Chapter Twenty-two
Ashton rubbed her temple to stave off a building headache.
As the semester had gotten underway, she realized she should’ve given her students more credit than her first impressions garnered.
Most had brightened up, engaged in discussions, and even inquired about other courses offered on the subject.
But there were still those days, like this one, when she questioned her ability to deal with the minority of students whose work was lackluster.
The paper she held in her hand belonged to one such student.
While his argument was plausible, it didn’t have any depth.
He was doing the bare minimum to pass. No surprise, really, since all of her eager minds presented earlier in the semester, and the ones who remained were the students who intentionally chose the latest presentation times possible, to put off the inevitable.
But it truly gnawed at Ashton that he didn’t apply himself.
After she reached the final page and put a large C on the front, she set the paper on the pile and thumped her head on her desk.
The end is in sight. Three more weeks of classes, then all she’d have to worry about was coaching and dissertation research.
Amazing how fast time flew, especially March.
She’d taken on a more prominent role with the pitching staff when Courtney retained pitch-calling duties during Razor’s recovery.
While it made logical sense, she had sympathy for Nancy, who stayed away during practice and probably felt she’d been pushed aside.
Ultimately, it had been Courtney’s decision.
If she believed she needed to take over, who was Ashton to argue?
Especially since the decision proved fruitful with the Hornets sweeping their opponent the previous weekend, which kept them in postseason contention.
Ashton could only hope Nancy would set aside her pride and participate with the support and confidence she had in the beginning of the season.
Ashton shook her head. No sense in dwelling on what she couldn’t control. She set her grading aside and picked up the rental agreement from Slugfest.
She smiled. It’d been merely a coincidence that she’d found the space. She’d checked on Razor daily, not trusting her to totally take it easy. And on one particular day, her suspicions were proved correct when she discovered Razor helping to clean out a room in the back of the warehouse.
“It’s just sweeping, Ashton,” Razor said.
“I had a crew come in and do all the heavy lifting.” Ashton eyed her suspiciously.
She’d noticed Razor’s labored breathing and her favoring of her left side.
She grabbed the broom to finish the job and ordered Razor to sit down and rest. While she’d done the chore, she took note of how big the room was and asked what its purpose was going to be.
“I don’t know,” Razor admitted.
Offhandedly, Ashton said, “It’s not a bad space to have for sessions.”
“Sessions? You mean like a therapist’s office?”
Ashton shrugged. “You are studying sport psychology. This space would be perfect. Hell, I’d like to have a space like this to do my study.”
The next day, Razor had strolled into her office and handed her a contract to rent the space, for a nominal fee, of course. Ashton could’ve kissed her right then and there, but after their discussion about pumping the brakes on their relationship, she’d abstained…at least until later that evening.
Ashton read the first page of the contract and flipped to the second, ready to sign, when someone knocked on her door.
“Dammit,” she muttered, then called for the visitor to come in.
Razor squeezed through the crack and slammed her back against the door, a broad grin on her face. She looked the happiest she’d been in the three weeks since her accident. And the smolder in her eyes was hard to miss.
Ashton raised her eyebrow and did her best to play nonchalant, even though her concentration had waned in class due to curiosity over Razor’s medical results. She hoped the heat in Razor’s gaze meant it was good news.
“That look is deadly,” she teased. “The last time you gave me that look, we ended up making out on your couch. This is my office, so put that longing gaze away, please.”
Razor stepped farther into the space, undeterred, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “There is no sexual motive, I swear. And I didn’t start that frivolity on my couch Saturday. I believe you made the first move.”
Ashton flushed at the memory. While they’d been on their best behavior for three weeks—well, mostly, with a few stray longing looks, some flirtatious banter during practice, and some not-so-innocent kisses good night—helping Razor with physical therapy the previous Saturday had set something off in Ashton, and she felt the need to test Razor’s dexterity for herself.
If the full weight of Razor lying on top of her didn’t speak to just how much she’d healed, well, Ashton would like to see someone come up with a better example.
Pushing the passionate moment aside, Ashton scanned the letter Razor handed her and grinned.
“You’ve been cleared to play.”
