Chapter 2
ROMAN
I stare at the ceiling as I pump the bar for another rep, ignoring the burn in my biceps.
Weights clatter, followed by the low, deep grunts of a dozen sweaty men. My right earbud died ten minutes ago, leaving me vulnerable to the distracting mess around me. This is only proving why I insist on working out by myself instead of with the team I’ve been managing for the last five years.
Even my thighs are tight by the time I set the bar back into place and slowly rise. I pant while sweeping my gaze over the bright gym. Searching for any sign of injury or fatigue, I run my sweaty palms down the front of my shirt.
I’ve been called too observant a thousand times in my lifetime, and I wear that badge with honour, knowing it’s what’s gotten me here as one of the youngest-ever managers of an MLB team. Being observant is what keeps my players healthy and the wins high on the record books.
My team’s gotten too good at ignoring my prodding looks, though.
With the exception of Wesley Hayes, at least. That guy is far too oblivious for his own good at times. Especially when he’s distracted by his best friend, Finn Avery. The catcher-and-pitcher combo is deadly on the field, but behind closed doors, they’re my worst nightmare.
Wesley has long since stalled his weighted squats.
Instead, he’s grown enthralled by the sight of whatever is lighting up Finn’s phone screen.
It’s none of my business what these men do when we’re off the field—somewhat, at least—but my irritation with their lack of drive to finish up here still bothers me.
I stand and move to the row of stationary bikes a few feet from where they’ve congregated at the squat rack. Neither of them notices me when I sit on the middle one and get started.
“Why are you taking pictures of that guy?” Wesley asks.
My music is too quiet, even with one earbud still working. I pick up the pace of my cycling and tighten my grip on the handles as I try not to eavesdrop.
“Aubrey needs some date suggestions.”
“Did you forget we’re in Texas? Are you planning on bringing this guy home to Vancouver with us after the series?”
My brows draw in at that idea as I stare at the man who’s still sprawled out on the weight bench adjacent to the one I’ve just vacated. I didn’t notice him much before this, considering I don’t know who he is, but I’m positive he isn’t a ballplayer. Not one that I know.
We’re in the hotel gym rather than the one at the Texas stadium that we’ve been using the last three days. It’s a great facility, but I try to keep myself as distanced from the team as I can, and that includes not working out with every player in the clubhouse’s gym.
Finn and Wesley weren’t here the last two days, so I can’t be sure why they’ve opted out of joining the other players at the stadium. It’s not my business, either.
“Obviously not. I’m just trying to see what type of guys she’s into,” Finn says.
“You could just ask?”
I almost laugh when I catch Finn balking at his best friend.
He’s not intimidating in the slightest, with his messy blond hair, matching mustache, and goofy grin that he flashes whenever possible.
If anything, he’s more like a golden retriever with his tail wagging for anyone who grants him a second of attention.
Wesley isn’t too different, but he’s a bit more closed off.
He was already a member of the team when I came on, but didn’t hesitate to offer me a hand with getting to know the other player.
Where Finn’s blue-eyed and blond-haired, Wesley has light brown hair and a pair of eyes to match.
If you put the three of us together, the only things we’d have in common are our love of baseball and two sets of brown eyes.
Finn types away on his phone while he speaks. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that, Wes. Or, even better, you could send her a text and ask.”
“Is this why you didn’t want to go to the gym with everyone else?” Wesley ignores Finn’s poking.
“I wasn’t about to send her photos of the team.”
Wesley laughs while I push my legs faster. “You should just send her a selfie. I’m sure you’d get your answer much faster.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Wesley sings. He turns my way. “Hey, Coach. Fancy seeing you here.”
I force my shoulders back and look over at them. Finn’s pocketed his phone now, frowning. My discomfort must seem obvious to Wesley because he shrugs at me before lifting the weight rack to appear busy.
“Hey, guys,” I mutter.
“He’s making it seem like we didn’t notice you were here, but we did. Just ignore him,” Finn tells me. Standing to his full height, he gives Wesley a smack on the back. “Sorry if you had to hear all of that.”
“No apology necessary. I’m fully aware of your friendship with both Wesley and Aubrey.”
“Yeah, but I’m sure you came here for privacy.”
He’s not wrong. “It’s fine, Finn. I believe you and Wesley were here first.”
“I really wish you’d call me Wes more. The only people who call me Wesley are the women in my family when I piss them off,” Wesley grunts while coming up from a squat.
“Take what you can get,” Finn tells him.
I slow my pace on the bike and fill my screaming lungs with a long breath.
Sweat drips down my temples and throat. My shirt’s already damp with it from my previous workouts, but I use it to dry my face before standing and reaching for my water bottle.
The cool liquid soothes my throat as best it can.
