10. Campbell #2
Daisy and I haven’t sat down for an entire inning.
Between his offense and his work behind the plate, there’s too much to be excited about.
And something about cheering him on next to his mom makes it feel like I have permission to root for him publicly.
Sure, it’s normal for a marketing person to root for their client to succeed, but I know the feeling in my belly as Jake soars is more than just professional pride. I am loving this for him.
I head back inside after Jake gets subbed out for his father, and being around the quiet chatter in the pressroom is a cold dose of reality. By the time the game wraps up, I’m back to biting my nails and overthinking literally everything that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours.
I hover at the back of the press conference as Jake handles the local media.
He practically beams a blinding grin at them as they fire away questions about his performance.
He doesn’t even seem to mind when the line of questioning veers toward the video currently lighting up the sports socials about him and his father.
He gives Connor a shout out, which I’m sure Connor appreciates.
All the while, Roddy stands in the back, quiet while his son takes the spotlight. Proud.
I don’t wait for him to finish before slipping quietly out the back of the media room.
I decided before the game was over that I would head back to Sweetwater ahead of the team.
I can’t risk being in the same hotel as him tonight.
I’ve already imagined things, and I have a feeling he has too.
I fear I won’t be able to say no to him if he tries to kiss me again. Or more.
I managed to score a close spot in the staff lot, so I get back to the hotel well before the rest of the team. I’m nearly packed and ready to jet when a sharp knock at my door makes me freeze.
I drag my feet to the door as my pulse ratchets up.
I know it’s him before I look through the peephole, and seeing his smile when I look through it feels better than it should.
I slide the chain lock off and crack the door open, and before I can speak, Jake slips inside.
He shuts the door behind him with a soft click, his massive frame taking up every extra inch of space.
He’s still wearing the dark blue Mavericks shirt he wore during his press conference.
His hair is damp from the post-game shower. He smells delicious.
“Quite the game!” I pull my arm back and send a soft punch into his shoulder, which I’m sure looks as ridiculous as it feels. The way Jake’s gaze studies the spot I hit as his lips pucker with amusement confirms it.
“Did you see me do press?” he asks, following me deeper into my room.
“Of course,” I answer, scratching at the back of my neck, which is burning hot from nervous energy. I turn to face him when I reach the foot of my bed and my open suitcase, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.
“You did great. I’m really proud of you.” My smile pushes my cheeks so high that I see their tops.
“Yeah?” He steps closer, entirely ignoring the physical distance I am clearly trying to create.
“Uh huh.” My dry throat forces me to swallow.
In one smooth movement, he reaches out. His finger hooks into the front waistband of my pants, tugging me forward just enough to force my eyes up to his.
“I was looking for you in the back. You vanished.”
His knuckles graze against my midriff, and my body breaks out in goosebumps.
His touch is electric. Every muscle in my body screams at me to step into him, close the gap, wrap my arms around his neck, and leap into his arms so I can press my aching center on what I suspect is his hard cock.
I don’t dare look down, though I want to. Desperately.
“I have to go, Jake,” I croak, my voice betraying me.
His eyes drift over my shoulder, landing on the half-packed suitcase on the bed. His brow furrows, and his grip on my waistband tightens slightly, inching me closer. His hazed eyes shift back to mine.
“Why are you packing? We don’t leave until morning.”
“You know why,” I whisper, my eyelashes flitting as my focus drops to his chest. “Last night . . . that can’t happen again. We can’t do this.”
He tips my chin up, forcing my gaze back to his.
“Stay,” he murmurs. He lets go of my waistband only to slide his hand down my arm, his thumb caressing the inside of my wrist. “Just stay.”
“I can’t.”
“You feel this,” he challenges quickly. He moves forward until our chests meet, and I’m guarded with my breath, knowing any shift in my body will add to the friction and make my body react more than it already is. “Don’t tell me you don’t, because I know you do.”
“I do,” I admit, tears of frustration stinging the corners of my eyes. I brush them away as fast as they appear. “I do feel it, Jake. And that is exactly the problem.”
Several quiet seconds pass between us, nothing but the sound of measured breaths filling our space. Slowly, his hands drop to his sides, and he steps back. Even though his gaze doesn’t leave mine, the air feels safe, and my mind clears.
“You know I’m right.”
He takes a deep breath that fills his chest, and the corners of his mouth purse with dissatisfaction, but also, I think, acceptance.
“Yeah.”
His gaze drops as he pivots slowly, then walks toward the door. His hand rests on the handle, and I hold my breath, wishing for two realities—one where he stays, and one where he goes. He pushes the handle down, but pauses, and my breath hitches as he looks at me with a devilish smirk.
“I did the press conference. Exactly like you wanted.”
I blinked, confused. “Yeah. I was there.”
“Which means,” he leads, his eyes flashing with promise, “you still owe me another dance.”
He slips out of the room before I can process the words, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence left in his wake leaves me with nothing but my screaming thoughts. I flop backward onto the mattress and stare blankly up at the ceiling.
Why didn’t I just say no?
I press my palms against my burning face.
Because I didn’t want to.
And that is the alarming reality. I want him. I want his hands, his mouth, his low drawl, his arrogance.
His body.
His heart.
And God help me, that is a massive problem.