Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
LOGAN
The locker room smells like sweat, leather, and cheap cologne.
Same as always.
Guys are scattered everywhere. Some halfway dressed, some already showered, music playing low through someone’s speaker. The kind of controlled chaos you only really understand if you’ve been in it.
I’m sitting at my locker, towel slung low on my hips, working through my usual routine, which includes stretching and resetting.
But I’m not really thinking about any of it. Definitely not. I’m thinking about her, and about last night.
About the way Cassie looked when I left.
A couple of the guys are still talking about the homer.
“Dude, I’m telling you,” one of them says. “You called that. You looked right at her. That was absolutely bat-shit. Ain’t ever seen anything like it.”
I shake my head, grabbing my shirt. “Shut up. It was just lucky.”
“Don’t ‘shut up’ me,” he laughs. “That was some movie shit. And like, one of those cool 90s baseball movies. Not the corny ones they make now.”
I don’t respond. And actually, a little tiny smile plays out on my face.
Because I admit—it was pretty cool.
The door opens, and I feel her before I see her.
She’s standing just inside the locker room entrance, like she’s not totally sure if she’s allowed to be there.
But she is, and everyone notices.
A couple of heads turn, and some guys nudge each other.
I lean back slightly in my chair, letting my eyes move over her.
Shorts. That shirt.
Good god.
That definitely wasn’t just for the weather.
“What’s the matter? Never been in the boys’ locker room before?” I ask her playfully.
She smiles, a little nervous, a little confident.
“Please. I had three brothers growing up who all played sports. Remember?”
“Fair.”
I push to my feet, grabbing my shirt and pulling it on as I walk over.
I rest a hand lightly at her waist, guiding her a step further into the room.
“Guys,” I say, glancing around. “This is Cassie.”
Then I add, because I can already feel what’s coming:
“My home stay host.”
That lands exactly how I expect it to.
“Host?” one of them repeats, eyebrows raised. “That what we’re calling it now?”
A couple of laughs.
Another guy grins. “Yeah, man. Real generous of her to, uh…host you.”
Cassie’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t back down.
I smirk slightly, shaking my head. “You guys done?”
“Never,” someone mutters.
She glances around, taking it all in.
“You guys are…a lot,” she says.
“That’s one word for it,” I reply.
She turns back to me, lowering her voice just a little.
“Jackson said you’re driving me home.”
“Yeah,” I say. “He texted me, after I texted you. Guess they’re doing their little baby making night in Galena. Super romantic.”
Cassie giggles. “Can we…not talk about my brother like that?”
“Just stating facts. Nothing wrong with that. Matter of fact, I’ve never seen a couple so into each other. They’re like a couple of teenagers. It’s pretty cute.”
I lean in, lowering my voice so no one can hear.
“Which is too bad, because I was thinking we could explore the, uh, grounds after the game.”
She grins. “That sounds like a great idea…for a time when I’m not watching Jackson and Ivy’s kids.”
I blink once. “You’re watching Ellie and Harriet tonight.”
She smiles. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m not,” I say. “I just feel like that’s a lot of work. I mean, Ellie was a great whiffle ball player. Don’t get me wrong.”
She nudges me lightly. “They’re not that bad.” She leans in so no one else around can hear. “I think you’re just jealous because you wanted to hang out with me.”
“Me? Jealous? Never.”
“Right.”
It’s just the two of us now, even with everyone else around.
I lower my voice again. “So…you got the video? Of my homer?”
Her eyes light up slightly. “Yeah.”
“Let me see.”
She pulls out her phone, stepping in just a little closer so I can look.
Our shoulders brush, and I can smell her, the same scent as last night. That soft, faint sweetness.
She hits play, and the clip runs, clean and perfect.
The wink, the swing, and the ball flying out toward the river.
I exhale quietly.
“That’s…actually really good. Damn. You zoomed in at just the perfect time.”
“I know,” she says, a little proud. “I got lucky. You were the one who hit it out though. Wouldn’t have been as fun if you just struck out.”
I glance at her. “You gotta swing for the fences.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“Alright. You ready?” I ask.
She nods.
“Yeah.”
I sling my workout bag over my shoulder and we make our way out together, past the guys and the noise.
Out into the quieter hallway, then through to my truck.
The drive is quiet. I throw on the local country radio station, 94.9. They call it FM 95. I guess they round up. I feel that. It’s a glass half-full type of station.
The thing I like about Cassie is I don’t feel awkward when we’re quietly riding together.
Finally, she says, as we’re halfway to Riverbend, “I have to thank you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Something you said. About…having the balls to ask for what you want in life.”
I grin. “Sounds like me. That’s the only way you’re going to get it.”
“So the owner of the team—George?—he came down and visited with our group at the game. I pitched him what I thought was a totally off-the-wall price for one social media post. One.”
“How much?”
“Five thousand, with a bonus if it goes viral.”
I nod. “Yeah. Well, that’s legit. They’re trying to get people to come out to the games, and you’re an expert at that.”
“I am?”
“Yes! You are now.”
“I just feel like I got lucky.”
I look over at her as the cornfields fly by on the country road behind her.
“What?” she asks.
“I just wish you could see what I see in you.”
“What’s that?”
“Honestly? I think you don’t realize how great—no. That’s such a vanilla word. How exquisite you really are.”
“My ex didn’t think so.”
I pull over the truck.
“Cassie.”
“Logan.”
“That’s in the past. And I don’t know what this guy did, or whatever—it doesn’t matter. That’s in the past.”
“I know. I just…I gave it everything I had. And he still cheated on me.”
