Chapter 15
ROMAN
“For?” I croak.
Rolling my chair further beneath my desk, I clear my throat. It’s still sore from overuse during today’s game. I should just tell her that and carry on with my night.
My lips press together instead.
Brielle almost appears out of place in the doorway. She may not be shying away from making eye contact, but the tightness in her posture as she crosses her arms over the Havoc logo on her jersey gives her away. I look harder now that I can see through her facade, needing more. Something deeper.
The last three days have been excruciating for me.
Evie didn’t wait all of five seconds after I got back to the car before asking me all the questions she’d been holding back during the drive to Brielle’s apartment.
I was able to bypass most of them, but I stumbled too many times to completely convince her that my unexpected company was completely innocent.
It would seem that my niece isn’t a na?ve teenager anymore.
“Have you seen my brother, by chance? Jett said he took off, but I . . . wanted to see if you saw something different,” she says, suddenly looking away.
“He was one of the first to leave after wrapping his interview.”
I heard him spouting off about needing to take off before his sister could get to him, but I keep that to myself for now.
She drops her arms and grips her hips instead. Flames flare in her eyes. “That motherfucker.”
“What did he do?”
“It’s family stuff. Very annoying, immature family stuff that is going to have him getting beat up by his little sister the minute I find him,” she rambles, shaking her head angrily.
I drop my elbows to my desk and chew my lip before saying, “Did you need a ride home?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that? Do I look like I don’t know how to drive?”
“That’s not why I asked,” I tell her calmly, lips twitching.
Her eyes find mine again, those roaring flames settling a bit. There’s a new twinkle there that matches the slight tug of her lips. “So, you’re just wanting to recreate the other night, then?”
“Brielle.”
“Sorry, sorry. I told myself I was going to be good,” she says with a sigh. “What are you doing, anyway?”
I reluctantly look away long enough to make sure I didn’t forget to pause the game I was in the middle of watching. When I focus back on her, I realize she’s walked further into the office. Her plump bottom lip is nestled between her teeth as she rolls it.
“Watching game film,” I tell her bluntly.
“From today?”
“Yes.”
“Jett mentioned you do this a lot.”
I tighten my gaze a bit. “He seemed to be in a talking mood today.”
“He always is. Some people actually like to have healthy discussions with others instead of being all broody and locking themselves away in their office.”
“How do you know I wasn’t chatting earlier? You only got here a few minutes ago.”
“Well, were you?” She calls my bluff too easily.
I exhale and lean back in my chair. “Did you have any other questions?”
“Look,” she starts, moving even closer. Her thighs nearly press against the edge of my desk by the time she stops between two chairs. “How about we call a truce?”
Surprise has my reply flying out. “Why?”
“Other than the obvious? You’ve made the reasons pretty clear.”
“And you haven’t wanted to accept them. What’s changed?”
Just accept it and move on, Roman.
“The last thing I want to do is make someone uncomfortable. So, I’ll back off,” she says with a carefree shrug.
For some reason, that chafes. My mood sours despite the obvious sense of relief I should be feeling. This is what I wanted, after all. So why does it feel so fucking wrong?
“Great,” I declare, leaning forward.
Brielle’s smile is slow to grow. By the time it has, she’s already started to move around my desk. Her sudden closeness has me stiffening, desire coursing through me at a furious speed. My cock twitches as it draws blood from the rest of my body.
“Are you opposed to some company while you watch, friend?” she asks softly, her voice a gentle caress.
“You’re interested in rewatching the game?”
She stares past me at the monitor that’s casting the only light in the room.
The glow creates shadows beneath her eyes and the underside of her jaw.
I like the look of her in my team’s jersey, even if it’s not possible for her to be wearing my name on the back of it.
That’s not something I’d ever get to see, even if it were.
Whose name is on her back right now?
“Are you doubting my interest in baseball?” she returns, pulling her eyes back to settle on me. “Because I can assure you I’m just a big a fan as you are.”
“That’s a big claim.”
“It’s not a claim. I can prove it.”
I huff a low laugh and nod to one of the chairs in front of my desk. “Sit, then.”
She wastes no time in hauling it over and parking it beside me. I stare at the paused game as she sits and scoots closer, her knee brushing my outer thigh just once.
Her perfume drifts around us in a cloud of deep, rich fruits that has my palms growing clammy. I grab the computer mouse and give it a shake to distract myself.
“Aren’t you going to ask me a bunch of pointless questions now to see if I’m telling the truth?”
I pause. “What?”
She crosses one leg over the other and swings her foot like a pendulum. “Been here and done this a thousand times, Roman. Go for it. This is what always happens when a woman tells a man that she’s a fan of a sport.”
“That’s pathetic. I’m not going to ask you anything. Just watch.”
I leave it at that and hit Play on the game.