“Are you excited for the game tomorrow?” Wesley asks once I’ve lowered my bottle.
“I’m always excited.”
Finn makes a noise of agreement. “I can’t wait to get back home.”
We’ve been here for three full days now, with our most recent game having been this morning.
It’s later in the afternoon now, which should have meant that I’ve retired to my hotel room and ordered something to eat.
Yet here I am. I suppose it’s ritual. I’m not the one who was playing today. I haven’t for a long time.
Neither of the players here with me right now played either. They’ll both be back out on the field tomorrow.
“Yeah, it’s way too hot here,” Wesley grunts, finishing with his squats.
Finn gives him a funny look. “It’s really not that bad.”
“For April? Yeah, it’s too hot. My body isn’t adapted for this kind of heat so soon.”
I don’t have an argument, so I let it go.
My water bottle is the only thing I brought with me, so I’m left to stand awkwardly near the two men and debate whether it would be rude to just walk away without another word.
While this team may be a family, that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to be included in every conversation that goes on.
“Do you want to go out with a couple of us tonight?” Wesley asks. Silence falls as I wait for Finn to answer. “Roman?”
I blink, turning to him. He’s staring at me expectantly. “I’ll pass. But I appreciate the invitation.”
“Alright. We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“You’re playing,” I remind him. Sliding my warning gaze to Finn, I realize he’s already slipped away with his phone back in his hand. “Both of you.”
Feeling my eyes on him, Finn glances up and shakes his head. “I’m not going out.”
“You know it is completely possible to go out and not get plastered, Coach? We’re responsible, don’t worry. Plus, Jett’s coming.”
The mention of our star shortstop settles me a bit. He’s never been one to party, but he avoids it more than he used to now that his daughter is old enough to know how to search his name on Google.
“Just be ready to win tomorrow,” I say.
Wesley salutes me. “You got it, Coach.”
Without a formal goodbye, I head out, more than ready to spend the rest of the day in the privacy of my hotel room.
My eyes burn from the brightness of the laptop screen.
It’s as dim as I can make it, but with the lights off, it doesn’t matter. The only glow in the room comes from the paused game film I’ve been watching for hours now. I glance at the time and see that it’s already past midnight.
Cracking my neck, I adjust the laptop on my thighs. I should close it and go to bed. That’s the responsible thing to do, especially before the last game of a series. Still, I hesitate with my finger swiping uselessly back and forth across the track pad.
Everything’s ready for tomorrow. I’m meticulously organized with all aspects of my life, let alone my team.
The batting order is finalized, and the bullpen is ready.
My players should be getting back to the hotel soon, sober and tired.
I can set my laptop aside and get more than the five hours of sleep I’ve suffered with the last couple of weeks.
But that isn’t what I do.
I close out of the films and open a web browser instead.
The website I type out auto-fills into the search bar, and the moment I press Enter, the familiar logo is filling the screen.
It’s instinct that guides me through the log-in process and through the following pages until I see her profile picture.
My lungs seize when I see the thumbnail on the latest video crushedvelvet has uploaded. She put it up this morning. It’s the only one on her page that I haven’t watched.
Fuck, that makes me sound like such a creep.
I don’t like to consider what I’ve been doing on After Hours creepy, though.
I’m a single guy who hasn’t been on a date with anyone in years.
It’s not that I’m a monk or anything, but I do avoid meeting new people as much as I can outside of my work.
Obviously, that’s led to a severe lack of sex life.
This is why sites like this exist.
Creating an account on the site three months ago wasn’t even my intention.
I heard about it in a lunch meeting and only checked it out on a whim, just to see if the men who were bragging about it were right.
I scrolled for a handful of minutes before finding this account, and after further research on the safety precautions put into place for those who choose to film and share content with viewers, I subscribed.
Crushedvelvet’s account has been the only one I watch.
I’m uninterested in browsing the thousands of others.
The woman who runs this page is . . . far more than enough for me, and I refuse to feel guilty about watching what she posts.
I’ve never seen her face, and that’s given me some comfort.
The last thing I want to do is lose the anonymity that drew me here in the first place.
Her content is always filmed alone, with only herself included. I found quickly that I liked that.
I’m on After Hours because I don’t want to waste time on porn sites, nor do I have any intention of signing up to a dating site anytime soon.
Here, I can watch what I enjoy and know that the videos uploaded are made because the person behind the camera feels the same about what they do.
For now, at least, that’s enough for me.
Settled a bit, I stretch my shoulders against the headboard and click on the video.
The familiar sight of peachy skin fills my screen, followed by a soft, twinkly voice that sends sparks down the length of my body.
I swallow a groan when she pinches the blush-pink strap of her bra and snaps it twice.
My already sore muscles tense to the point of pain as I give her my full attention.