Chapter 22
MOLLY
“I’m so glad you have a game today, because I need to get so much work done.” It’s a bold statement, and I almost pull it off, but then I yawn.
In my defense, it’s five thirty in the morning.
I could have taken a hire car to work again or asked Sinclaire to drive me in her rental car, but I also like the idea of documenting Jeff’s early morning arrival at the ballpark on a game day.
Or I liked the idea of it.
“You’re really not a morning person, huh?” Jeff grins at me as he steers into the lot and parks next to my car, which is still where I left it yesterday.
“You have a designated parking spot right over there.” I point to the door.
“But I like to park next to you.”
“I’m getting in my car and going home for an hour or two.”
“All right, then, I’ll move my car after you go.” He catches me by the chin and kisses me softly. “See you later.”
“You’ll be busy.”
“I’ll make time.”
I kiss him back. “I’m going to take a quick video of you pulling into your designated parking spot.”
He mock groans. “Anything for the socials.”
“Exactly.”
He shakes his head and kisses me again. “Anything for my wife.”
That warm, fluttery feeling in my tummy carries me home, into a hot shower, and all the way back to work again.
I’m still grinning like an idiot when I walk through the back entrance. The administrative wing is quiet this early, but there’s a distant hum of productivity as the grounds crew prepares the field for this afternoon’s game.
The first thing I do is check the video engagement from last night. People really liked the slice of life content, so I’m going to have to break that to Jeff at some point, because I want to do more. In fact, it would be good to follow him today so I can use that arrival video from this morning.
Before I can call Helen to find out if that’s feasible, the man himself appears in my office doorway.
My heart does that stupid flutter again.
“Oh,” I say, trying to sound professional even though we’re alone. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking unfairly good in his team t-shirt and athletic pants. His eyes track over me slowly—my sundress, my sandals, back up to my face. “You dressed up.”
“This old thing?” But I’m blushing.
Behind him, a couple of coworkers walk by.
He clears his throat. “How’d that video perform last night?”
“I was just looking at that, actually.” I fight a smile but lose. “Really, really good. People love getting to see that personal side of you.”
His gaze heats up. “Up until very recently, there really wasn’t a personal side of me at all.”
I think his daughter would disagree with that, but whatever.
“I was going to ask Helen for some of your time today to do a part two. The day at work.”
Two more people drift by. More of a background audience.
He nods. “Sure thing. You missed a staff meeting and a coaches meeting, so you might need to come in early with me tomorrow to catch those.”
“Oh, really?” I give him an innocent smile. “I could do that.”
“Next up is batting practice.”
“I’ll just check my messages, then come find you.”
“Good. Can’t wait.” He glances over his shoulder, confirming we’re alone again, then crosses to my desk in three strides and cups the back of my neck, tipping my face up for a kiss that’s brief but toe-curling all the same.
“Missed you,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“You saw me two hours ago.”
“And held you all night. But I still missed you.” He kisses me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine. I whimper, and he strokes the side of my neck with his thumb. “Gonna miss you all day.”
“I’m about to follow you to batting practice.”
“Not the same.” His eyes are dark, pupils dilated. “Can’t do this at batting practice.”
“Definitely not.”
He groans and steps back, adjusting himself obviously. “You in that dress is going to make it very tempting, though.”
I smooth down the skirt, pleased.
By the time I get to the field, he’s deeply immersed in practice.
I record him giving feedback to a player, going through the hitting motions himself to show the slight tweak he wants to see on the angle of the bat.
It’s not hard to see how that was once him, his body is still that of a big slugger.
I record a few different clips before he notices me and gives a wave.
Waving back, I slide my phone into my pocket.
One of the assistant coaches, a woman maybe a few years older than me, comes over. “Coach says you’re upping his social media game.”
“Yep. I’m Molly.”
“Christine. Nice to meet you.” She winks. “Feel free to include me in any of the b-roll, I could use the boost in profile.”
I laugh. “Understood.”
“Do you have any questions about what they’re doing?”
I ask her what the team will do next, because the morning routine is still a little confusing to me, and she’s generous with her answers.
“I find it all so interesting,” I say apologetically when Jeff comes over ten minutes later. “Sorry for stealing your …” I glance at Christine. “Infield coach?”
“That’s right! You’ve got it now.” She pats me on the arm. “But I do have to get back out there now.”
“Go.”
We both watch her jog over to the infielders who have gathered for their morning drills.
Then Jeff leans in casually, just enough so his voice is for my ears only.
