21. Dakota
21
DAKOTA
Graves.
St. James.
Hayes.
Manning.
Dalton.
Perfect, I think that’s it. I’m knee deep in sorting through the most recent photos I’ve captured of the team these past two months when my office phone ringing startles me from the trance I’ve been stuck in the last hour.
Quickly answering and putting it on speakerphone, I’m met with Jack’s Southern twang, “Ms. Foster, how’s it going over there?” He knows I’m fitting in fine. Yet, he frequently finds reasons to check on me and make sure the boys are treating me well. They’ve been nothing but gentlemen, except for one incident with Jethro, but I shut that down real quick.
“Things are going great, Jack. I’m happy to report no change since yesterday.”
I’m physically unable to hide my giggle. It’s evident he means well and wants his people to be happy within their work environment. He’s the best picture of leading a team by example.
His voice announces over the speakerphone, “Great. That’s what I like to hear. Hey, when you get a second, come meet me in my office for a quick meeting.”
My heart plummets.
“Sure, of course. I’ll head your way now.”
Seconds later, he ends the call, leaving me questioning his sudden need to meet with me. My overactive mind is running through all the possible scenarios in which I’ve messed up.
Of course, the moment I finally don’t have to fight myself to wake up in the mornings and look forward to my day, bad news is right around the corner.
I’m assuming so, expecting no less than a worst-case scenario.
So much for thinking positively, but I am who I am.
Drawing an immense blank, I decide to start acting like an actual grown adult and head towards Jack’s office rather than procrastinating on the inevitable.
Shockingly, this job has exceeded all my expectations. The idea of photographing sports was a foreign concept to me, one I was initially hesitant on my ability to do. This has been the smoothest experience, and I can’t help but think a big part of that comes from Callaway being here.
We’ve found ourselves in the same place at the same time, more often than I can count. He has been nothing but respectful, keeping his distance.
I hate it.
I’m missing the attraction we shared before. The one where his need to be near me or touching me outweighed what he should do, the distance most likely triggered by the start of the season .
But it’s better this way. The less we’re around each other, the better.
I’d be lying to myself if I said my conversation with Navy didn’t send my longing thoughts into a frenzy. It’s almost like her dismissal sealed the deal and signed off permission for my desire for him to be in overdrive.
Which is the opposite of what should be happening.
Navy didn’t exactly say she was against it, but she didn’t think it was a good idea and not worth risking relationships over.
Why is my brain registering that as… do it anyway ?
The forefront of it isn’t even lust, but his compassion and the easiness I feel around him. I can’t remember the last time I met someone I clicked with so easily, even in the midst of bickering.
I’m missing Callaway’s smile and his easygoing laugh.
I’m craving it, actually.
Speaking of said laugh, it’s like the gods are trying to test me because I hear it. That unmistakable, beautiful, and growly laugh I’ve come to listen for when he’s not around. Searching for any signs of him, I’m left with emptiness. I know he’s here somewhere.
I ignore the side of me that says to make a bathroom stop and search the halls for him—that would be desperate.
It seems the stars are aligned for me today because the second I open Jack’s office door, I’m met with a delicious rack of tan abs that are chiseled to perfection. Eight of them, if I’m counting.
Which heaven knows I’m precise .
My mouth is dry, and I’m unable to process words. You’d think I’ve never seen a set of abs before. I have, but none that have the edibility these babies do. The desire to run my thirsty tongue up their crease makes my mouth feel like a Sahara.
Once a thirsty bitch, always a thirsty bitch.
A throat clearing forces my eyes upward as my eyes latch onto the most perfect blues and the thickest black hair—eyes and hair I’d recognize anywhere. My desperation has no end.
Callaway is smiling so big I’m fully convinced his cheekbones will have permanent damage. I’m amusing him, and I was too preoccupied to realize it. My embarrassment should be written in neon because Callaway and Jack look like they’ve been waiting on me to greet them. I should probably get on that.
My eyes slide to Callaway’s as I do my best to read the room. He looks at me endearingly, like he’s happy to see me. That shouldn’t make me smile, but I can’t help myself.
“Leggins, it looks like we’ve managed to throw off my girl.”
My girl.
Did he seriously try to claim me in front of my boss? I’ve got about a million snarky comebacks reeling in my head, but none of them would satisfy the need I feel to kick him in the balls right now—arrogant bastard .
He cannot keep blurting out inappropriate things involving me that are not true. We are not an item, and I am not his girl.
I’ll keep telling myself that until I actually believe it.
I’d be a fool not to notice how this man looks like a snack, wrapped in a package of nothing—my personal preference. I have to play it cool. I refuse to let my attraction to him ruin this job for me .
Here goes nothing. “I’d barely call that thrown off. It’s more like a weary response to an unexpected sight.” He knows I’m full of it. Desire is written in black ink across my light skin.
What am I, a comedian? My flushed face is most likely making him revel in my annoyance even more. I can feel my anger bubbling as my fists fight the urge to clench, while I hold tight to the seams of my jeans.
“A sight you seemed to enjoy very much, angel.” His eyes look down, like he doesn’t need to physically see my nipples to know they’re hard, the effect most likely beginning at the first sound of his laugh down the hall. He seems to have forgotten about the man seated at the desk directly to his right as well, watching our encounter play out.
The man who also holds the title of my boss .
