Chapter 14
Emmett
When the team plane landed back in Chicago, I didn’t go from there to my apartment.
I probably should have. There’s no reason for me to be at the clubhouse on a Friday night when everyone else has gone home to their families.
But I guess that’s also exactly why I’m here, and already forty minutes into a grueling leg workout.
My job and my daughter are the two biggest pillars in my life, and with one of those occupied tonight, I’m left with my work. And even if there’s technically no work to be done with the night off from practice and games, I’d still rather be alone here than alone in my apartment.
Miller invited me over for dinner, but Kai was on the road all week too, and as sweet as her offer was, I know she’d rather spend time with just the three of them.
I’ll grab some takeout for dinner on my way home, but until then, I plan to waste as much time here as possible. The gym connected to the training room has enough equipment to keep me busy for hours, and with how frustrated I’ve been this week, I could use the outlet.
With my music blasting over the gym’s speaker system, I add another plate on either side of the squat bar before ducking under it to position myself for another set. I haven’t lifted the bar off the rack just yet. I allow myself to stand and fume a little first.
A couple of months ago, I would’ve appreciated a little time away from my boss. I probably wouldn’t have even noticed if a stretch of time had passed without seeing or speaking to her.
But this week, I fucking noticed.
I noticed the stench on the team plane without Reese sitting behind me. I’ve grown accustomed to her perfume distracting me on those flights. I noticed her absence from the dugout pregame. I noticed the extra room key that was left behind at the front desk when we checked into our hotel.
And the worst part about it is I have no idea what her sudden distance is all about. Last time Reese gave me the cold shoulder, I earned it. But I thought things were good between us now.
Something new I learned this week? How Reese signs off on her emails.
Best Regards, Reese Remington.
Initially, I didn’t listen to her request that I only contact her via email. After our first game on the road, I texted her about an injury that was bothering one of our players and letting her know I was going to sit him for game two.
She didn’t respond.
I called her after our second game to keep her in the loop of why I needed to pull our pitcher in the middle of the fourth inning.
She didn’t answer.
And after the third and final game, I relented to emailing her the way she asked me to.
I didn’t have anything new to say that day. I just wanted to see if I’d ever hear back from her. And via email, I finally did.
Thank you for the update. Best Regards, Reese Remington.
Best fucking regards.
I’m tempted to add yet another plate onto the squat rack because there’s a part of me that believes the frustration thrumming through me could help me set a new personal best tonight.
But there’s no one here to spot me and though I may be irritated and want to take it out in the gym, I’m not an idiot.
With the bar balanced across my shoulders and my hands firmly wrapped in place, I lift the bar off the rack and power through my set of squats while watching my form in the mirror.
The music helps. The dark gym helps. But mostly, it’s the maddening question of what I did wrong that fuels me.
Maybe I shouldn’t have told Reese about Miller’s mom.
Maybe it freaked her out that I haven’t dated anyone seriously in over twenty years.
Or maybe I read it all wrong, and misunderstood what I thought was flirting all this time.
Maybe she truly does just see me as her employee and I crossed a line with her.
I re-rack the bar before standing to my full height, taking deep breaths to try to calm my pounding heart.
That felt good, though. I could go all night. Pushing my body is a welcome distraction.
Pulling off my shirt, I use it to wipe down my face before giving my muscles a couple of minutes to recover before my next round. I stand behind the squat rack, leaning my arms over the bar to rest and catch my breath.
It shouldn’t bother me so much. I have too many other things to focus on. My kid. My kid’s kid. My team. Whether I’m going to have a job at the end of this season.
I should be concentrating on the future of my career, but instead, I’m too busy pondering if my boss knows I’m crushing on her and wondering if she ever felt the same.
I thought you grew out of this phase after your early twenties, but here I am, smack-dab in my forties and wishing I could read that woman’s mind.
Get your shit together, Emmett.
I don’t hear the door open, my music is far too loud for that, but the light that reflects off the mirror in front of me, coming from the crack in the doorway, draws my attention.
