9. Jake #2
I turn around, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm. Coach Davis drops the bag from his hand onto a rolling cart, then crosses his arms over his chest.
“I’m glad you made the trip, Jake,” he says, his voice rough but sincere. “It shows you’ve got real integrity. It tells me you think about a hell of a lot more than just what’s in it for you.”
Internally, a wave of guilt hits me. Well, I kinda did this because it would make me look good, but okay.
I keep my face entirely straight. “Thanks, Coach. Just wanted to help.”
He nods, a knowing, and maybe slightly amused glint entering his eyes. He leans in a little closer. “Tell me something, McKinney. Is there a chance you snuck your own gear bag onto the bus this morning?”
A slow, smug smirk spreads across half my face. I don’t deny it.
Coach Davis lets out a hefty chuckle and shakes his head. “Yeah, I thought so. Fucking ballplayers.”
He taps my good shoulder with his clipboard. “Suit up tomorrow, Jake. You’re starting. I’m giving you the first two innings behind the plate. Let’s see what you can do with Martinez’s slider.”
A massive, violent thud hits the inside of my ribs. Starting.
“Yes, sir. Thank you. I’ll be ready,” I manage to say, keeping my voice professional until Coach turns and pushes the cart holding the last few bags into the lobby and down the hall toward the coaches’ rooms.
The second he is out of sight, I practically bolt to the side patio that still smells of someone’s lit cigarette and let out a raspy, breathless laugh, pumping my fist wildly into the empty night air.
Two innings. A real, clean shot.
I pull out my phone, my fingers flying across the screen as I text my mom.
Jake: I’m starting tomorrow. First two innings.
Her reply comes back almost instantly, the text practically radiating her warmth. She’s behind the bar right now, probably refereeing dumb fights between the locals who drink too much.
Mom: I knew it. I am so unbelievably proud of you. Go show them who you are.
Smiling like an idiot, I shove the phone into my pocket and turn back toward the hotel lobby.
Adrenaline pounds through my veins, making me feel completely invincible as I walk toward the bank of elevators.
The lobby is completely dead, my teammates already holed up in their rooms, waiting for pizza deliveries or bypassing dinner altogether in favor of sleep.
I hit the up button and stand there alone, bouncing slightly in my turf shoes, my mind racing with game-day strategies and pitch sequences.
Tomorrow, I won’t look like a junior member of the coaching staff.
I won’t head right to the bullpen. I’ll stand on the third base line for the Star-Spangled Banner, and I’ll warm up with Martinez on the field.
The elevator bell chimes. The heavy steel doors slide open.
I step forward to get in but stop dead in my tracks.
Campbell is standing alone inside the empty elevator car. She looks up from her tablet, her hair slightly messy from a long night of work, looking tired but altogether too beautiful for my own good.
Her eyes flicker, then widen in surprise as she registers that it’s me. “Jake? I thought you were?—”
I don’t let her finish. I don’t hesitate, and I sure as hell don’t think about the rules, the front office, or the silent warnings she signals every time we’re alone and standing too close.
The absolute high of the starting news and the overpowering gravity of the past forty-eight hours collide in my chest.
I step straight into the elevator, my large frame completely crowding her against the back wall. Before the doors can even slide shut behind me, I drop my duffel bag to the floor, reach out, and cup her jaw with my hands, pulling her face straight up to mine.
And I kiss her.
It’s not a gentle, tentative brush of the lips.
It’s an eruption. Her tablet clangs on the floor as her hands rush to my chest, gripping fistfuls of my long-sleeved Mavericks compression shirt.
A soft, breathless gasp escapes her throat, and I use the split second to deepen the kiss, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst.
We’re sealed in our own private room, the slow beeps offering us a warning as the elevator car climbs to wherever it was called. Neither of us pushed a button.
I press forward, my chest crowding her back until her shoulders flatten against the mirrored rear wall of the elevator.
I don’t let up for a second. My hand slides from her jaw, my fingers tangling deep into her hair as I tilt her head to get a better angle.
She tastes like sweet mint and something else intoxicating, something that makes my brain go pitch-black. An expensive wine.
For a heartbeat, her hands flatten against my chest as if she’s going to push me away, as if her sensible, logical business brain is screaming about boundaries and rules.
But then I growl against her lips, my other hand gripping her hip, pulling her flush against me until there isn’t a single millimeter of daylight left between our bodies.
Her resistance evaporates.
With a low moan, her hands once again clench into the fabric of my T-shirt, bunching the cloth in her fists as she pulls herself upward, meeting my tongue with a desperate hunger of her own that catches me completely off guard.
If Campbell Hines is hellbent on breaking me, this is exactly how she does it.
She’s destroying every ounce of my control, and I am gladly letting her.
The elevator gives a smooth, mechanical shudder as it continues its long ascent to the upper floors.
Every level we pass feels like a cliff. Any moment, we’ll be forced to part.
I slide my hand up from her hip, tracing the curve of her ribs beneath her blazer, my palm burning hot against her clothes.
She arches into my touch, her head dropping back against the mirrored wall as my lips leave hers to tear a path down the column of her throat, biting softly at the sensitive spot right beneath her jaw.
A sharp, trembling gasp shudders through her entire frame, her fingers digging desperately into my shoulders.
“Jake,” she breathes out, her voice a wrecked, beautiful whisper that threatens to drive me completely over the edge. “Jake, we can’t?—”
I pull away, but leave her by only an inch before she pulls me close again.
“We are,” I mutter against her skin, my hands moving inward, my thumbs grazing the curve of her breasts.
I bring my mouth back up to hers, smothering the rest of her protest in another deep kiss that tells her exactly how little I care about right and wrong right now.
I consume her, my thighs pinning hers against the glass, making her feel the thick, undeniable hardness of exactly what she does to me.
The elevator bell rings out, loud and jarring in the quiet, enclosed space.
The electronic display above the door flashes with a seven as the lift slows, settling into a smooth stop.
We part, both of us facing forward and wiping the evidence from our mouths like teenagers caught kissing out by the lake by the police.
The sudden threat of reality hits us like a bucket of ice water.
Campbell’s eyes blink wildly, her focus on the slow-opening doors.
Her lips are swollen, cherry-red, and wet from my mouth despite her attempt to rid her face of clues.
Her hair completely wild around her flushed face, she’s the exact opposite of the pristine executive who walked into this hotel earlier.
I stare at her, my hands still twitching to reach out and pull her back, my pulse roaring in my ears as the hallway outside sits empty. Nobody is there.
Just before the doors close again, she slips out. And I take the ride back down to four alone. Alone, and so fucking wound up that I’m going to need to relive that kiss with my cock in my hand in the shower the minute I get into my room.