Chapter 23 Reese
Reese
“Drinks are in here,” I tell Michael, showing him the mini fridge in my suite. “But if there’s anything you want that you’re not seeing, we can get it for you.”
“This is amazing. The view is . . .” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Thank you for hosting us.”
“I’m happy to.” I gesture to Ed. “Your dad has watched quite a few games from up here with my grandfather, so he can show you anything I may have missed.”
Michael slowly migrates through the suite, checking out the television screens and the spread of food as Ed stays by my side.
Since Michael moved back to Chicago last month, Ed has practically been floating on cloud nine, having his son home again. And after Michael mentioned that his dad had been wanting to get him to a game, I figured why not let them enjoy their day together from my suite.
I’ll probably watch the game from my office or see if I can get away with doing a couple of incognito laps around the stadium, but I’ll leave the suite to just the two of them.
“Thanks so much, Reese,” Ed says to me quietly. “I can’t think of a better way to spend the day with my son.”
“Of course. You’re both welcome anytime. After all the years you’ve worked with my grandfather and now me, it’s the least I can do.”
He nudges his shoulder into mine. “Michael mentioned that you two went to dinner a couple of weeks ago.”
I offer him a placating smile. “We did. It was nice, but I think we’ll be better off as friends.”
Ed chuckles. “Yeah, that’s what he said too, but a father can dream.”
“Well, I hope you two have fun together today.”
“We will.” Ed takes off to join his son. “Thank you again.”
Before I go, I check the view, watching the seats slowly fill with fans. The sun has begun its descent, the stadium lights have just kicked on, and I couldn’t ask for a more perfect Sunday night for baseball.
I adore these kinds of early summer nights. The weather is starting to warm up, but the humidity is still low. Though there are still plenty of rainy days, they just make these dry ones all the more special.
I want to get out there. To feel the buzz of the fans, to experience that pregame energy in the dugout. To get a quick moment alone with the field manager before the first pitch is thrown out.
Letting my eyes drift down to the dugout, I find Emmett in his usual spot, leaning his elbows on the railing that acts as a barrier from the field. He’s alone, and it just makes me that much more eager to get down there for my new favorite pregame ritual.
I say a quick goodbye to Ed and Michael as I rush out of the suite and down the hallway. I press the button for the elevator a few too many times, and when it drops me on the clubhouse level, I should be embarrassed with how quickly my heels tap against the cement, hurrying my way outside.
“Hi, Reese!” Isaiah calls out, jogging past me in the tunnel to the field. “Bye, Reese!”
“Good luck!” I shout at his back, where the number nineteen is stitched on his jersey.
In the distance, I watch Isaiah smack Emmett on the back as he passes him, jogging up the steps to the field. But once he’s out of the way, I realize Emmett is no longer alone in the dugout the way he was when I was spying on him from my suite.
The reporter who has made it clear on multiple occasions that she’s interested in him is out there too. Kelly, I believe is her name.
I’m not usually the type to stand back instead of going after what I want. But in this case, I’ll never get to have who I want, so I stay hidden in the empty tunnel.
Emmett’s back is to me, but I can see Kelly’s face clearly from here.
It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful, as is that beaming smile she’s wearing while talking to my field manager.
I can’t hear what they’re speaking about, but the body language is far too casual to be an interview.
Not to mention, she doesn’t have a recorder or a notebook in her hands right now.
Whatever they’re talking about is personal. And all I can focus on is how lucky she is that she gets to speak to him in a personal manner while in public.
She’s got this twinkling glint in her eye as she looks up at him, and I know that sparkle all too well.
And I hate knowing he has the same effect on others.
I feel a bit possessive over his attention, though I have no right to it.
With what he told me at the potluck, now that he’s starting to focus on himself more, what if that includes dating?
What if he meets someone he’s allowed to be with publicly?
And what if it happens while he’s working for me?
At some point, I’m going to have to figure out how to be okay with seeing him with someone else. But today is not that day. Today, I have no intention of being okay with it. Today, I’m going to be irrationally jealous over the idea.
I don’t ever remember being upset at the thought of Jeremy moving on after me. Jeremy and I were married, so I suppose that idea should’ve stung, while Emmett is simply someone I’ve kissed once. He’s someone I thought I couldn’t stand only a few months ago. He’s my employee.
