Playing The Field (The Toronto Tigers #1)

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Anastasia

“ I t can’t be that bad, can it?” Vee asks from her perch on the edge of my bed. She’s got a wine glass in one hand and a bowl of pretzels in the other, treating the turmoil in my life as if it’s a day at the cinema.

“Oh trust me,” I reply darkly, pulling out my phone to find one of the videos. “It’s bad.”

She takes the phone from me, her eyes widening as she watches the grainy video of Graham yanking the player so hard that his jersey rips. “Good God,” Vee mutters and puts sets her dishes down so she can focus in on the screen. Her brow arches and a smirk dances across her lips. “Look at those muscles! Ana!” her dark eyes cut to me and she grins wickedly. “Did he do that because that guy knocked you over?”

I can’t keep the blush from burning a path up to my cheeks, so I just drop my face into my palms with a groan. “But before that, he acted like we’d never even met. Like I meant nothing to him except another notch in his bedpost.”

She tosses the phone onto the mattress beside me, where it lands with a dull thump. “I hate to say it, hun, but the way he reacted makes it seem you mean a hell of a lot more than a conquest.”

“That’s why I can’t go to his house tonight,” I mutter between my fingers, still unable to look my best friend in the eye. “He’s my boss now, and I have no idea what is going on inside my head. One minute I’m so angry with him, and then the next minute he’s kissing me and I want nothing more than to surrender to him.”

“He kissed you?!” Veronica shouted and gripped my wrists, wrenching my hands away from my face. “Anastasia Bellows, what is your life right now?”

“A mess,” I grumble and try to pry my arms from her grasp, but she only tightens her fingers. “Vee! He’s my boss! Not to mention he’s about twenty years older than me!”

She arches her eyebrow at me. “So? Maybe that means he’s going to treat you like a man should.” She picks up another pretzel and crunches it between her teeth. “And so what if he’s your boss? I doubt anyone would care.”

“The press would have a field day,” I mutter and snatch a pretzel from the bowl in her lap. “I’m not going.”

“Oh yes, you are!” She argues and moves the bowl to the bedside table. “You’re going because I’m not going to let you sit here and wallow in self-pity, spoiling an evening with your majorly hot billionaire boss who may or may not want to fuck you into next week.”

“Veronica!” I screech and toss a pillow at her, aiming at her face.

She laughs lightly and swats it away with ease. “I’m serious, Ana. He’s either going to talk about keeping it professional and moving on, or he’s going to make you relive your favorite night in Cape Town.”

I look down at the frayed ends of my duvet, picking at a loose thread because a large part of me is afraid that she’s right. That I’m going to relive that night and fall even harder than I already have.

And that can’t happen.

I’ve got my career to think about. Not to mention, my heart can’t take that kind of rejection a second time.

“We’re going to keep it professional,” I say firmly as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and let my bare feet touch the floor. “And I’m wearing sweatpants to this meeting.”

“You most certainly are not!” she retorts with a look of horror.

I most certainly did leave the house wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants and a very well-loved Toronto Tigers hoodie. The idea was that if I hid myself behind clothes that didn’t conform to my body, maybe there would be no distractions tonight.

Out of sight, out of mind.

The only problem was that I couldn’t put it out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried. I let out a deep sigh, my breath misting in front of my lips in the cold, night air. I decided to walk the few blocks from my flat to Graham’s penthouse in the hopes that the cold air would help clear my head, but each step closer to him just made me panic even more.

I stop in front of a battered storefront, the harsh fluorescent lights spilling onto the sidewalk through the large windows. My eyes adjust to the brightness and I see the menu plastered on the chipping brick wall.

Perfect.

I’d bring takeaway Chinese food and cheap beer. That paired with my attire should be enough of a hint.

After I get my order, I tuck the bag under my arm and start walking toward Graham’s penthouse. I can see the towering building from the sidewalk, and with every step, my stomach seems to get tighter and tighter. My teeth sink into my lower lip as I worry the chapped skin, drawing blood from the split in my lip from the altercation at the end of the game.

