Chapter 23 - Taylor
When I woke up from my nap and found Grant sleeping peacefully beside me, I should’ve made him leave.
Instead, I burrowed in deeper and soaked in the intimacy of a shared nap.
He was gone by the time I was ready to get up, but he stuck close to me all weekend.
Watching movies while I lounged around. Making sure I ate, drank, and was comfortable.
By Monday, I was feeling better and needed to get out of the house.
Not only because we were in the final stretch of planning for Bark in the Park, but because I needed space from all the extra attention he was giving me.
I don’t scare easily, but having Grant tend to me and show me with his actions that he still cares for me was too much for me to process, and the feelings I’m not prepared to face rose to the surface.
We need to talk.
I know we need to talk, but first I need to make it through this event, which is why I’m doing everything in my power to stay distracted until it’s over. It’s not hard to do. There’s a lot to get done in a short amount of time.
Mary joins me in the marketing room.
“Should we go over the checklist?” I ask, opening my ever-present planner.
“Yes, let’s do that because I feel like I’m forgetting something and it’s driving me crazy.”
We’ve only had three weeks to plan this event and events of this scale typically take much longer, so I completely understand how Mary’s feeling.
“Deep breaths. You’re doing great.”
She reaches over and clasps my hand. “I really appreciate everything you’re doing to help us. I don’t know how we could’ve pulled this off without you.”
“Happy to help, Mary. Your team is great, and I really enjoy working with everyone here.”
In our friend group, I’m known as the planner. It’s why I planned Ivory’s wedding and why the guys told Chase to come to me to plan this event. If someone needs something done, I handle it with precision. I don’t get to do things like this often, but I love seeing all the pieces come together.
“They love you.” Mary smiles over at me.
Looking down at my planner, I rest my pen beside the first item. “Okay, first things first. Has the grounds crew done whatever protections they need to for the field?”
We’re hosting the event on the field and plan to have the dogs in the outfield in playpens so attendees can play with them before adopting them.
She looks down at her own list. “I believe so. Grant was going to handle that part with them.”
“I can check with him so you can focus on the other things.” Looks like my avoidance tactics are coming to an end today.
“Great. The social media team has been posting about the event and including the guest appearances you’ve arranged.”
Athletes and coaches from the other local Nashville sports teams have agreed to come to the event and spread the word.
Many of them also partner with the humane society and local area charities, so it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.
I’ve also talked to some of my personal clients and they’re flying in to support.
I nod. “Perfect. What about the performances?”
Mary flips the page in her notebook. “We’ve got local artists and then a few of yours lined up. It’ll be a full schedule with music throughout the day. We’re setting that up on the concourse because we don’t want them in the dirt of the infield or the crowd too close to the animals.”
“Smart thinking. Games and attractions are also on the concourse, right?”
“Yep. Bounce house, obstacle course, face painting. We’ll open the other games already in the stadium as well to keep the kids entertained.”
“Concessions?” I ask, moving to the next item on the list.
“Two of the stadium’s concession stands and the convenience store will be open.”
“We’ll have the food trucks line up along the side street and create a food truck park. I’ve been in contact with the police department to block off the road and get the necessary permits.”
I pass Mary the map I’ve drawn up, and she giddily says, “This is so exciting. I can’t wait to see it all come together.”
“Me either. Should we go over the schedule?”
We spend the next couple of hours combing over every detail to ensure nothing is missed. With only a few days left, there’s no time for a mistake.
Satisfied everything is coming together, we part ways and I search out Grant to confirm the details on the grounds crew. I should’ve known that was on his to-do list, but since I’ve been studiously avoiding him all week, I missed that tidbit.
When I get to his office, the door is open but he’s nowhere to be found.
The view of the stadium from his windows calls to me.
Stepping closer, I see the grounds crew working.
One guy is driving the mower back to the fence where he’ll put it away.
Another is carrying rakes off the field to store.
The rest are rolling out the tarp to cover the infield.
That’s when I see him. His bronze-colored hair is tucked under a backward baseball hat, but I’d know his body anywhere, even from all the way up here.
I recognize the way his shoulders flex under the T-shirt when he pushes against the tarp to unroll it with the crew and the way he rolls his neck when he stands back up fully.
I also recognize the want pooling deep in my belly, but I choose to ignore that for right now.
What is he doing down there?
I watch as he laughs with the guys when they’re finished. He pulls the bottom of his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his brow and my knees go weak at the flash of skin and the bright smile on his face.
He waves to them, and instead of leaving the field, he waits for them to leave before he moves to the mound. I wonder if he’s missing it, wishing he could’ve played a few more seasons or if owning this team is enough.
