Page 45 of Third Strike Smitten

“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice light as he approaches. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His face is dark with something I can’t quite read as I hear him say from a few feet away, “Just please fucking trust me.” His voice is rough and the vulnerability in his eyes makes me want to hug him and tell him it’s all going to be alright.

Except I don’t know what’s going on to be able to promise him that.

Before I can respond to him, though, Killian closes the distance between us and kisses me. And it’s not just a quick hello kiss. His lips are warm and insistent, one hand wrapping around my waist and the other coming up to cradle the back of my head. The kiss is not at all what I expected. It’s not the gentle, tentative press of lips I imagined for our first public display. This is desperate, almost frantic, like he’s trying to anchor himself to something solid. My brain short-circuits and every coherent thought in my head evaporates the second his mouth moves against mine.

Jesus Christ, he’s a good kisser.

Annoyingly, stupidly, unfairly good.

The kind of good that makes your toes curl inside your sneakers, and your hand find the fabric of his practice jersey without permission. I’m gripping the front of his shirt like I’m the one who needed an anchor and somewhere in the back of my mind, the part that’s still functioning at partial capacity, I know there are people watching.

And maybe that’s the point.

I also know that knowing something and feeling something are two entirely different things, and right now what I feel is completely, catastrophically melted. When Killian finally pulls back, just barely, his forehead drops to mine the way it does in movies you’re not supposed to cry at but definitely do anyway.

“Breathe with me, Coach,” he begs, so low only I can hear it. His chest rises and falls as quickly as mine does. “And please don’t look at me like you’ve never been kissed before. People are watching.”

Right.

People are watching.

“To be fair, Mr. Haynes,” I whisper to him, feeling the heat in my cheeks sink in. “Being kissed, and being kissed by Killian Haynes, star pitcher for the Portland Lagers, are two very different things.”

I feel his body start to relax as he takes a deep breath and lets it out, trying to give me a timid smile along the way.

I smooth my hand up his muscular arm, trying to keep my face neutral. “You okay?”

“No.” His hazel eyes lift and meet mine in a stare filled with what I can only describe as fear of the unknown. “But with you here, maybe I will be.”

I try to steady my breathing as I pull back slightly, my hand still resting on his arm. The panic on his face is real, raw, and completely at odds with the confident man I’ve come to know.

“What happened?” I ask quietly.

Killian glances around, his jaw tight. “Not here,” he murmurs. “Too many ears.”

I nod, understanding immediately. Whatever has him this rattled isn’t something he wants broadcasted across the bullpen. I slide my hand down to his, threading our fingers together in what I hope looks like a casual, loving gesture rather than the lifeline I’m offering him.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Where do you want to go?”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “I’m done for the day. Shep’s cooking dinner tonight. He and Seb want to meet you. That okay? Hop will be there too.”

I smile lovingly at the nicknames he has for his brothers. “Of course, whatever you need.”

Holy shit!

Dinner with the Haynes brothers?

Yes please!

“We can talk on the way.” He squeezes my hand. “I just...I need to get out of here.”

“Lead the way,” I tell him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze back, noting the way his hand is trembling slightly in mine.

As we walk through the stadium, I’m acutely aware of the eyes on us. Players, coaches, staff—they’re all watching the Lagers’ starting pitcher with his mystery redhead. We stop in the locker room just long enough for Killian to change out of his cleats and grab his wallet and keys. And when we reach a long hallway stretching toward some bigger offices, I notice a few people at the far end dressed in suits. Having no idea who they are or what they’re here for, I instinctively tug on Killian’s arm, which gets him to turn toward me. “Hey…” I don’t know what pushes me to do it. Maybe it’s the sheer panic I felt from him or the fact I don’t want anyone to think we’re not okay…that Killian isn’t okay. I give him a soft, reassuring smile and cup his stubbled cheek in my hand. “Kiss me again. Right here.”

Or maybe I just liked the kiss the first time and kind of want to do it again. Can’t blame a girl for trying.