7. Brooke
Chapter 7
Brooke
T he red rubber ball soars through the air, and I can't help but steal another glance at the neighboring field. There he is - Dr. Trevor Jacobs, trauma surgeon extraordinaire, darting between his buddies with surprising agility for a man who spends most of his time standing for hours on end in an operating room. His muscled arms flex as he reaches to catch the football, and I feel a flutter in my chest that has nothing to do with the game I'm supposed to be playing.
"Brooke! You’re up!" calls out Sunni, our team captain. "We're tied. Do you think you can bring this home?"
I nod, trying to shake off the butterflies in my stomach. "I'll do my best," I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. Focus, Brooke. This isn't one of your romance novels, I tell myself internally.
I take my position, eyeing the pitcher warily. The game's intensity hangs in the air, thick as the humid Florida breeze. My teammates' encouraging cheers fade into background noise as I zero in on the ball the pitcher is holding on the mound.
"You've got this, Brooke!" yells Kendall from the dugout .
"Less yapping, more kicking!" the opposing team's captain shouts impatiently.
I take a deep breath, trying to channel some of the confidence I feel when I'm lost in my writing. The ball rolls towards me, and I know this is it - our one chance at victory.
Just as I'm about to make contact, a deep voice carries across from the other field. "Now that’s what I’m talking about!"
My head snaps up instinctively, and I catch a glimpse of Trevor's dazzling smile. In that split second of distraction, my foot connects with the ball, sending it rocketing into the air.
The satisfying thwack echoes across the field. Time seems to slow as I watch the ball soar over the infield, a perfect arc against the cloudless sky.
"Holy crap, Brooke!" Kendall's voice pierces through my daze. "Run!"
Right. Running. That's a thing I should be doing right now.
My legs spring into action, propelling me towards first base. The rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins drowns out everything except the thundering of my own heartbeat.
As I round second, I catch another glimpse of Trevor. He's paused his game, watching my mad dash with an expression I can't quite read. Is that admiration in his eyes? Or am I just projecting my own desires?
"Keep going!" Grace screams, waving her arms wildly from home plate. "It's going all the way!"
I pump my legs harder, my lungs burning with the effort. This is it. Our chance to prove that a group of misfit women can actually win something.
"Almost there!" Kendall's voice cuts through my inner monologue. "You've got this, girl!"
I round third base, my heart pounding so hard I swear it's trying to escape my chest. That's when it happens - our eyes lock. Trevor's intense gaze meets mine, and suddenly, the world narrows to just the two of us.
Oh god , I think, feeling a jolt of electricity course through me. Shit! He's watching. He's actually watching me.
In that moment of distraction, my foot catches on itself. Time slows as I feel myself falling forward, the ground rushing up to meet me.
"No, no, no!" I cry out, more in my head than aloud.
I hit the dirt with a graceless thud, sliding across home plate in a cloud of dust. For a split second, there's silence. Then...
"Safe!" the umpire bellows. "Game over!"
A cacophony of cheers erupts around me. My teammates swarm, pulling me to my feet, hugging me, screaming with joy.
"We won! We actually won!" Charlie shrieks, jumping up and down.
But I can barely process their excitement. My mind is consumed by one burning question:
"Did he see?" I mumble, my eyes searching for Trevor.
"Did who see what?" Kendall asks, giving me a curious look.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. "Nothing. Never mind."
As my teammates continue to celebrate around me, I can't help but steal another glance towards the football field. Trevor's gone, leaving me wondering if our electric moment was just another figment of my romance-writer's imagination.
The chatter of excited voices and clinking of glasses fills Hooplas. I lean against the polished bar, nursing another fruity cocktail and trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my body .
"To the Bad News Babes!" Kendall shouts, raising her glass. "And to Brooke, our clumsy hero!"
Laughter erupts around me, and I force a smile, clinking my glass with theirs. "Thanks, guys," I say, my voice barely audible over the country music blaring from the speakers.
As my teammates launch into another animated recap of our unlikely victory, my eyes can't help but wander the bar and restaurant, scanning the crowd. Each time the door swings open, my heart leaps, only to sink again when it's not him.
"What's got you so distracted?" Grace asks, nudging me with her elbow.
I startle, nearly spilling my drink. "Nothing," I lie, feeling heat creep up my neck. "Just... taking it all in."
But even as the words leave my mouth, I'm peering over Grace’s shoulder, searching for those piercing blue eyes that had me tripping over my own damn feet just hours ago.
"Uh-huh," Grace says, clearly unconvinced. "You're looking for someone. Spill it. Is it that guy you were talking to from the other field earlier?"
I bite my lip, debating whether to confide in her. "It's... complicated," I finally admit. "There's this guy?—"
The door swings open again, and I catch my breath, only to deflate when I see it's just another group of locals. A confusing mix of disappointment and relief washes over me.
