Chapter 7
GABE
CHICAGO, IL
I’m back in Chicago. It was my home when I played for one of the world-famous teams that are located in this amazing city.
And it’s still my home during the off-season.
My kids are here and so is their mom. This place is it for me, even when I have to move to another city for the season.
That’s just how it goes being in the big leagues.
Players move all the time, as do many of the coaching staff.
I don’t mind living outside of Chicago during the season, as the team is always on the move.
But my heart is in Chicago. It always has been and always will be.
After the team gets dropped off at the hotel, I take a cab back to my place in the city.
I haven’t been back since the Vipers were last in town, which was almost a month ago.
Swinging open the front door, I take in the familiar space of my Greystone.
It’s a historic home that’s been modernized and it suits me just fine.
Mind you, it’s not the home I shared with my now ex-wife.
I bought this place after we signed the divorce papers.
I keep this place so I can spend time with my kids when I’m not busy with my coaching career.
And an added bonus of the place is secured parking. I keep a vehicle here for convenience.
Having time to kill before my date with Layla, I clean myself up and get dressed in a smart but casual black suit paired with a crisp black button down shirt, open at the throat, and pair it with one of my favorite watches, which I collect.
Some people collect knick-knacks or sports memorabilia.
I collect neither, but I do collect watches.
The watch I’m sporting tonight is one that I picked up from an auction house.
It’s worth a pretty penny. Not that I like to blow money on frivolous things—I don’t.
But watches are one of my weaknesses. And my other weakness? The woman I’ll be meeting tonight.
Spritzing on my signature scent, a mix of citrus and sandalwood, I take a look in the mirror.
Not bad for a forty-something former major leaguer.
But even that’s laughable, because I’m in better shape than players half my age.
It’s all priorities, I guess. I just choose to keep in killer shape, so I can keep up with my team.
And it doesn’t hurt either that Layla likes the way I look without my shirt.
Ready for my date with Layla, I head out.
I’m meeting her at Bellamorre, an upscale restaurant in the West Loop, which is one of my favorite places to eat when I’m back in town.
I think she’ll enjoy the food and the ambience.
It has a laid-back vibe, but is fancy enough that it’s not just a casual eatery.
It’s the perfect place to take Layla on our first date.
Walking from the parking garage, it takes me a few minutes to get to the restaurant.
But as soon as I round the corner, the restaurant a few doors down, I catch sight of Layla in a short, fitted dress.
Her soft, shiny hair falls in waves down her back and she’s wearing heels again.
Damn the woman is sexy. Quickening my steps, I go to her.
“Layla.” She turns around when she hears her name, her eyes finding mine.
“Gabe!” she calls out cheerfully, a smile on her face as she struts toward me.
It feels so damn good to finally see her in person again.
A hand at her hip, I bend down and brush a light kiss across her cheek.
Feeding off my energy, she steps into my arms and places her soft, pillowy lips against mine.
I bring her body against me and we kiss, mindful we’re on the street, people all around us.
But we’re both starved for each other. It’s been weeks. But it’s felt much longer than that.
“Mmm, I’ve missed you,” I breathe against her hair.
“Same,” she says exhaling softly, her pelvis bumping the hardness between my legs.
“What you do to me, woman,” I tease, smiling down at her beautiful face. Her eyes twinkle with mischief. She knows exactly what she’s doing. “At least feed me before ravishing me,” I joke, hands still on her hips.
She snorts softly. “You know I could say the same,” she teases right back.
In all honesty, I can’t wait to strip her bare and sink myself inside her sweet heat again.
I growl softly and take her hand in mine, leading us towards the entrance of the restaurant.
If we don’t go in now, we’ll miss our reservation.
And I don’t want that, as Layla is more to me than just a means to an end.
I genuinely enjoy her company; the smoking-hot sex is just a bonus. A really good bonus.
Keeping her hand in mine, I lead her into the restaurant. “Reservation for Goldwyn.”
“Right this way, sir.”
We’re seated at a table near the back of the restaurant.
