“Yeah. I mean, I know the premise, but the game only ended two hours ago. Aren’t you tired?”
I open my mouth to give her the truth before replacing it with something that doesn’t need explaining. “It’s either I watch it now or in the morning.”
“And mornings are no good for you?”
“Do you have a question for every answer I give you?” I ask, turning toward her. My chest is heavy with unease, warning me that her probing curiosity has started to wear me down.
“I’m just trying to get to know you.”
“Why?” I spit, crueller than intended. With a sweaty palm, I scrub at my jaw. “There’s nothing to know.”
Her foot stills, and then she’s uncrossing her legs and sliding to the edge of her chair. My thigh tingles when her knee makes contact again. This time, it stays there as her hands curl in her lap.
“That’s not what I believe.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Well, I think you’re lonely. And you’ve been this way for so long that me being interested is freaking you out and leading you to shove a thousand excuses between us to keep me at a safer distance.”
I clench my jaw and watch the batter on my monitor hit a foul, not registering the name of the player. My shoulders have curled in like the subconscious part of my brain is trying to protect me from a goddamn predator instead of the woman fifteen years my junior who’s drowning in a jersey that’s far toobig for her frame. I pull them back and let myself look at her.Just for a second.
One turns into ten, then twenty, as I find myself drowning in the bright green eyes staring back at me. The sincerity inside of them is too obvious to ignore. Too fucking innocent.
And now I don’t know what’s worse. Her constant flirting and announcement of the connection we share, or this new ability she’s mastered that allows her to tunnel her way into my every inner thought, just to learn the things I’ve buried too deep to expose on my own.
“I have Evie. And the team,” I say.
“Evie is pretty great. Have you always looked after her?”
It’s the innocent way of asking where her mother is. A sour taste fills my mouth before I force myself to swallow.
“Not the way I do now,” is all I can make myself say.
Luckily, it seems to be enough for her. She doesn’t push further. I let go of some of the tightness in my muscles when she turns her attention to the game. Her eyes bounce all over the monitor as she watches the Havoc batters come in, and Kellan takes position at home plate. The genuine interest in her expression doesn’t surprise me.
I believed her when she said she was interested in baseball.
“You know, I don’t like to tell Kellan how good he is that often because his head is already so big, but he really is a great player,” she murmurs when he hits the ball into deep left field.
“He’s one of the best.”
Silence falls again. I scratch at the stubble on my jaw and steal another glance at her. It’s impossible to focus with her right here with me when all I want to do is stare at her and watch every little reaction she has to the game in front of us.
I let my thigh press more firmly against her knee while leaning deeper into my leather chair and taking the opportunity to study her without her doing the same to me.
Her short hair is braided today, with those two bright red strands curled and brushing her cheeks. I don’t remember it always being that deep shade, but I didn’t use to pay much attention. The few times we crossed paths prior to the photoshoot run-in, I was so focused on work and making sure my players had their heads in the right place to ensure we had a good game that I didn’t see anything outside of that.
She was blonde.
A flash of Brielle sitting beside Aubrey on the plane last season for the last series of playoff games floods my vision, making me blink. Her hair was bright blonde then and at least a few inches longer. I remember because I asked Wesley why his sister had stamped green stars in it. They never would have stood out the way they did if her hair were this vibrant red colour.
“Why did you change your hair?” I blurt out.
She hums low in her throat when she turns her head. Her eyes cling to the monitor until they’re forced off, focusing on me instead. “Hmm?”
“It was blonde.”
“I guess I just wanted a change. It’ll be a bitch to get back to blonde, though. Think it was worth the inevitable hours bleaching?”
