Chapter 4
Griffin
“Do I need to call security?” I ask, looking her over again, since I had clearly underestimated what I was dealing with.
She’s got a tight little body wrapped in denim and a V-neck T-shirt.
Her hair falls over her shoulders in waves of brown and deeper golds, but she’s been staring at me with a slack jaw like she’s meeting a celebrity for the first time. I’m sure she’s starstruck.
Although her eyebrows squeezing together command their own attention, it’s that damn V-neck that draws my gaze downward.
Can’t say I wouldn’t have sex with her, even if she is currently a potential threat.
It’s not like I haven’t hooked up with a fan before.
Looking that good, she makes it hard . .
. and has me forgetting the rest of what I intended to say.
But even her curve appeal doesn’t keep an all-star distracted for long, so I continue, “You show up two days in a row and just so happen to run into me like it’s a coincidence when we both know it’s not. ”
“First of all, my eyes are up here.” I drag my gaze over her collarbone and then higher to be greeted with a scowl. She crosses her arms over her chest, her knuckles whitening from holding on to herself so tight. “Second, you’re insufferable, you know that?”
“That’s rich, considering I’m the victim in this situation.” Her scoff echoes through the tunnel. Grimacing, I say, “And if I’m so insufferable, why are you hiding around every corner of this stadium in hopes of seeing me again?”
Shifting her weight to the other hip, she snaps, “I wasn’t hiding—”
“Look, I don’t know what kind of game this is, but I’m not playing, lady.”
“Lady?” Offense jerks her head back so fast that she might need to seek medical treatment.
Hopefully somewhere away from me. She’s quick to straighten her shoulders.
Coming on strong with the defense, she balls her fists at her sides as if she’s squaring up to me, which is kind of cute, coming from her.
I mean, she can’t be more than five-three, five-four tops.
She’s spunky for such a little thing. “I’ll have you know—”
“This isn’t fun—”
“No joke.” Her eye roll is so big that her head accompanies it.
“I’ll make you a deal so that we can get this encounter, or whatever we’re calling it, wrapped up and go our separate ways.”
A grin crosses her face, the kind a villain in a Disney movie would wear. All bark, no bite. “I cannot wait to hear this.”
“If I give you an autograph, will you stop harassing me?”
Her balk could probably be heard in Austin, it’s so loud.
I rub my ear, worried about my drum bursting.
But then she levels a glare on me, giving me the first full view of her entirety—orange fire flickering in green eyes contrasts with the delicate features of her face, her lips pursing but then pillowing again as if they’re ripe for the kissing.
But it’s her eyes that transport me back to Costa Rica and the girl I left in a hotel room on Jaco Beach.
Four long years couldn’t erase the memory.
How could it? It was one of the best nights of my life.
Frivolous fun and great sex. Kissing her was like kissing the sun. I knew I’d get burned if I stayed too long. But we were raw attraction, the night sultry with possibilities, and so fucking sexy while it lasted.
We shouldn’t have been a one-off.
I should have stayed, and my gut twisted when I walked away.
I should have asked for her number.
Hell, or at least gotten her name.
But here she is in the flesh again, the woman I never imagined I’d see again. Of course, I didn’t expect her to show up as a stalker either, so there is that aspect to deal with. Oh shit. Did she track me down?
Maybe she never asked me my name because she already knew it. The thought is a bit unsettling. I had built an entirely different story about what happened to her after I left, but this new information changes things.
She smirks, which puts me more on edge than I already was.
“You got yourself a deal.” Bending down, she pulls an envelope from the large bag she left on the ground at her feet and then digs through the mess until she retrieves something silver and shiny.
Is she going to pull a knife on me, force me into her vehicle at gunpoint, and coerce me to perform lascivious acts on her? If only . . .
I take a step back before realizing it’s a pen.
Okay, maybe I need to slow my roll with the stalker thing.
Although she’s a bit mouthy and has a Mount Everest-sized attitude, which I fully respect as someone else who falls in that category, I’m starting to think she’s harmless.
I’ve slept with the woman, and she didn’t kill me then, so I’m not sure why she’d want to after all these years.
I scratch the back of my neck, unsure what to make of her. I’ve had nothing but fond memories of our time together, but seeing her under these circumstances is confusing. More so, does she not even recognize me? What the fuck?