My eyes are drawn to a large poster illuminated on the white brick walls of the Performing Arts Studio. I stop briefly, skimming the lines of the advertisement, trying to find something else to focus on other than the building anxiety tightening my chest with each breath. “Beauty and the Beast, featuring the rising star F. Bouchard,” I whisper into the cold night air, trying to make a mental note to drag Veronica with me one night.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m trembling in front of the sleek black elevator doors that lead up to the penthouse. My fingers hover just over the call button, but I can’t bring myself to press it. The pounding of my heart in my ears is deafening as I struggle to control my breathing, the anxiety slowly eating away at my resolve.

I inhale slowly and clench my fist around the bag of takeaway, about to turn and bolt for the door without a second thought, but a voice from behind me has goosebumps pebbling my skin.

“Ana?” Graham emerges from a dimly lit hallway off the side of the main lobby. His hair is dripping and the fabric of his clothes is dark with water spots.

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I tear my eyes away from him and glance around, trying to find an escape route, but there is none. He’s seen me and I can’t back out now. I tilt my chin up defiantly and turn back to him, keeping my eyes trained only on his face.

“I assumed you weren’t coming so I went for a swim,” he explained, gesturing to his damp appearance.

My traitorous eyes follow his hand, lingering on the way his shirt clings to his chest and biceps. “I stopped for dinner and drinks,” I mutter and hold up the six-pack and takeaway bag. What I really want to say is that I shouldn’t have come at all.

“I see that,” he responds with a chuckle and gestures to the elevator doors as they slide open with a soft beep. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” I agree and step into the small compartment, making sure to give myself a wide margin of space.

Graham’s lip twitches like he’s fighting a smirk. “Nice hoodie,” he comments as the doors slowly close and the elevator starts its ascent.

I look down at my clothes, a blush burning up my neck as I remember my goal of looking like a bum. “I got it at my first in-person match,” I respond and keep my eyes trained on the floor numbers as they light up, trying not to look at the man currently invading my personal space.

He’s so close I can feel the heat of his body. The air around us is thick with so much tension and electricity that the hair on the back of my neck is standing on end. From the corner of my eye, I watch his eyes travel up and down my form and his teeth sink into his lower lip. My thighs press together as desire ripples through me.

What is it about elevators?

“What’d you bring?” he asks to break the tense silence, nodding at the bag I’m clinging to.

I look down at the bag before chancing a glance at his face, which was a mistake. His pupils are dilated and he’s looking at me with the same hunger I remember from Cape Town. My stomach flutters and I can feel myself getting wet. “The Dragon Palace,” I whisper breathlessly, shifting from one foot to the other.

His body shifts closer to mine, like he’s being pulled by an invisible force, and my breath catches in my throat as he reaches out and pushes a strand of hair from my face. “That’s my favorite place. They have late hours and the best egg rolls.”

“Mhmm.” I have to actively fight the urge to lean into his touch. Another current of electricity ripples through the small space between us and I have to close my eyes. My body feels like it’s being drawn to him, despite my best efforts.

Graham moves silently until he’s standing directly in front of me, the bulk of his body pushing me against the back wall of the elevator. My eyes fly open, a protest poised on the tip of my tongue, but he swallows it with a searing kiss. His lips are firm against mine, pulling a soft gasp from my throat.

His hands gently cup my face as he presses himself against me, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. His tender caresses are a stark contrast to the roughness of his lips, and the difference makes my head spin.

I pull away, panting heavily. My fists are clenched around the takeaway and the beer so tightly that my knuckles ache. He presses his forehead against mine, chest heaving as he tries to regain his composure. The elevator dings and the doors slide open, but he doesn’t move.

After several moments, he backs away from me and holds out his hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

I bristle internally, my teeth sinking into my tongue to prevent the sarcastic reply from escaping. Instead of taking his outstretched hand, I brush by him and stop just inside the open-concept kitchen. “Fucking elevators,” I gripe under my breath as I take in my surroundings. I can’t help the gasp that leaves my lips as I take in the inside of the penthouse. I knew it was high up, but I was not prepared for the view.

I place the food and beer on the white marble countertop and drift toward the wall of windows on the far side of the living room. Ignoring the faint footsteps behind me, I trail my fingers along the back of the black leather sectional as I venture farther into the room. The blanket of lights along the cityscape is nothing short of breathtaking from this height, and even though the night sky is shrouded with winter fog I can still make out the stars.