Through the reflection, I watch as Reese walks into the gym.
She probably didn’t know I was in here with how dim I keep the lights, but as soon as she steps inside and hears the music, even though she’s wearing her own earbuds, she looks around the room until she meets my own waiting gaze through the mirror.
Reese stays frozen by the door, and I don’t move from my spot at the squat rack.
We simply watch each other through the reflection, not saying a word, once again in the same room after nearly a week.
I haven’t seen her since I ran into her in the dugout, and I assumed I wouldn’t until some point tomorrow during our afternoon game.
I purposely avoided the top floor tonight just in case, and I didn’t check for her car in the parking lot because why would I?
Why would she be here on a Friday night anyway?
Reese opens her mouth and says something, but when I can’t hear her, I realize my music is still blaring over the speaker system.
I push off the bar to grab my phone, lowering my music almost all the way down before turning to face her.
“I was just saying sorry,” she says, and for a moment I allow myself to believe she’s referring to the distance she’s kept this week. But then she throws her thumb over her shoulder toward the door. “I didn’t know you were here. I’ll go.”
That’d be for the best. My only hope of concentrating on the rest of this workout would be if she left.
I shrug casually. “You own the place. Do what you want.”
I find myself hopeful to hear one of her little quips. “You’re right. I do,” or “It’s always nice when you remember that.”
But instead, Reese stays silent, and I hate that more than any jab she’s ever thrown my way.
“Do your thing,” I continue. “I’m almost done anyway.”
She offers me this small, almost pitying smile and I decide I absolutely hate that too.
Reese grabs a yoga mat and lays it out on the floor in the corner of the gym. Unfortunately, that corner just so happens to be the one directly behind the squat rack, and I’m given a prime view of her through the mirror on the wall when I return to the bar for another set.
She puts her earbud back in and starts with a stretch, reaching up toward the sky before folding in half to touch her toes.
And I’m fucking staring.
I don’t know how long it’s been since my last set, and I can’t seem to pull my attention away from her long enough to start my next one.
She looks good.
Her blonde hair is halfway clipped up, keeping it out of her pretty face. She’s in a matching workout set because of course she is. The woman is always polished and perfectly coordinated, and clearly that extends to her time in the gym.
The berry-colored leggings paint her thick legs, and the matching sports bra just barely holds her in. She’s soft everywhere and I fucking love that. I love that she doesn’t hide it either. She’s confident in her body and my type to a T.
It’s the bit of motivation I need to start my next set because, yeah, she’s my type. I lift heavy for a reason.
Watching my form in the mirror, I’m only three reps in when my eyes drift to her corner. She’s got one arm reaching over her body in another stretch, but it’s done so a bit mindlessly. Instead, her focus is locked on my reflection, snagging on my thighs as I sit deep in a squat.
As I push through the movement, her attention follows, until finally, her eyes catch mine.
I want to tease her. I want to give her a bit of shit for checking me out. But I also don’t want her to stop, and with her new professional boundaries, drawing attention to the fact she’s close to crossing them would only cause her to put up more.
But neither of us looks away from the other. There’s a beat of silence and I’m tempted to fill it with the question I’ve been wondering all week.
What the hell happened?
It’s on the tip of my tongue when Reese pulls her eyes away from mine and moves into another stretch. I get back to my workout and sink into another squat, doing my best to focus on my form, and only my form, when I look into the mirror.
That’s only successful for about two more reps because out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Reese spreads her legs into a wide stance, then folds in half at the hips to put her palms flat on the mat.
The dim light sets a moody glow over her body and good God, she’s about to spill out of that fucking bra with the way she’s bending forward. If she does, there’s no doubt my knees will give way under this amount of weight.
Without finishing my set, I slam the bar back onto the rack, partly out of frustration, but mostly because I’m going to drop it if I don’t get it secured as quickly as possible.
The bang startles Reese, her eyes shooting up to me. “Are you okay?”
“Yep.” I pace the small area around me, hands on my hips and keeping my eyes down. “Fine.”