“That’s his loss. Big loss.”
She shrugs. “Maybe.”
“No, not maybe. It’s the truth. He’ll realize it at some point. Has he called yet?”
“Called? No. Wrote an email.”
I huff. “He’ll call. I guarantee it.”
“How do you know?”
“Cass, I’ve known hundreds of ballplayers over the years.
And we talk in the locker room. About women.
About life. And every guy has one that they messed up.
And looking at you…” My eyes run up and down the length of her.
“And knowing your personality, you’re exactly the girl they’ll regret fucking things up with. Trust me.”
She looks like she might cry, but she doesn’t. “I still have our love letters.”
“What for?”
“Maybe to read them, when I’m older? I don’t know.”
“Are you still hanging on to something?”
“I-I don’t think so,” she stumbles. “Maybe I just feel like there’s a part of me that goes away once I get rid of them.”
A beat passes. She’s silent, so I interject.
“Well, that is something. No one ever wrote me a love letter.”
“Never?”
I shake my head. “I’ve thought about writing them. But I don’t think I’m much of a writer.”
“Really? That note you left me was actually funny. Made me smile.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. It’s just…you. I feel relaxed around you.”
“Oh.”
She stares out the window for a few more beats, until finally, she speaks. “What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you have a girl you wish you didn’t screw up?”
I shake my head. “Nah. Not yet.”
The words hang there for a second. She doesn’t respond.
She just looks out the window, like she’s thinking about it. Or maybe trying not to.
“Hey.” I put my hand on her thigh. “The windshield is bigger than the rearview mirror for a reason.”
“I know. I know.” A small smile lifts onto her face, and one little tear streams down. “You’re right.”
I pull back onto the road.
The rest of the drive is quieter than before—but not awkward.
Just…different, and heavier, like something shifted.
By the time we pull into her driveway, the sun’s starting to dip just a little. Still hot, but softer now. The kind of summer evening that makes everything feel slower.
I cut the engine, and neither of us moves.
“You good?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says, but she doesn’t open the door.
I glance over at her, and she’s already looking at me.
There’s a beat, then she smiles, just slightly. “You coming in? You already showered. I didn’t.”
I huff out a quiet breath. “Yeah…sounds like you should probably fix that.”
She tilts her head, eyes flicking over me.
“Unless,” she says, softer now, “you want to join me?”
That lands.
I don’t answer right away.
Just hold her gaze for a second longer than I probably should.
“Yeah,” I say with a grin. “What do you think? Of course I will.”
Inside, the house is quieter than before. Something feels different. Maybe it’s how we consecrated this place last night.
We get naked in her room, and she hands me a towel.
It’s utterly casual, almost domestic. I feel so comfortable around this woman, though.
She runs her hand over mine, then walks casually out of her room and into the bathroom.
The shower turns on, the water rushing.
And for a second, I just stand there, listening, and thinking about walking in.
“You coming, Logan?”
I huff out a quiet breath.
“Yeah.”
No chance I’m not.
I step into the bathroom, pushing the door open just enough to slip inside. Steam’s already starting to build.
She’s standing under the water, head tilted back, eyes closed as it runs over her skin.
For a second I just watch, until she opens one eye, catches me, and smiles.
“Thought you might bail.”
“Not a chance.”
I step in behind her, the water instantly warm against my shoulders.
She shifts slightly, making space for me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Like I’ve done this a hundred times.
I haven’t, but it feels like I have. Like I’ve known her for way longer.
My hands find her waist, and I grip her lightly, enjoying the feel of her skin on my hands.
She leans back into me with a soft exhale.
“Hi,” she murmurs.
“Hi.”
For a while, we just stand there with the water running and her back against my chest.
My hands moving slowly—along her arms, her shoulders—like I’m memorizing her this time instead of chasing something.
She turns in my arms, brushing wet hair out of her face.
“Your turn,” she says softly, reaching for the soap.
I raise an eyebrow. “My turn?”
“Mm-hmm.”
She steps closer, hands sliding over my shoulders, working like she’s taking her time on purpose.
Like she knows exactly what it’s doing to me.
“You’re very focused right now,” I murmur.
She glances up, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“I’m thorough.”
I laugh under my breath, but it fades quickly, because the way she’s looking at me isn’t just playful. It’s something else.
I reach up, brushing my thumb along her cheek, and she stills for a second, leaning into it.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
She looks up at me.
“Yeah?”
And for a second, I think about saying something real. Maybe something that would probably change everything.
Then her phone buzzes on the counter outside the shower.
We both hear it, and ignore it.
It buzzes again, longer this time.
She exhales, her forehead dropping lightly to my chest.
“Sorry,” she murmurs.
“It’s okay.”
She pulls back slightly, glancing toward the door like she can see through it.
“I should probably—”
“Yeah,” I say, even though I don’t move.
Even though I don’t want her to move either. She reaches for a towel, wrapping it around herself as she steps out.
I stay under the water for a second longer, letting it run over my face, and resetting.
By the time I step out, she’s in the bedroom, phone in hand.
“Everything okay?” I ask, drying off.
She nods, a little too quickly.
“Yeah, just Ivy’s mom making sure I’m on the way.”
She tosses the phone onto the bed like she’s done with it, like it doesn’t matter.
Then looks back at me.
“I can drive you,” I say as we get dressed.
She looks up, surprised.
“You don’t have to.”
“Let me rephrase—I’m driving you. Like it or not.”
“Okay.” Her expression softens. “Thank you.”
I grab my keys off the dresser. “Let’s roll.”