2. Brendan
brENDAN
AUGUST
The final out lands in the opposing right fielder’s glove, and the whole damn stadium seems to exhale around us.
I remain at the dugout railing while the visiting team spills onto the field to celebrate.
Their cheers cut through the noise from the crowd, but most of the Titans fans are already heading for the exits.
Blue seats appear in widening patches throughout the stadium as another home loss settles over Charlotte.
Five to three.
I left the game with a two-run lead after seven innings. Twenty minutes later, that lead was gone.
It isn’t the first time it’s happened this season, but this one hurts worse. Every loss hurts worse in August. There isn’t enough time left to pretend we’ll fix our shit eventually. Eventually is getting real goddamn close.
Behind me, the dugout has gone quiet. Players gather their gloves and batting gear without speaking, their movements heavy with frustration.
Some of the younger guys keep their eyes down.
They know the reporters will ask the same questions they’ve been asking for weeks, and none of us have found better answers.
I push away from the railing and turn toward them. “Heads up.”
A few men glance over.
“We’re back here tomorrow,” I say. “Nobody’s going to do this for us, so we show up and do the fucking job.”
Luis gives a tired nod from the bench. “Could’ve used one more inning from you, man.”
“I could’ve used one goddamn run from you.”
That gets a few quiet laughs, including one from Luis. The mood doesn’t lift much, but the tightness breaks enough for the guys to start talking as we head toward the clubhouse.
I’ve been in the majors for ten years, and I know one bad stretch can turn into a collapse when twenty-six men start carrying every loss into the next game. I also know there are only so many speeches anyone can tolerate from a starting pitcher who gets to sit for four days between appearances.
Still, I’ll keep giving them until somebody tells me to shut the hell up.
Inside the clubhouse, I answer questions from two reporters, shower, and spend fifteen minutes with one of the trainers working through my usual post-start recovery routine. My shoulder feels good. My command was sharp. I did everything I was supposed to do tonight.
It doesn’t make the loss easier to swallow.
By the time I change into a clean Titans shirt and athletic shorts, most of the reporters are gone. The clubhouse remains subdued, but music has started playing from someone’s speaker. That’s progress.
I head toward the fueling area in search of food, hydration, and the one person in this building capable of making me forget we just lost.
Dakota stands behind the counter, rearranging containers in one of the refrigerators. Her brunette hair is pulled into a ponytail, and the fitted blue team polo she wears hugs every pretty curve of her body. My eyes travel over her full hips before I force them back to her face.
Seeing her still hits me in the chest just as hard as it did the first day I met her.
I still remember the day we met in Florida with perfect clarity. One look at her warm brown eyes, that sweet mouth, and her lush curves, and I was done. I didn’t know it then, but every day since has made the truth harder to ignore.
I’m fucking gone over this woman.
The whole team knows it. Half the staff probably knows it too. I flirt with Dakota every chance I get, and I’ve asked her out so often that the guys have started betting on which excuse she’ll use to turn me down.
I’m not sure she realizes how serious I am.
She closes the refrigerator and straightens, catching sight of me. Her expression warms, and I know I’m in trouble all over again.
“There you are,” she says. “I was starting to think you’d decided recovery nutrition was optional.”
“For everyone else, maybe.” I step closer. “I’d never risk disappointing you.”
“You disappoint me at least twice a week.”
“Only twice?” I press my hand over my heart. “Baby, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
She tries to hide her smile by turning toward a covered plate on the counter, but I catch it anyway.
“I put this aside for you,” she says. “Chicken, rice, roasted vegetables, and fruit. You also need to finish another bottle of electrolytes before you leave.”
“Sounds romantic.”
“It’s medically appropriate.”
“Even better.”
She slides the plate toward me, and our fingers almost touch.
Even with the missed contact, my body reacts.
It always does. I’ve spent months wondering what her skin would feel like beneath my hands, what sounds she’d make if I kissed her, and how perfectly those thick thighs would fit around my waist.
Dakota pulls her hand back and looks toward the clubhouse. The humor fades from her face.
“Tough game,” she says quietly.
“Yeah.”
“You pitched well.”
“Not well enough to pitch all nine.”
Her brows draw together. “That isn’t on you.”
“I know.” I pick up the electrolyte bottle beside my plate and twist off the cap. “Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.”
She leans one hip against the counter. “How are the guys doing?”
“Pissed off. Tired of losing.”
“And you?”
“I’m more worried about them than me.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She watches me, and I know my smile isn’t enough to fool her.
Dakota has a way of paying attention that gets under every defense a man has.
She notices when one of the rookies skips breakfast because he’s nervous.
She remembers who calls home before afternoon games and who eats more when he’s stressed.
