legs around his waist, and his arms lock around me, solid and unshakable. He smells like the leather and pine of his truck, as well as a hint of exhaust—like the long road he drove to get to me.
I bury my face against his neck, breathing him in like I’ve been starving for air, and he holds me tighter, like he's making sure I'm real.
And then, with his scent in my lungs, my hunger sharpens—so sudden and intense, it’s unbearable.
And I kiss him. Desperately. Like I haven’t eaten, haven’t breathed since the second we said goodbye. Like his mouth is the only thing that can revive me.
He kisses me back with a soft, broken sound in his throat, one hand cradling the back of my head.
And somewhere in the middle of it, we both start laughing—quiet, shaky, relieved—as if the only thing bigger than our hunger is our gratitude.
“I can’t believe you came,” I whisper into his mouth.
“I can’t believe there was ever any doubt.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SEAN
Icould stay in this kiss forever, but a loud whoop sounds from the locker room, pulling Kayla’s attention—and lips—from mine.
She looks dazed and deliciously kiss-drunk, her lips slightly swollen, cheeks flushed, a faint patch of whisker-rub blooming on her chin.
I grin and Kayla buries her face in my neck. Lucas and half the team are standing at the door to the locker room—some wearing only towels around their waists—cheering like they just won the World Series.
“Get it, O’Shannan!” Lucas yells.
Fletch comes out of the locker room with a towel in his hand and starts spinning it. For a second, I think he’s going to whip it around in the air and start cheering.
But instead, he snaps it at Lucas’s butt.
Lucas jumps like he took a fastball to the tailbone. “Ouch! What the heck, Coach?”
“Winners earn celebration privileges. Losers hit the showers. Get back in there.”