It isn’t even remotely private, but the place has a cozy ambience, with low lighting.
With any luck, no one will even be looking for me.
I’m not uber-famous, but my face is well-known around the city of Chicago.
If people are looking, they’ll recognize me.
Not that I mind, but I want my focus to be solely on Layla.
Our time is short and I want to spend every minute I can with her, as I don’t know when I’ll be able to see her again.
It could be weeks or it could be months.
It all depends on how my team navigates the postseason.
A waiter stops by and I order a bottle of wine. But not just any wine—one of the most expensive bottles of Pinot Noir on the menu. Layla’s favorite.
“You remembered,” she says, taking a sip of wine, a satisfied look on her face.
“Good?”
“Very,” she says, taking another sip.
I smile and take a drink. Layla has damn good taste in wine.
I’m not usually a wine drinker, but for her, I don’t mind.
We chat and our food arrives. I’m not in any hurry; I want to savor my time with her.
We eat, we talk, and we drink more wine.
We even order dessert—all in an effort to make it last longer.
Neither one of us wants this night to end.
“Ready?” I ask, helping her to her feet.
“Yes,” she answers, keeping her hand in mine as we exit the restaurant.
Only once we’re outside the restaurant, do I bring her back into my arms, covering her lips with mine. Kissing her has become another obsession of mine. From the moment of our first kiss, I knew I’d never grow tired of it. Tonight is no exception.
“Come back with me,” I ask softly.
“To your hotel?” she asks, her soft lips now swollen from our kisses.
“My place,” I tell her. “I own a house here.”
“What now?” she asks, momentarily confused.
I grimace. I should have just taken her back to my hotel.
Maybe it’s too soon. There’s a lot I haven’t told her.
Like I haven’t told her about my kids. But she could look up anything about me online at any time.
I just assumed she’s done so. “Come with me and I’ll explain. I’m parked a couple of blocks away.”
She doesn’t reply, but follows me when I take her hand in mine. Unlocking my car, I help her inside. She twists slightly in her seat and waits for me to explain.
“I never meant to keep anything from you. I thought you knew, but clearly you don’t and that’s perfectly fine. It’s endearing, actually.”
She narrows her eyes at me. I’d better get to the point. “Before I was a manager for the Vipers, I was a player for years. For one of the most storied MLB franchises in the country. One that calls Chicago home. Thus, I lived here for years before moving away.”
She looks like she still has questions. “And you keep a place here, why? It’d better not be just for booty calls.”
Shit, she’s serious. I cough softly, trying to diffuse the situation. “Um... not exactly.”
“Explain, please,” she says, her posture suddenly rigid. I haven’t told her about my kids yet. But, I don’t want to lie by omission. Layla means too much to me.
“You may or may not know this, but I was married for almost twenty years. I have two kids. A boy and a girl. I keep the place for them, so I can see my kids when I have time off. They’re extremely important to me.
If you’d like, we can go back to the hotel.
I have a room there, for the night, from the team.
Or, I can drop you off at your car or at your place.
The choice is yours. And for the record, I’ve never brought anyone back to my place here.
” When I’m done telling her all that, she visibly relaxes.
“Are my kids a deal breaker?”
“No, I just…I’ve just never dated a man with kids before.”
“They’re teenagers. But they’re good kids. They don’t give their mom, or me, too much trouble.”
“And what about your ex-wife?”
“What about her?”
“Do you co-parent and get along or was your divorce a nasty one?”
I wince. I hate talking about it. But for Layla, I will. She deserves to know. “It was a shock to the system, for sure, but the split was amicable.”
“And I don’t have anything to worry about, right? I won’t have a crazy ex-wife coming after me or anything, will I?”
“No. Steph and I co-parent and get along just fine. We just drifted apart. There’s no bad blood between us.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” I let out a breath. “Where to?”
“Your place,” she says, her mind made up.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Layla
I was honest when I said I’ve never dated a man with kids before. I don’t know how to navigate all that. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Right now, I just want to enjoy what little time I have with Gabe.