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Most people see a playboy, but I see someone who didn’t want to promise anyone anything he couldn’t guarantee. He’s a man of his word and when he sets his mind to something, he does it.
He’s everything I never knew I wanted, but now that I’ve seen it and felt the possibility, I can’t let go of the dream that what we have could be real.
After we banter back and forth for a few more minutes, I start to yawn loudly. I can’t help it. This day took it out of me.
“You need some sleep,” Mack finally says.
“I don’t want to hang up,” I say, my words already dragging as my eyes start to close.
“Put me on speaker.”
Giving my phone a soft smile, I hit the speaker button and place the phone on Mack’s empty side of the bed. My arms wrap tightly around his pillow. “Good night.”
“Good night, beautiful.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MACK
The locker room is a madhouse.
After winning four games on the road, we returned to New Orleans yesterday and played our hearts out tonight to clinch the division.
Champagne and beer have been sprayed from the ceiling to the floor. Every article of clothing is drenched and half the guys are walking around mostly naked.
It’s a beautiful sight, until I see Greer clawing her way through the crowd, with her cameraman hot on her heels. She’s wearing a headset and gripping a microphone, looking sinful in a white blouse and purple skirt. She’s dressed in team colors all the way down to her yellow heels.
And she’s killing me in the best way possible.
I’d love nothing more than to press her up against a wall and bury myself inside her.
When her focus locks onto me, I realize I’m her target.
The publicist has told me I’d be on the list of postgame interviews, but once the game was over and the celebration started, all rational thoughts flew out the window.
She gives me a look, silently asking if I’m ready and I nod, still feeling completely wrapped up in the emotion of the night and the sight of her.
“Thank you for joining us,” she says, professional Greer in full effect. “Mack, it seemed fitting that you were behind the plate tonight and Davies was on the mound. As part of the dynamic duo who brought this team to the level they’re currently playing at, how does it feel to get the clinch and to get it at home?”
I swallow down the immediate rush of emotion.
Shit, I didn’t see that coming.
Trying to collect myself, I run a hand over my sopping wet hair and breathe deeply, catching Greer’s scent rising above the insanity and it sets me at ease.
“It’s a special night. A special team. Not one player can assume responsibility for where we’re at because it’s taken every single one of us. From Davies' stellar pitching, to our infield’s amazing defensive plays, and Bo Bennett’s bat; it was a team effort. The game itself was very symbolic of our season. We’ve had highs and lows, with players stepping up when we needed them.”
“That final out you made tonight was impressive, especially after coming out of the game a couple weeks ago. Was there a point where you, as an individual, thought you might not make it to the postseason play?”
I shake my head. “Not once. I knew I’d fight tooth and nail to be standing right here.”
“You’re one of the most devoted players I know. It’s admirable how much you care about this team and these players.”
“They’re my family,” I tell her, feeling like we’re having a private conversation for a moment and forgetting that the entire city of New Orleans, and possibly beyond, will see this footage.
Someone walks by about that time and douses me with another bottle of beer.
Greer laughs as some of it splashes on her. I love how carefree she is and how she seems to be celebrating right along with us.
