Page 57 of The Sweet Spot

“Hey, Whit.”

She glances over her shoulder and raises a brow.

“For what it's worth,” I say, “I think you threw a great first pitch.”

She laughs. “Get out of here, Callahan,” she says, but she's smiling as I head for the door.

When I'm outside, I stand in the hallway for a second longer than necessary, then head for the elevator, still smelling faintly of her, with her number in my pocket and my flight window getting narrower by the minute.

Worth it.

“I’m here!” I yell, pushing through the airplane doors and nearly knocking over one of the broadcasting crew on my way.

“Oops. Sorry, Jeff.”

He grumbles as I help him regain his balance.

“Didn’t see you there.”

“No problem, JB,” he says, dusting his jeans off.

When I glance up, I’m met with not only the forty-man roster looking at me, but the entire broadcasting team and the coaching staff, all watching my near takedown of Jeff.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say, clearing my throat.

“JB!” Grayson booms as he jumps out of his seat and heads toward me. “Don’t worry, boys,” he says to the rest of the team as he wraps his arm around my shoulder. “We’re all good! Our catcher didn’t eat himself into a hot dog coma after winning the ProAm. We’re all safe.”

His comment earns a few hollers from our teammates.

“Is that what you think happened?”

He doesn’t answer. He just steers me down the aisle toward the back of the plane where the pitchers always sit and talk about Tommy John surgery. At least that’s what I think they talk about. I’m never really listening.

I high-five teammates as I pass.

“Why is no one yelling at me? I’m ten minutes late.”

Grayson squeezes my shoulder. “You’re good. Tate had to deal with something, and he hasn’t come back yet. There’s no way we are leaving without that man.”

“Yes!” I pump my fist. I’m not late, and I spent the night pleasuring Whit. Could my life get any better? Maybe with some in-air hot dogs.

When I get to my usual seat across the aisle from Grayson, I stuff my bag in the overhead compartment, and just as I’m about to take a seat, Grayson asks, “So, a tall, skinny birdie told me that you and a certain hot golfer might be a thing.”

A tall, skinny birdie?

My gaze falls straight onto Max, because Austin doesn’t match that description. He’s more of a stout baby goose. He's thick in all the right places, a little clumsy, and weirdly adorable. Definitely not a gossip.

No, that’s Max.

He’s standing near the front of the plane, drinking a bottle of water, and... surprise, surprise, Sienna is just on the other side, talking to Jeff. Maybe I should rat his obsession out to the biggest playboy on the team and see how he likes it.

I turn to Grayson. “There’s nothing going on with me and Andy Weiss. What would make you think that?” I joke. Let’s be real, even if Whit wasn’t the best golfer on the planet, I’d still think she was the best.

Grayson's lips pull into a smile. “Dude's hot, but we all know Whit Marlow is hotter.”

When he drops into his usual seat, I follow suit, moving to the aisle seat next to him and beside Max.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to pry,” Grayson says before I can offer any more wisdom. “You deserve it.”