The sound of a beer cracking open pulls my attention from the windows and I turn to accept the bottle Graham is offering. He clears his throat awkwardly and takes a sip from his bottle. “So…” he starts and leads the way back into the kitchen, opening a cabinet to pull out two plates. “The Tigers, huh?”

I nearly choke on the bite of egg roll I’d been chewing, sputtering and clutching my chest where the offending piece of cabbage was lodged. “Really? That’s what we’re starting with?”

He chuckles and shrugs his shoulders slightly. “To be honest, I have no idea where to start.”

I fold my arms across my chest and lean my hip against the counter. “How about from the moment you saw me in that conference room and acted like you didn’t know me.” My voice is sharp and cutting, but it hits the mark. “Then you decided to take on a fullback on the pitch like a psycho because he knocked me over!”

He flinches and drops a few pieces of chicken onto his plate, followed by rice and two egg rolls. “You weren’t exactly leaping into my arms either, Ana,” he counters with a quirk of his brow. “It’s Dr. Bellows,” he mimics and pops a bite into his mouth.

I tear my eyes away from his mouth, trying not to linger on the way his lips move while he chews. “I thought you wanted to keep it professional. You were sending mixed signals. I didn’t think you remembered me,” I admit and stare down at the egg rolls on my plate.

“Didn’t remember you?” he asks and sets his bottle down hard, causing me to look over at him. “Ana, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the morning you walked out of my hotel room.” His eyes are blazing with unkempt emotions. “I spent months Googling your name and hospitals, trying to find you.”

“Why?” I ask, unable to keep the question from slipping out. My chest feels too tight and my eyes are burning from holding back the tears building behind my lashes.

“Because one night in an African hotel wasn’t enough for me,” he says, his voice low. “The way you pushed me. The way you heard me. The way you saw me.”

“That was a different time, Graham. It was basically a different lifetime,” I argue softly and take another sip from my bottle. I watch him swallow hard as his eyes drop to my lips against the rim.

“It wasn’t for me,” he responds, pressing his palms against the counter as if to ground himself. “It was this lifetime, and I’m not letting you walk out that door again.”

“You’re my boss, Graham,” I snap and slam my bottle down hard. “Not to mention you’re about twenty years older than me. Cape Town was just a fantasy. Two people suspended in the magic of an exotic destination, letting themselves exist in the limbo between real life and dreams.”

“No,” he grumbles and pushes away from the counter, leaving his food untouched. “It doesn’t matter to me if you’re younger or older. It doesn’t matter if you’re the team doctor or you work for our biggest rival.” He turns my chair until I’m facing him and he leans down until his face is level with mine.

I try to shift away, leaning back from his nearness, but he places a hand on the counter on either side of me, caging me in. “It does matter,” I whisper. “We can’t do this.”

His pupils blow wide with desire and his jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth. “You have haunted my every dream since that hotel door closed behind you,” he grits out. “With you, there are no rules.”

My stomach quivers with desire and I feel wetness pooling at my core, despite my best efforts to fight the spell he’s weaving over me. The way his presence always seems to work into my heart. I sigh and let my tense shoulders finally relax, accepting the fact that our conversation is done. There’s nothing left to say.

A smile stretches across his face as he watches my resolve crumble. He wraps his arms around me, pressing his cheek to the side of my head. “I’m sorry I pretended not to know you,” he murmurs into my hair.

I melt into his embrace, inhaling the scent of chlorine still clinging to his damp hair. My lips ghost along the shell of his ear. “For the record, this is probably a terrible idea.”

He steps back, giving me room to breathe, but before I can catch my breath, he lifts me into his arms. I squeal and wrap my legs around his waist, clinging tightly to his neck. “Probably,” he agrees with a chuckle, kissing me lightly on the lips. “But I’m feeling reckless.”

I smile, recognizing my words to him from that night all those months ago. “Me too,” I whisper and pull his head back down, catching his lower lip between my teeth.

He walks us to the bedroom, his lips never leaving mine. His kisses grow more urgent with each step, and I can feel his muscles tensing beneath my fingertips. I know that after tonight there’s no going back for either of us.

This is more than just a reckless night.

It’s taking a can of kerosene to an already smoldering wildfire.

I just hope that we aren’t reduced to ash in the end.