48. CADE
CHAPTER 48
CADE
O nce I step out of the men’s restroom, I’m faced with Hope Garcia leaning against the opposite wall while she scrolls through her phone. She’s much more blatant now than the one time she pretended not to be waiting for me so she could ask me not to tell anyone that she had a humiliating date.
I stuff my hands in the pockets of my uniform pants and clear my throat.
Hope lifts her eyes to my face but doesn’t stop there too long. Slowly, she inspects me down to my feet. I’m about to tell her that she can inspect me with much more detail any time she wants, when she suddenly lifts her phone in the air like she’s comparing me with something else.
“Hmm.” Her eyebrows tighten in pensiveness.
“What?” I ask, thoroughly confused.
“Your SPORTY photoshoot is out,” she explains, still looking at the phone. “I’m just comparing the photoshopped version to the real one.”
“And?” I fold my arms and stand straighter. “Don’t tell me you prefer the oiled up and touched up version?”
“Pfff. Of course not.” Clicking the screen off, she pockets the phone back and adds, “Although I have to do a more thorough inspection in privacy.”
A corner of my lips lifts and I’m amused that she could read my mind. However, I want to clarify something. “Of the real version, I assume?”
This evil woman looks at me like the power of her gaze is enough to singe the clothes off my body, complete with licking her full lips like she can already taste mine. Just the gesture alone is enough to send electricity down my spine.
“Both,” she declares boldly before turning around. “Anyway, I was sent over to fetch you because the game’s starting soon.”
“Just to fetch me?” I catch up to her easily and slide an arm around her waist. A little squeak comes out of her throat as I press her against me, before lowering my face to nuzzle her hair. The scent of vanilla immediately eases my pre-opening game nerves, but does nothing to cool my blood.
“Hey, this crosses professional lines.” She grabs my arm and if she tries to push me off, I will. Yet she doesn’t. If anything, she melts into me even more.
“Eh, I think they know I need this.” I drop a kiss on her neck. “Otherwise they’d have sent literally anyone else.”
“That hypothesis has merit.” Stretching, she twists enough to glance up at me. “What exactly do you need, though?”
“This.” With my free hand, I support her chin so I can kiss her lips from behind. It’s not the most comfortable position and I definitely can’t deepen the kiss as much as I want to, but that’s probably for the better. I can’t get this kind of engine too fired up before the game, when I’m supposed to be revving up the starter pitcher engine instead.
All I manage is a brief taste of her lips, a graze of our tongues, before I convince myself to be responsible and pull away.
“If we win today’s game you may have to wish me good luck like this before every future game, you know? You’ll become my jinx,” I whisper against her smile.
“Oh, no. What a terrible hardship,” she returns with sarcasm.
We both chuckle until I pull away to offer my right hand to her. She slides her fingers between mine and we grip each other’s hands tight as we walk through the clubhouse, only pulling away when we’re at the tunnel. Hope motions at me to go first and I only obey because I do have to get my glove and get going.
“There he is.” Lucky smirks as I emerge into the dugout. “The man of the hour.” He tilts his head, spots Hope behind me, and winks at her.
“Ready?” Kim asks from the side as two guys help fit him with his catcher gear.
“As can be,” I respond.
“Bro, you got this.”
“This team has nothing on you.”
“Get them with your nastiest cutter.”
Rolling my shoulders, I head over to the cubbies to grab my glove. That’s where Rob Beau, the manager, waits for me. He doesn’t call me over like usual, just looks for some sort of sign on my face.
He must find it because he nods at me and all he says is, “I trust you, Starr. Go wild out there.”
My breath hitches.
A slow grin blooms on my face, buoyed by the warmth that’s expanding inside of me. “Yes, sir.”
“Let’s go, boys.” Kim walks over to the exit. “Let’s have a wild season.”
Amidst hollers and yelling, we rush to the field right behind him. The rest of the team runs to their spots on the field, and the catcher follows me to the mound.
“Stop looking so damn happy, it’s not intimidating for the opponent,” he grouches and bumps his glove against my chest.
“You too would be this happy if you had an amazing woman who just gave you the most epic kiss of your life before a game.”
He grimaces. “Are you going to focus on the game or on your girlfriend?”
“Both,” I chirp back.
“If you stare at her more than once per inning, I will burn down your favorite pizza joint.”
“I believe you.” I smack my left hand into my glove. “But trust me, having Hope only makes me want to play harder. I got this.”
With one last harrumph, he offers his glove and I bump it with mine. Kim really didn’t need to worry though, the umpire calls play ball and I throw the first strike of the season—a nasty one that sets the tone for the new Orlando Wild.