Page 69 of Double Play

“I told you I’ll follow your lead.” I’ll go wherever she wants me to go. And I kiss her once more, swiping my tongue against hers before breaking free before I wind us up again.

With a heavy sigh, she says, “I guess we should go back.”

“Do we have to?” I pout.

She chuckles, light and easy, proving her anxiety has vanished. She presses up on her toes and gives me a quick peck before stating, “I’m afraid so.”

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s finish this. One more hour and then your place.”

“Oh, are you inviting yourself over?” she teases.

“Absolutely.” I love her cozy house more than my cold apartment which feels extra empty when she isn’t there.

I reach for the door of the conference room and set my other hand on her lower back, guiding her out of the place.

Only, the second we step into the hallway, we come face to face with Eddie Ramirez.

India stiffens, her back ramrod straight a second before she steps forward as if my hand on her back is scorching her flesh.

My touch isn’t wanted. Not in front of others and I try to ignore the sudden hurt near my sternum.

“Ramirez,” I address my pitching coach, who looks almost as awkward as I feel. He tips his head, forcing his eyes to stay on my face and not look at India.

“Wylde.” He swallows hard, eyes losing their fight and shifting to India for the briefest moment before slinging back to me.

“If you’ll excuse me,” India says without giving me a second glance or even looking directly at Eddie. Then she’s slipping away from me, rushing down the hallway while swiping at her cheeks.

Fuck. Everything in me says to chase like I just promised her I would, but I can’t. Because she doesn’t really want me to do that. Not here where others can see us. Not in front of a fellow coach.

“I was just—” There’s no right way to explain myself. India Baker, a field reporter from The Den, and a colleague considered off-limits, and I were just coming out of a dark conference room. There really isn’t an appropriate explanation.

Eddie taps at the collar of his shirt, just above his suit.

“What?” I ask, not interpreting the hand signal when I’m a man who lives by passing them out to others.

“You have lipstick on your collar,” he states.

And as I stare at him, then drop my gaze to where he signaled that I have lipstick on the collar of my shirt, I notice something on the side of his neck.

“So do you.”

twenty-eight

. . .

[India]

I’m only slightly embarrassed that Declan and I have been caught leaving a dark conference room together during a fundraising event.

However, I’m truly mortified when I round the corner of the secondary hallway and run smack into my boss, Connor Reid.

“India.” His tone is light but sounds surprised by my abrupt exit from the narrow corridor off the main concourse.

“Connor.” I choke on his name. While roughly my own age, we are not equals, as he manages The Den, and all its operations. When we first met, I was quickly put at ease by his warm smile and encouraging words. He praised the selection of interviews I submitted as part of the interview process and honored my request to leave my father out of any decision making.

Connor admitted he didn’t know my father, he’d simply been impressed by what he’d seen of my reporting and thought The Den could offer me more opportunity.

He was right and I never wanted to do anything to jeopardize the position I’m in.