An invisible string.
I think of Jake. The way he looked at me. The way my body answered his without a single shred of logic.
“Do you think people like that ever get a second chance?” The question slips out before my brain stops it. I’m being invasive. I don’t want the tables turned, but I can’t help it. I’m curious. Roddy and Daisy seem so . . . destined, I guess.
She doesn’t answer right away, her eyes remaining on Roddy as he props one foot on the top step and leans his weight against the dugout screen. A wicked, girlish giggle slips from her lips.
“Well,” she hums, leaning in close. “Take a look at that man’s ass. He’s seventeen years older, and it’s still the best damn view in baseball. It is incredibly hard to say no to an ass like that.”
I burst out laughing, the tension in my chest fracturing. “Daisy!”
“I’m serious!” she laughs out, nudging my shoulder.
I shake my head, but as my eyes drift back to the field, they instinctively lock onto Jake’s backside as he squats behind the plate. Baseball pants don’t leave a single thing to the imagination, and it’s clear Jake is disciplined when it comes to taking care of his body. My throat goes a bit dry.
Like father, like son.
Any thoughts of anatomy are quickly replaced by pure adrenaline the moment the umpire jerks his arm back and belts out a loud, “Strike three!”
Daisy and I both leap to our feet, and I push two fingers into my mouth and let loose with a whistle.
“Damn, girl!” Daisy says, leaning into me as she continues to clap for a clean inning with nobody on base.
The pitchers always get the credit, but that sequence came from Jake. He studied the hitters Martinez would face and framed every pitch just right. My whistle? It’s for him.
For the next two innings, Jake doesn’t just play ball, he shreds on the bases. For a bulky guy, I didn’t expect such speed. Maybe he’s just using every tool in his kit and draining every ounce of strength and grit. Whatever he’s doing, he’s managed to rack up an RBI double and a back-pick to first base from behind the plate.
By the top of the third, Coach Davis doesn’t pull him. He keeps him in, giving him one more at bat. Jake digs in at the box, and he works his way to a 2-1 count before jumping on a hanging curveball that he sends into the gap and manages to stretch for a triple. He looks gassed after diving into third, but the exhaustion is quickly overrun by adrenaline as he pumps a fist in the air and shouts, “Let’s go!”
Daisy and I haven’t sat down for an entire inning.Between his offense and his work behind the plate, there’s too much to be excited about. And something about cheering him on next to his mom makes it feel like I have permission to root for him publicly. Sure, it’s normal for a marketing person to root for their client to succeed, but I know the feeling in my belly as Jake soars is more than just professional pride. I am loving thisfor him.
I head back inside after Jake gets subbed out for his father, and being around the quiet chatter in the pressroom is a cold dose of reality. By the time the game wraps up, I’m back to biting my nails and overthinking literally everything that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours.
I hover at the back of the press conference as Jake handles the local media. He practically beams a blinding grin at them as they fire away questions about his performance. He doesn’t even seem to mind when the line of questioning veers toward the video currently lighting up the sports socials about him and his father. He gives Connor a shout out, which I’m sure Connor appreciates. All the while, Roddy stands in the back, quiet while his son takes the spotlight. Proud.
I don’t wait for him to finish before slipping quietly out the back of the media room. I decided before the game was over that I would head back to Sweetwater ahead of the team. I can’t risk being in the same hotel as him tonight. I’ve already imagined things, and I have a feeling he has too. I fear I won’t be able to say no to him if he tries to kiss me again.Or more.
I managed to score a close spot in the staff lot, so I get back to the hotel well before the rest of the team. I’m nearly packed and ready to jet when a sharp knock at my door makes me freeze.
I drag my feet to the door as my pulse ratchets up. Iknow it’s him before I look through the peephole, and seeing his smile when I look through it feels better than it should. I slide the chain lock off and crack the door open, and before I can speak, Jake slips inside. He shuts the door behind him with a soft click, his massive frame taking up every extra inch of space. He’s still wearing the dark blue Mavericks shirt he wore during his press conference. His hair is damp from the post-game shower. He smells delicious.
“Quite the game!” I pull my arm back and send a soft punch into his shoulder, which I’m sure looks as ridiculous as it feels. The way Jake’s gaze studies the spot I hit as his lips pucker with amusement confirms it.
“Did you see me do press?” he asks, following me deeper into my room.
“Of course,” I answer, scratching at the back of my neck, which is burning hot from nervous energy. I turn to face him when I reach the foot of my bed and my open suitcase, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.
“You did great. I’m really proud of you.” My smile pushes my cheeks so high that I see their tops.
“Yeah?” He steps closer, entirely ignoring the physical distance I am clearly trying to create.
“Uh huh.” My dry throat forces me to swallow.
In one smooth movement, he reaches out. His finger hooks into the front waistband of my pants, tugging me forward just enough to force my eyes up to his.
“I was looking for you in the back. You vanished.”
His knuckles graze against my midriff, and my body breaks out in goosebumps. His touch is electric. Every muscle in my body screams at me to step into him, close the gap, wrap my arms around his neck, and leap into his arms so I can press my aching center on what I suspect is his hard cock. I don’t dare look down, though I want to. Desperately.
