Page 56 of Under Pressure

Supposedly, the mom was still ushering her babies into a straight line, and he wasn’t thinking of anything but protecting them when he swerved. I think that’s him laying it on a bit thick, but who am I to argue? It’s a good story to tell when he wants to make a group of women swoon, that’s for sure.

His girlfriend probably heard all about it the first time they met. It’s only been a couple of weeks since they started seeing each other, and yeah, the more I think of it, the more I believe that was his winning line.

“You’re both assholes.” He twists to face me. “Maybe if you had a story as heartfelt as mine, you’d already be dating that coffee chick.”

“I don’t need a cheesy story about geese to win a woman’s heart,” I argue.

“Well, you need something.”

I shake my head at Mateo, forcing my expression into one of disappointment. “What a shame. I was going to take you under my wing and nurture you like Kamron wanted to do with those geese. But now? Maybe I’ll hitch a ride with him when he takes you back to Seattle.”

Kamron scoffs. “You know what, maybe toss one of those soothers over here, Mat. Beck here needs something to busy his mouth so he stops speaking.”

“I don’t actually have any fucking soothers, jackass,” Mateo grunts.

“Shame. Now we have to listen to Starboy for another forty minutes.”

I lean back in my chair and drop my legs, staring out the fence wall. It’s clear that the team is struggling a bit with Asher taking time off. The guy they pulled up from Seattle is having a hard time gelling with the infielders, but at least he can hit fine. It’s just a shame his batting average doesn’t matter when the team is letting up multiple runs an inning.

Mateo knows more about him than I do, and I’ll admit I haven’t tried to get to know him all that well. I’m partial to Asher, and I don’t like getting attached to the players who are only here for a few weeks. The rookie beside me is different because he’s with me in the bullpen every game, and it’s impossible not to bond in such close quarters night after night.

It’ll fucking suck when he goes back. It always does.

The urge to grab my phone so I can see if Quinn replied to me is jarring. Discomfort bites at me as I focus back on the game and not the inevitable goodbyes and roster changes that are going to come soon. She’d be able to take my mind off it. Even if she was just insulting me or brushing off more of my jokes.

Quinn has the ability to fill my cup like no other, and I haven’t been stupid enough to complain about that.

Having her in my place last night was surreal. She stayed in her room, and I stayed in mine, yet just knowing she was there had me sleeping like a goddamn baby. Even with barely any sleep, I was more awake than I’d been in ages when my alarm went off.

She was still in the guest room when I left for the stadium, which I hope means she was sleeping and not worrying too much. If I know her as well as I think I do, then that’s a uselesswish. I’d bet she was up before I was and on the phone making calls before any places had even opened.

Independence is sexy as hell on its own, but in addition to everything else Quinn has going for her? I never stood a fucking chance.

My teammates can give me a hard time for being so taken by her. It’s not going to embarrass me or force my hand into taking a step back. The only person who can make me leave Quinn alone is her, and until she does that, I’m going to keep chipping at those walls until they crumble for me.

And once they’re gone?

She’ll be mine.

True to his word, my name gets me to the elevator at Beck’s place.

I watch each number light up inside as it climbs higher and higher, the soft music floating around me. By the time there’s a ding and the doors slide open, I’m more than ready to be on solid ground again. My stomach stabilizes when I start down the hallway and come up to the door before dipping again. The keypad above the handle beeps when I input the code he sent earlier, and a green light flashes.

I’m nervous for some reason. Even the reminder that he isn’t inside waiting for me doesn’t settle me, and that’s frustrating. I’m a mess of a thousand different emotions when I finally push the door open and step inside. It closes with a soft click, and Icarefully slip my sneakers off, not wanting to scuff the shiny wood floors.

The lights are already on, and I could have sworn I turned them off when I left this morning. Beck could have come home before the game, I guess. Or maybe I didn’t actually turn them off like I thought I did.

But then I hear . . . nails clicking?

The loud, excited bark is so unexpected that I actually scream. It flies out of my mouth before I slap a hand to it to quiet myself. I spin around and gape down at the golden puffball that’s flying toward me now.

The scratch and click of nails on the hardwood floors is louder now as the dog reaches me and thumps its tail on the ground. It rubs up against my shins and wiggles its back end so hard I almost reach forward to still it. I can’t seem to get any words out as I stumble back a step and try not to fall into the door.

A pair of soft brown eyes watches me as I hesitatingly lower my hand for it to smell. Its nose is wet when it rubs against my palm and then licks the length of it. That back end is still wiggling away, and this time, I do reach out to try and steady it.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” I finally say.

It takes that as approval instead of a warning and jumps up onto its back legs. The two front ones make contact with my middle, and my back meets the door a beat later. I blow out a breathy laugh and scratch behind its floppy ears, running my eyes over its face.