Did I just waste years thinking about her when I wasn’t even worth a second thought in her mind?
When she stands back up without an ounce of the irritation that burned hot inside her previously, she hands me the silver pen, then pulls papers from a large envelope. Tapping two different spots on what oddly looks to be a contract, she directs, “Sign here. And then here.”
Guess I wasn’t worth it since she’s moving on like that night never existed.
What-the fuck-ever.
My gaze bounces around the document to catch words like donation and contribute but also, no legal standing, and not an offer of employment. “What is this?” I ask as my eyes dart to the top to find the title.
“It’s the contract saying that any monies earned, raised, or acquired by participating in the game on Thursday is one hundred percent donated to the cause.
” Tilting her head as if she’s really done something there, she laughs.
“It’s to make sure you don’t go back on your promise and undercut our support for the high school teams.”
I look at her again. The girl I remember, who was sexy and sweet, flirtatious and self-assured in everything she wanted, isn’t the one standing before me now.
This woman is smug and has the patience of a ticking time bomb.
Her hair is darker, which I’m not mad about.
It makes those eyes of hers even more captivating than they already were.
But I’m still confused about why she’s here, having me sign a business contract instead of an autograph.
When she clears her throat and checks her watch like I’m keeping her from somewhere more important, I realize maybe her self-confidence still tracks.
I ask, “But why are you having me sign this?”
“Because it’s my job as oper—”
“Cricket,” Coach calls out, coming from the locker room. Cricket? The door slams closed behind him. “I’m glad I caught you.” Caught a bug?
“What can I do for you, Coach?” she replies with such syrupy sweetness in her tone.
It’s the first time I’m hearing it. The change in her smile reaches her eyes, joy shining bright inside.
I’m almost impressed with how fast she morphed from a fangirl demanding I sign something into the pleasantries exchanged with him.
Almost. She’s got me more curious than ever about who she is, if she’s whipping out contracts and already in Coach’s good graces.
“Your brother wanted to play in the game, but I haven’t seen him this week for practice. Any word from him?” So she has a brother who plays baseball. Interesting.
“He won’t be here. He’s still in France negotiating deals.”
“Okay.” As if he just notices me, he tilts his chin up in acknowledgment and says, “Hey Griff, good hustle again today. That play in the second inning? Bring that same energy on Thursday.”
“No worries there. I bring it every time I play.” I look at her and then him again. He’s looking at me like I interrupted them, giving me the opportunity to duck out of this awkward conversation. “I’ll let you guys talk. I need to head out anyway.”
I only take one step before she says, “Not so fast.” She taps the papers again. “You need to sign this, or you can’t play in the game.”
Glancing at Coach, he’s gone quiet on me, making me think this chick is legit. Am I missing the bigger picture of who she is? I turn to her again, taking a longer dive into her eyes this time. “You work here?”
Coach guffaws, then hides his eyes behind his hand. “Oh no.”
She glances at him and back at me. “No oh no needed.” She holds a hand up in surrender. “It’s okay.” Shooting me another look, she snipes, “Not everyone in the world knows who everybody else is. Sometimes you mistake them for someone they’re not, and sometimes you hit the nail right on the head.”
I have a strong suspicion that the brief monologue was for my benefit, but I’m not sure why. Until it hits me like the nail she just mentioned. “Okay, in my defense again, you knew who I was but skipped over your introduction each time we’ve met.” Notably, Costa Rica comes to mind.
Coach leans in, and whispers, “Cricket is the Armadillos’ operations manager.”
I release a heavy breath, realizing how this has gone off the rails for both of us. Dragging a hand over my head, I ask, “So this contract is real?”
“It’s real alright.” There’s a pause where I can practically see her mind spinning for a comeback, but then the tension in her shoulders eases, and she says, “We appreciate you coming out to help us raise money.”
The line is so well-rehearsed that she almost has me falling for it. “I should probably send the contract to my attorney or, at a minimum, read it myself.”
“Probably,” she adds matter-of-factly.
I look over again, my eyes latching onto hers. “That will take at least a week.” I start to skim it. “I’ll take the risk.” It helps to know she’s only here because she was doing her job and not to do any damage . . . at least physically. “Sign here?”