And yet, the idea of Emmett being with someone else ties an uncomfortable knot low in my stomach that makes me feel a bit sick. And that alone is terrifying to admit.
Emmett says something and it must be the most hilarious thing to ever come out of that man’s mouth because Kelly falls forward in laughter, long hair brushing over his chest, a hand circling his forearm for balance.
When she stands up straight again, she waves him off, trying to catch her breath because she simply can’t find it in her to stop laughing at him.
Okay. Well, he’s not that funny.
From here I can see his back shake in a laugh as well and decide that’s about all the torture I can take for tonight. Without making it out to the dugout to visit pregame, I turn around and head for my office.
Yeah, I’m jealous.
But I’m not jealous of just her.
I’m just jealous of anyone who is not me.
I’m jealous of anyone who doesn’t have to keep up professional boundaries, because the last thing I want is to be professional with Emmett Montgomery.
The gym is mostly dark, but of course it is.
Everyone is long gone from the stadium by now, leaving me here alone. It’s the first time I’ve left my office since the game started, and I waited around in hopes of getting the place to myself.
I’m amped up. A little bit pissed off, though that’s not necessarily aimed at anyone in particular.
I’m just mad.
I’m mad at the headlines that haven’t been written yet, but will inevitably circulate regarding tomorrow’s trade.
I’m mad at our 6-4 loss tonight. I guess.
And I’m mad at Emmett, for making me like him so much. Truthfully . . . screw him for doing that.
I connect my music to the surround-sound speakers, turn the incline up on the treadmill, and start my evening workout with an uphill walk.
I don’t even make it a mile before the gym door opens, and through the mirror, I watch as Emmett barges in, breathing heavy and dripping sweat. It cascades down his bare torso, down his abdomen, following that same trail of dark hair that leads right to his . . .
Nope. Not thinking about that.
Definitely not looking in that direction either. Because again, screw him. For what? I don’t know exactly, but whatever I’m so upset about, he seems like a solid choice to direct my anger toward.
His chest rises and falls in quick succession as he attempts to steady his breathing, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to piece together he just came from a run.
As soon as he hears the music playing, he pulls out his earbud and finds me in the reflection of the mirror.
He doesn’t say hi, he just grinds his molars, allowing his jaw to tic, as if my mere presence is offensive to him tonight.
Well, right back at you, buddy.
What the hell is that about? I didn’t do anything to deserve a cold shoulder. He’s the one who . . . who . . . well, he didn’t do anything wrong either, I suppose, but two seconds of being in the same room and he’s already annoying me.
The way he doesn’t say anything annoys me.
The way he gave someone else his attention tonight annoys me.
The way I can’t have him annoys me.
The way he looks so fucking good after a run especially annoys me.
The fact that he even likes to run.
Honestly. Who the hell likes to run? He’s a monster, I swear.
Emmett opens the small cabinet near the door, pulling out a hand towel to wipe over his face, and I notice he doesn’t put his earbud back in. As if he’s waiting for me to be the one to break the silence. Expecting me to.
Well, joke’s on him because I’m suddenly petty as hell tonight. I refuse to be the first one to say something. I’d rather work out in silence anyway.
He tosses the towel over his shoulder and heads to the free-weight section, taking a bench—a bench I now realize has his shirt sprawled over it and a set of heavy dumbbells on either side.
He must have been in here long before me, and though this is technically my gym, I suddenly feel as if I’m intruding on his alone time the way I assumed he was interrupting mine.
That annoys me too. I thought I was here first.
Ten minutes in, we’re focused on our own workouts, neither of us saying a word. The silence wouldn’t bother me so much if I could stop catching his eye in the reflection or if I could find a hint of willpower and stop watching the way he’s moving those dumbbells with ease.
My brain is a little traitor and quickly does the math on how much he’s lifting in continuous reps. It’s half my body weight and he’s making it look easy. Seems like he could easily lift a hell of a lot more if he wanted to.
If he had the right motivation.
Good to know or whatever.
The weights land on the ground in a heavy thump after he’s done with each set, and it doesn’t take long for me to realize he’s not dropping them because he’s worn out and no longer has the energy to set them down carefully. He’s dropping them loudly because he’s throwing a fit.