I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I turn on my heel and walk out of his office. I’ve gotten my answer on the field preparations, but when he still doesn’t leave, I find myself heading to the field.
“What are you doing down here?” I ask, walking up to the dugout where Grant is standing inside, leaning on the railing overlooking the field. Wearing a short sleeve shirt, gym shorts, and sneakers, he looks every bit the pitcher I once knew. “Reliving your glory days?”
He rolls his eyes, but offers me a smirk. “What are you doing down here?”
“Saw you working with the grounds crew. Do you do that often?”
He shrugs. “Not usually.”
“I went by your office to check on the progress with the field prep when I saw you working from the window.”
He looks over at me when I step up beside him.
His arm brushes mine and it feels like an electric shock.
These lingering touches have given me life the past couple weeks.
A hand on my back as he moves around me in the kitchen.
A brush of the hand as I walk by in the hallway at work.
The edge of his thigh against mine as we sit on the couch and watch a movie.
It’s part of why I’ve been keeping my distance. I tend to run from feelings, and I want Grant more than my next breath.
“You can check that off the list then.” His shoulders are tense, and his clipped responses irk me.
Trying again, I say, “I think Monday will be a massive success for the Troubadours organization and a big step in the right direction for Chase’s image rehabilitation.”
“I’m sure it will. The buzz this has created and the positive spin are good for the team.” The sun has fallen behind the office building, and it casts Grant in a shadow. An ominous feeling settles in my gut.
“I went over the final touches on the checklist with Mary earlier. We’re all set. Vendors will start setting up tomorrow and Sunday.”
“Sounds good.”
I expel a frustrated breath and throw my hands out to my sides. “What is your problem?”
He answers my question with a question. “Why did you come down here?”
Because you looked really fucking hot standing on the pitcher’s mound and I couldn’t stop myself from a close-up view.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been avoiding me all week.”
“No, I haven’t. I’ve been busy working to make sure everything is finalized for the event.”
“Cut the shit, Taylor.”
“Why are you in such a mood?”
“Probably because we spent all weekend together, Monday rolled around and you ghosted me. Then here comes Friday and you’re searching me out looking like that.
” He turns, looming over me. “And as much as I want to, I can’t touch.
I’m pissed because that stunt in the bathtub did nothing to ease the ache I feel for you.
How much I want to shove my cock inside your tight little cunt until you forget all the reasons you’re spinning up in your head about why we can’t work and you finally give in to your feelings for me. ”
The fire in his eyes heats me from the inside out. My pulse quickens and I’m immediately wet by the imagery. The prospect of him fucking me right here, right now where anyone could see has me primed and ready.
“You want it too, don’t you?” His large palm encircles my waist, and he tugs me toward him, repositioning us so my back is pressed against the fencing.
“I can see the way you’re clenching your thighs together.
Your breathy pants and this pulse point right here.
. .” He dips his head and bites my collarbone, right below my throbbing pulse.
“If I were to reach under this dress, would you be soaked for me?”
I gasp when his fingers drag along the hem of my short sundress.
“Answer me, Taylor. Are you fucking wet for me?”
“Yes,” I pant, his filthy words spurring me on.
Palming my ass, he pulls me into him and I feel his hard length against me. “Do you feel how much I want you?” He grinds into me, eliciting a moan. The gold flecks in his eyes catch against the fading sun and he looks devilish like this.
“Grant . . .”
“Say it again,” he growls, tightening his grip on my ass. He reaches his other hand up, resting it on the railing behind my head and caging me in.
“Oh my god.” I clench around nothing, desperately needing to be filled, but only if it’s him filling me up.
“That’s right, Tay baby, pray to me and maybe you’ll get what you want.”
“Grant, please.”
“Please what? Please fuck you in the dugout like a dirty whore where anyone could see you?”
“We can’t do this here.” My words are weak, even to my own ears—a useless fight because he could tell me to do anything right now and I’d do it.
“This is my stadium. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
“Don’t you mean our stadium?” I challenge, purely to provoke him into letting go. Now that we’re in this situation, I want nothing more than to be owned by him. To send him over the edge until he takes out all the frustration on me.
“No, wife. It’s mine. You weren’t here for this part.”
The barb stings, hitting right between the ribs as if he’d pierced it with a knife. The reminder that he’s lived a whole life without me, that we both have, hurts my heart, but there’s no time to dwell on that now. Not when he’s looking at me with a predatory glare, commanding and sinful.
“I have half a mind to punish you for that before taking what I really want.” My heart rate intensifies at the promise in those eyes. Pleasure and pain.
“Now, turn around and bend over the railing.”
He doesn’t wait for me to move—he spins me around so fast, my hair whips into my face and my dress flutters around me.