She never forces anyone to talk, but people tell her things anyway.
I’m willing to tell her anything she wants to know. I just haven’t figured out how to tell her the whole truth.
“I’m trying to stay optimistic,” I say. “We’re still in it. We’ve got time.”
Not much. We’re chasing two teams for the final wild-card spot, and every loss makes the road narrower. I refuse to say that aloud. The season isn’t over until the math says it’s over.
Dakota nods. “You guys are still in it. I believe in the team.”
“I knew there was a reason I liked having you around.”
Dakota laughs, warm and soft, and the sound soothes me like nothing else does. I take a drink while watching her. Being near her doesn’t erase the loss, but it reminds me there are still things worth wanting after a shitty night.
I set the bottle down. “Come have breakfast with me tomorrow.”
“You have a noon game.”
“I eat breakfast before noon.”
“You also have to be here early.”
“Then come early.”
“I’ll already be here.”
“Perfect. It’s a date.”
She folds her arms, which draws my attention toward the swell of her breasts. “Eating in the same building for work doesn’t count as a date.”
“Fine. Dinner after the game.”
“You have a flight to Atlanta.”
“I’ll have the pilot wait.”
“The team owns the plane.”
“And they love me.”
She shakes her head, failing to restrain a smile. This is our routine. I ask. She refuses. I act devastated. Then I ask again a few days later.
Tonight, though, I’m too tired to leave it there.
I lean closer over the counter. “When are you going to give me the time of day, Dakota?”
Her smile wavers. “I give you plenty of my time.”
“I mean outside this stadium.”
“You’re asking me out right now?”
“I’ve been asking you out for six months.”
“I thought you were joking.”
I really look at her, trying to decide whether she actually means that. A faint flush spreads across her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away.
“Did you really?” I ask.
“You joke about everything.”
“Not everything.”
The noise from the clubhouse continues behind us, but the space between Dakota and me goes still.
I could tell her now. I could stop hiding behind the charm and admit I’ve wanted her since the second Marissa introduced us.
I could tell her that I look for her in every room, that I know which days she wears her hair down, and that every woman who’s tried to catch my attention this season has been wasting her time.
Before I can decide how much truth to give her, Dakota glances toward the television mounted in the corner. The postgame broadcast shows updated standings beneath the commentators.
Something in her expression tells me exactly what she’s thinking. She doesn’t believe we can win the World Series.
“Let’s make a bet,” I say.
Her eyebrows rise. “A bet?”
“If we win the World Series, you go out with me.”
She stares at me. “That’s your bet?”
“One date.”
She smiles, but she looks nervous. “You really think you’re going to win the World Series?”
“I think I’ve got a better chance than you think I do.” I step around the edge of the counter, closing some of the distance between us. “So?”
Her eyes rise to mine. Standing this close emphasizes the size difference between us. I’m six foot five, and Dakota barely reaches my shoulder. The urge to put my hands on her waist and draw her against me is so fucking intense, I can barely stand it.
The flush in her cheeks deepens. For once, she doesn’t dismiss me or answer with another joke. “Okay. If the Titans win, I’ll go out with you.”
Every muscle in my body tightens. “Dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Real dinner. No team staff, no players, no pretending it’s a nutrition meeting.”
“Yes, Brendan.”
Hearing my name from her mouth sends heat down my spine. “Let’s revise the deal.”
Her brows lift. “You don’t get to revise it.”
“One date if we win tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Win the series in Atlanta.”
“No.”
“Make the playoffs.”
She laughs and takes a step backward, putting space between us again. “World Series. Those are the terms.”
“You’re ruthless.”
“You’ll manage.”
“I’m not sure I will.” I pick up my plate, though food is the last thing on my mind now. “You’ve put my entire romantic future in the hands of twenty-five other men.”
“Twenty-five?”
“I’m not counting myself. I’ll do my part.”
Her eyes remain on mine, warm and uncertain and so beautiful that I forget every useful thing I’ve ever known.
I’ve spent six months wanting this woman. Now there’s a path to her, even if it requires us to pull off something most of the league has already decided we can’t do.
A World Series championship.
It’s a ridiculous deal. The odds are against us, the season is running out, and my team can’t seem to hold a late lead.
I grin at her anyway.
“Better start planning what you’re going to wear.”
She shakes her head. “Eat your dinner, Kelso.”
I turn toward the clubhouse with the plate in one hand and the bottle in the other. The loss is still there. The standings haven’t changed, and tomorrow’s game matters more than ever. But for the first time tonight, I feel something other than disappointment.
Now I’ve got Dakota waiting at the end of October.
And I’ll be goddamned if I don’t find a way to reach her.