Razor nodded with a matching smile.
Ashton immediately rounded her desk and enveloped Razor in a tight hug.
“Does Courtney know?”
Razor nodded. “She was my first stop, but I like your reaction better. All she did was shake my hand.” Her hands slid lower and settled at the small of Ashton’s back, and Razor pulled her closer. “I was thinking, you could come over tonight. Maybe continue with my physical therapy from Saturday.”
Ashton let out a disappointed sigh.
“Or not,” Razor amended and took a step back, severing the contact. “I know we said we’d wait until the end of the semester…”
“No, it’s not that,” Ashton said. “I have to pack tonight for my psychology conference.”
Razor groaned. “Oh right, that’s this week.”
Ashton bit her lip. “So, you’re okay with us postponing?”
Razor reached for her and held her in a loose embrace. “More than okay. But I guess the question is how long do we postpone?”
Ashton closed her eyes and willed her libido to calm down. “While I would love to go with the tempt-fate option, I know I’d be a nervous wreck the rest of the semester.”
Razor rested their foreheads together. “I can live with that. How about instead of anything physical, I make you breakfast when you return.”
“Why not dinner?”
“Why not both?”
Ashton laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Let’s bank on breakfast, just in case you get in too late Saturday night. Deal?”
Ashton smiled then leaned up and kissed Razor thoroughly. She took great pride when a whimper escaped Razor’s lips as she pulled away.
“Deal. I look forward to having breakfast on Sunday,” she said.
Razor ran her tongue along her lower lip.
“Can I have one more?”
Ashton threw her head back and laughed. She was about to fulfill the request when a ringtone stopped her progress. She whined and looked around for the source of the sound. It was coming from Razor’s pocket.
“I’ll send it to voicemail,” Razor said, but when she pulled out the phone and saw the name, she paused. “Actually, I should probably take this.”
Ashton nodded and pushed her toward the door. “Go ahead. I have some work to do before practice anyway.”
Razor gave her a quick peck on the lips. Then, with the phone pressed to her ear, she left. Ashton chuckled and sat back down, picking up the discarded rental agreement. The best thing she could do right now was distract herself with work, and not think about skipping packing.
* * *
“She’s baaaaack!” Emery sing-songed.
Razor bowed dramatically, and her heart swelled from the supportive cheers and applause. Emery held up her hand, and Razor slapped it hard.
“Damn. I guess you’re feeling better.”
Razor laughed and headed toward her locker.
Summer, slumped forward, gave a weak smile and a welcome back, but it was obvious she wasn’t happy.
In the weeks since Razor’s injury, Summer’s mood soured to the point it had affected her professionally, and according to the phone call she got this afternoon, personally.
Sure, they’d been able to string together some wins, thanks to her and Courtney’s pitch-calling prowess, but Summer’s energy was off, making some of those wins closer than they should have been.
“Your dad called me today.”
Summer’s head shot up.
“Why was my dad calling you?”
“Apparently he’s worried about you.”
“He has nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”
“He said you were very withdrawn on your last visit home. All you did was stay in your room. You barely ate or slept. I told him I don’t know what’s going on, but I have noticed a change as well.”
Summer squeezed her eyes shut, and a couple of tears escaped.
“Look,” Razor whispered, “I want you to know you can talk to me about anything. I won’t betray your trust.”
Summer opened her mouth, but all that came out was a surprised gasp. Confused, Razor turned and saw Harper entering the locker room.
“I’m going to do my stretches,” Summer announced and stood abruptly. “I’ll see you in the pen.” Then, she was gone.
Razor stood, ready to go after her, but Harper tugged on her shoulder to pull her into a hug.
“Welcome back.”
“Thanks,” Razor replied. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
Harper shrugged. “Emery texted me and said you were back. I switched to another shift later in the week so I could be here.”
Razor warmed at the thoughtfulness. “I appreciate it.”
They grabbed their gear and headed to the field.
“So, do you want to take the first round, or shall I just dive into the deep end?”
Harper looked at Summer, then shook her head. “Actually, I think I’ll work with the bullpen today if that’s okay.”
Razor nodded. “Of course. Whatever is best for you.”