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, Callaway. I’m still trying to figure out why you’re here.” I’m all but yelling, riling myself up even more while he stands there smiling at me.
Callaway gives Jack a glance, almost like silently asking permission to speak without getting himself in trouble—man child.
“Grip those jeans a little tighter, Dakota. You’ve yet to learn that anger is my kryptonite where you’re concerned.”
This mother fuc ? —
“Hayes. Leave the poor girl alone.”
The fact that Jack had to interrupt Callaway’s unashamed flirting makes me want to run for the hills. If the look on Jack’s face conveys anything of what just happened, it’s that our word battle felt too private for a public setting.
It’s out of my control. The giant, half naked man before me does whatever the hell he wants, whenever he wants to.
I’m doing my best to provide damage control while I can. “I’m so sorry about that, Jack. Callaway is correct. I was not expecting to walk into all of that , and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way.”
I look to Callaway, waiting for his sincere apology, but nothing of the sort leaves his lips. His arrogance has no end.
“I’m just sorry you were here to watch, Jack.” And that haunting smile is back with plans, plans to make me feel like I’m going mentally insane in more ways than one.
Jack rolls his eyes and laughs under his breath. “You’re such a dipshit. Let’s get back to the matter at hand, please.”
He’s chuckling . He’s chuckling with Callaway like he’s the funniest man on the planet, and his desire for me doesn’t faze him in the slightest. It seems there are zero interjections regarding Callaway and me, I guess.
I’ll pretend Callaway isn’t here. Easy enough.
Clasping his hands in front of him, Jack looks my way before dropping a bomb. “I’ll cut to the chase. Sports Illustrated has approached the Strikers to be the face of their 2025 upcoming calendar year. You can imagine how impressive this opportunity is for the league. We were required by their Vice President to submit various photos of your work to prove the variety and diversity of your skills. They were more than impressed, and we signed on the spot.”
“Son of a mother fudge biscuit.”
My eyes shoot up, wide as can be, realizing I said that out loud. More like shouted out loud. Laughter follows suit, and the weight of this opportunity suddenly feels less stressful.
Although it is stressful.
My photos will be featured on the next Sports Illustrated calendar.
Somebody pinch me—I don't recall a dream ever feeling this good.
“Wow.” I can’t muster anything past that .
I can see the excitement plastered across Jack’s face, like he can’t believe the prestige of it himself.
Movement to my side catches my attention as I focus on Callaway striding towards me, his two quick steps putting him directly in front of me. Without hesitation, he pulls me into his chest for a deep embrace. Some would call this a hug, but it’s most definitely an embrace. I can feel the sincerity behind it.
“Congratulations, Dakota. It’s happening.” He whispers sweetly into my hair. The meaning behind his words etched in my soul.
I’m scared to return the hug. This is the first time Callaway has ever hugged me, and it feels so good but wrong at the same time.
There shouldn’t be so much turmoil over a hug. I don’t know if I’m hesitant to return it because I know Jack is a short distance away watching us or because I’m afraid I’ll never want to let go.
When was the last time someone hugged me? Someone other than Navy. I honestly don’t know.
What I do know is that it feels incredible to be held by him. The manly touch and warmth of him steadies my racing heart. His smell feels like comfort, a smell I find myself craving more and more. I can feel the pride seeping through him from the way he runs his large hand up and down my neck. My heart feels so at peace in this moment. He leans into me like he never wants to leave, while we celebrate together.
Well, Jack too.
Realizing this will be an embrace in which I have to be the one to let go first, I slowly begin to pull back and watch as Callaway’s body language shifts slightly at the loss of me.
I can’t make eye contact. He’ll know I was as affected by it as him .
Concealing my thoughts, my eyes look to Jack. “We did it. I can’t believe it.” My emotions are invading like waves, the fear and shock long gone, excitement and thrill at the center.
Forgetting one last minor detail, Jack cuts in, “Oh, one last thing. The VP mentioned they have specific requests for the shoot, and to make sure you are aware so you can make any accommodations. They’ve chosen an island to photograph the team on. Because this part of Saint Simons Island can only be accessed by boat, you and four players at a time will head out. Then, we'll switch when each group is completed.”
That doesn’t sound too bad. Being in my favorite place, where I made so many fond memories with my parents sounds more like a reward than something to accommodate for.
“What type of accommodations would I need to prepare for?” I note in my head that I have the correct lighting and adapters to withstand the heat and direct sunlight. Natural light is my favorite form of light enhancement, although it’s essential to be prepared to block any glares without creating a shadowing effect.
Jack looks at me like I’m misunderstanding his point. “The photos will showcase each player naked, the intimate parts of them covered only by their fielding gloves for privacy. So yeah, those kinds of accommodations.”
Okay, so we’re going with a risqué shoot.
I can confidently say my skin has taken on the color of a ghost.
I can also say with astounding confidence that my lack of sex in a year will be the trigger to my eruption on the spot. At the first sight of thick thighs next to a thick cock, I’ll be forced to make Cal sleep with me .
I’m such a classy woman, although there wouldn’t be much force, considering I’d do anything that man asked of me.
But me, on an island, with naked professional baseball players—what could I possibly need to accommodate for?
My panties, that’s what—more specifically, the quantity of panties I have on hand.
I’m only going to need, well, twenty-six of them.