"Go on," Grace prompts, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "It's probably nothing. Just a moment, you know? But I can't stop thinking about it. About him."
"The mysterious hunk from the field?" Grace asks again, and I nod, feeling my cheeks flush.
"Part of me was hoping he'd show up here," I confess. "But then again..."
"You're scared he will actually show," Grace finishes for me, her voice softening.
I nod, grateful for her understanding. "Terrified, actually. What if it was all in my head? What if he does show up and I make a fool of myself again ? We have a coffee date tomorrow and I’m not sure I can go after my fantastical display of athleticism earlier."
Grace squeezes my arm reassuringly. "Brooke, you're amazing. Any guy would be lucky to have you trip over yourself for him."
I can't help but laugh, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. "Thanks, Grace. I just... I don't know if I'm ready for this. For him."
As the night wears on, I find myself caught between hope and fear, relief and longing. Each time I don't see Trevor, I'm both disappointed and oddly comforted. It's safer this way, I tell myself.
The room spins a little as I raise another glass to my lips, the sweet tang of strawberry daiquiri sliding down my throat. I've lost count of how many drinks I've had, but the warmth spreading through my body feels good, numbing the disappointment and anxiety that's been gnawing at me all night.
"To Brooke, our MVP!" Kennedy shouts, her words slightly slurred now.
I grin, the alcohol loosening my inhibitions. "To us! The worst team that somehow managed to win one!"
Laughter erupts around me, and for a moment, I forget about Trevor and lose myself in the celebration. But as the bartender calls out last call, reality starts to creep back in.
"Keys, please," the bartender says, holding out her hand as I fumble through my purse.
I frown, swaying slightly. "But how'm I supposed to get home?"
"Seriously, Brooke, it’s no trouble. I can call you a cab," she offers, reaching for the phone.
I wave her off, “I don’t need a cab. I’m perfectly fine. Just…maybe one more glass of water, and I’ll walk home. It’s not that far. Hell, we live in a small town.”
Suddenly, a familiar deep voice cuts through the haze. "Actually, that won't be necessary, Steph. I'll take her home."
My heart leaps into my throat as I turn to see Trevor emerging from the back room, his blue eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes me shiver. Fuck, he’s hot.
"You sure?" the bartender asks.
Trevor nods, his gaze never leaving mine. "Positive. I’ve got her."
“Trevor! What are you doin’ here?” I slur a bit.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he replies, sliding onto the stool beside me. “Last I checked, you didn’t strike me as the ‘bar-hoppin solo’ type.”
I’m not sure why, but that strikes me as funny and I giggle. “I’m not! I came with Kendall and Charlie and the others after kickball, but they left and I…well, I stayed for the vibes.”
“She’s had a good time, but I was just cutting her off and about to call her a cab.” Steph says from behind the bar. Tattletale.
“Thanks for looking out for her,” he says, nodding. “I’ve got her from here.”
Try as I might, I cannot get my serious face on, and another giggle slips out. “I don’t need babysitting, you know. I’m perfectly capable of…functioning!”
“Sure you are” He stands and offers me his hand. “But let’s make sure you ‘function’ all the way home in one piece.”
I stare at his hand for a second and then decide to take it. “Fine, but only because I trust you, Dr. Jacobs.”
“Glad to hear it.” He helps me off the stool. “Let’s get you home.”
As we step out into the cool night air, I struggle to form coherent thoughts as I’m focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and not tripping over my own two feet…again. " You’re lucky you’re charming, Trevor. Otherwise, I’d have to find another ride. You were here the whole time?" I manage to ask jumping around from topic to topic making my own head spin.
He chuckles softly. "Private party in the back. It’s lucky for both of us, I am charming. Now, let’s get you home before you decide to challenge me on that.”
My cheeks burn, and I'm not sure if it's from the alcohol or his words. The drive to my cottage passes in a blur of stolen glances and charged silence. Before I know it, we're at my door.
"Thanks for the ride," I murmur, stumbling for my house key.
Trevor gently takes them from me, unlocking the door. "My pleasure."
I turn to face him, suddenly overwhelmed by his proximity. "Do you... want to come in?"
He hesitates, and something inside me snaps. Before I can think better of it, I'm pulling him close, pressing my lips to his. For a moment, it's everything I've imagined, his warmth, his scent, the soft rumble in his chest.
But then he pulls away, his eyes clouded with desire and something else... regret?
"Brooke," he says softly, "I'm flattered, and believe me, I'm interested…so, so interested, but not like this. Not when you're drunk."
I feel my face flush with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I?—"
He cuts me off with a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Don't be. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"
I nod and watch him climb into his car and drive away as mortification envelops me.