It kicks off from the top of the third inning, right before Finn threw his first home run of the game.
After this, it all started to go downhill.
Not just him, but the outfield, too. Jett let two balls slip past him, which led to the first batter getting home for the other team and another an inning later.
Not every game is perfect. This one was just further from that point than we’ve had in a long while, even if we managed to recover.
“What is the point of this?” Brielle asks, her voice judgment-free.
“Of watching film?”
“Yeah. I mean, I know the premise, but the game only ended two hours ago. Aren’t you tired?”
I open my mouth to give her the truth before replacing it with something that doesn’t need explaining. “It’s either I watch it now or in the morning.”
“And mornings are no good for you?”
“Do you have a question for every answer I give you?” I ask, turning toward her. My chest is heavy with unease, warning me that her probing curiosity has started to wear me down.
“I’m just trying to get to know you.”
“Why?” I spit, crueller than intended. With a sweaty palm, I scrub at my jaw. “There’s nothing to know.”
Her foot stills, and then she’s uncrossing her legs and sliding to the edge of her chair. My thigh tingles when her knee makes contact again. This time, it stays there as her hands curl in her lap.
“That’s not what I believe.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Well, I think you’re lonely. And you’ve been this way for so long that me being interested is freaking you out and leading you to shove a thousand excuses between us to keep me at a safer distance.”
I clench my jaw and watch the batter on my monitor hit a foul, not registering the name of the player.
My shoulders have curled in like the subconscious part of my brain is trying to protect me from a goddamn predator instead of the woman fifteen years my junior who’s drowning in a jersey that’s far too big for her frame.
I pull them back and let myself look at her. Just for a second.
One turns into ten, then twenty, as I find myself drowning in the bright green eyes staring back at me. The sincerity inside of them is too obvious to ignore. Too fucking innocent.
And now I don’t know what’s worse. Her constant flirting and announcement of the connection we share, or this new ability she’s mastered that allows her to tunnel her way into my every inner thought, just to learn the things I’ve buried too deep to expose on my own.
“I have Evie. And the team,” I say.
“Evie is pretty great. Have you always looked after her?”
It’s the innocent way of asking where her mother is. A sour taste fills my mouth before I force myself to swallow.
“Not the way I do now,” is all I can make myself say.
Luckily, it seems to be enough for her. She doesn’t push further.
I let go of some of the tightness in my muscles when she turns her attention to the game.
Her eyes bounce all over the monitor as she watches the Havoc batters come in, and Kellan takes position at home plate.
The genuine interest in her expression doesn’t surprise me.
I believed her when she said she was interested in baseball.
“You know, I don’t like to tell Kellan how good he is that often because his head is already so big, but he really is a great player,” she murmurs when he hits the ball into deep left field.
“He’s one of the best.”
Silence falls again. I scratch at the stubble on my jaw and steal another glance at her. It’s impossible to focus with her right here with me when all I want to do is stare at her and watch every little reaction she has to the game in front of us.
I let my thigh press more firmly against her knee while leaning deeper into my leather chair and taking the opportunity to study her without her doing the same to me.
Her short hair is braided today, with those two bright red strands curled and brushing her cheeks.
I don’t remember it always being that deep shade, but I didn’t use to pay much attention.
The few times we crossed paths prior to the photoshoot run-in, I was so focused on work and making sure my players had their heads in the right place to ensure we had a good game that I didn’t see anything outside of that.
She was blonde.
A flash of Brielle sitting beside Aubrey on the plane last season for the last series of playoff games floods my vision, making me blink.
Her hair was bright blonde then and at least a few inches longer.
I remember because I asked Wesley why his sister had stamped green stars in it.
They never would have stood out the way they did if her hair were this vibrant red colour.
“Why did you change your hair?” I blurt out.
She hums low in her throat when she turns her head. Her eyes cling to the monitor until they’re forced off, focusing on me instead. “Hmm?”
“It was blonde.”
“I guess I just wanted a change. It’ll be a bitch to get back to blonde, though. Think it was worth the inevitable hours bleaching?”
“The red fits you.”
“More than the blonde?”
I twist my lips to avoid smiling. “I didn’t say that.”
“Interesting,” she drawls, boldly holding eye contact.
“If you like it, then obviously it was worth the change. You’re beautiful regardless of what colour your hair is,” I state, voice so deep it’s husky.
Jesus fucking Christ, I need a muzzle. Or to lose my tongue. Possibly both.
Yet there’s that smile again. The one I’ve seen too many times to count on both hands in only the last couple of weeks.
I can’t decide if I’m ready to lose the sight of it just yet.
Brielle Hayes might be generous with her affection, but there’s something about that reminder that pisses me off. The thought of anyone but me receiving it shouldn’t feel like razor blades in my windpipe, yet here I am, nearly choking on every inhale.
And that’s a problem I have no idea how to fix.