“Saw you from the second you arrived,” he murmurs. “I like knowing you’re here, even if I can’t touch you. But I really want to touch you.”
“Oh?” I’m blushing. I have to be. Oh my God.
“I want to drag that skirt up those lush thighs of yours and spread you out on the grass so I can eat your perfect pussy in this chapel I call home.” He says casually, conversationally, and my heart pounds against my ribs, trying to get to him.
From the field, someone calls his name.
“Go,” I whisper. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
But I’ll be thinking about the way that he said that for the rest of the day.
As we get closer to game time, I try to focus on work, but I’m hyperaware of Jeff’s presence somewhere in the stadium, like he’s my magnetic north.
It’s just the rush of a new relationship, I tell myself.
I even google it, symptoms of a crush and how long does the crazy feeling of falling in love last.
The internet does not have a consensus on how long I’ll have this wild feeling of tumbling headlong into joy.
And since a decent part of my job is making content about my secret husband, it’s not like I can throw myself into work to ignore it.
Not that I’m complaining.
He’s a beautiful hunk of a man. I’m stitching together clips from batting practice for a little video of its own when Sinclaire and Trick arrive in my office.
“Oh!” I drop my phone on the desk with a clatter. “Hi. Hello there. Hi Silas!”
He comes running around my desk and launches himself at me with the confidence of a thirty-pound wrecking ball who knows he’s going to be caught by his target.
Laughing, I pull him into my lap before glancing at his parents in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
Sinclaire winks at me, so like her father in that moment that my heart squeezes. “We wondered if you wanted to sit with us for the game.”
“Oh, I …” I glance at my phone, where a video clip of Jeff is playing on repeat. “I have work to do.”
Trick frowns. “Watching the game is your work.”
“I mean, I have other—” I cut myself off. Because it can be work. I had questions for Christine, I could have questions for Trick too. “You wouldn’t mind?”
He glances at Sinclaire with such fondness, such adoration and longing and desire, that I’m pretty sure I’m seeing the answer to my internet query come to life.
Some crushes last forever.
The best ones do.
I’m sitting in the family section, two rows behind home plate, with Sinclaire on my left and Trick on my right with a very squirmy Silas on his lap.
Down on the field, Jeff is pacing along the third base line with Christine, deep in conversation about something that has him frowning. But then, as if he can sense us watching, his eyes cut across the space and find mine.
The frown disappears.
His whole face softens. His eyes crinkle at the corners. It’s just a brief moment of connection before he slides his attention to his grandson and waves. Silas loves that, giggling and waving back.
Jeff drags his attention back to my face, holding my gaze until I smile and wave as well, which puts a tender warmth in his expression that I love so much it makes my throat tight.
The noise of the stadium fades. The thousands of people around us disappear.
It’s just him and me, and the love I feel is so, so big.
Then the pitching coach says something, and Coach’s focus snaps back, all business again. I love that intensity on his face too.
Sinclaire leans in and murmurs, “You two are disgustingly cute.”
“Shhh.” But I can’t tear my eyes away from my husband. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “It’s nice. Dad deserves this.”
“I don’t know how we’re going to keep it a secret.”
“Do you have to?”
I don’t have a chance to answer her before the team is introduced, and we all stand for the national anthem.
Our reasons for keeping our relationship quiet made sense when we first discovered the accidental wedding oops. When it was an oops and we were still processing the consequences of that mistake.
But it doesn’t feel like a mistake anymore.
The game starts, and I try to focus on the action. But my attention keeps drifting to the dugout.
And every so often, Jeff glances up at the family section.
Each time, I feel that connection between us. This is real. This is right. This is everything.
But on the field, everything is not right.
By the sixth inning, we’re trailing by four and the late afternoon crowd is already thinning.
Someone throws garbage onto the first base line, and while the play is stopped to clean that up—and for security to escort the disgruntled fan out of the stadium—Jeff looks up at us again, and this time, the cameras catch it.
On the Jumbotron, the screen shows him glancing our way, a close-up on his handsome face.
And I know, before it happens, that in the broadcast control room, the director is going to call for a different camera angle.
I can feel it coming before the screen changes, and I duck my head, my hair obscuring my face as I focus on Silas, pretending that’s who Jeff was looking at.
But I know the camera focused on the whole family.
Sinclaire on one side, Trick on the other.
I already know how this is going to play on social media.
Who is the pretty brunette sitting between his daughter and her husband?
Who is the young girl intensely focused on Coach Rosehill’s grandson as the team manager stares at her?
As the music fades and play resumes, I know that the plan for us denying our relationship until the end of the season just fell apart.