Dirty Curve

My pulse quickens and I pull my knees up, unsure if I want to hear more.

“We love to hear a player such as yourself give credit where it’s due.” The young woman smiles, opening and closing her fingers against the microphone. “So, how will you celebrate this win tonight, Mr. Cruz.” She smiles coyly.

Tobias’s chuckle is low, his lips curved to one side as his tongue comes out again to wet them. “Just so happens I’ve got someone waiting on me tonight.” The woman widens her eyes playfully, looking to the camera and Tobias grins wider, adding, “It’s good to be home.”

My gut sinks and I look back to the heading again.

Four hours since the game ended.

Of course.

This is his hometown, where he grew up all his life. No duh, he has people waiting around to see him. Old friends and old flames, old hopefuls hoping for a second shot.

And there’s nothing standing in their way because Tobias is a single man. A successful, charismatic, single man with the world at his fingertips.

I don’t want to be here should he stumble in, especially if when he does, he’s not alone, so I pull out my phone to see if my paycheck has been deposited yet, finding that it has.

I call the airport only to be let down when I find out the ticket costs more than my monthly rent because only private planes leave from the local airstrip. So instead, I do the only thing I can.

I close and lock the connecting door while wishing against everything I truly want, that Tobias doesn’t come back tonight.

I need time to get myself in check.

To remember my role and his.

To cry where no one will see, like the senseless girl I’ve allowed myself to become.

But then the worst thing happens.

Laughter fills the hall outside my room, growing louder and louder until it’s no longer seeping through the crack beneath the front door, but coming from the wall behind my head.

And it’s not a man who’s laughing.

It’s a woman.

CHAPTER 21

Tobias

Heat spreads through my body, sending beads of sweat rolling down my bare chest.

I groan, my slick palms gliding along satin as my muscles clench, releasing a moment later.

Licking my lips, I twist my torso, and it takes mad effort to peel my eyes open, all for them to snap closed in the same second, the beat of the sun too damn bright above me.

Where the fuck?

I bend my neck to look behind me, spotting a sliding door I don’t recognize, and when I look down, I realize I’m on a lounger I’ve never seen, a sheet thrown over the top of it.

My temples throb, beating like an amateur drummer, too hard, too loud, and with no real rhyme or rhythm. It takes everything in me to throw my legs over the side, pushing up into a sitting position.

My forearms fall to my thighs in an effort to hold me up, and then the squeak of a door sounds behind me.

I keep my head down, not wanting to know whoever the hell is behind me, but then a Vitamin Water is held out in front of me, a familiar watch tied around that person’s wrist.

My chin drops in relief. “Fuck, Coach.” I squint up at him, wincing as I do.

He blows a long breath out of his nose. “Drink this, take these, and hit the sauna. You’ve got a couple hours to sweat this shit out and then it’s game time.”

Nodding, I look to the giant ass horse pills, and push to my feet.

“What the fuck happened last night? How’d I get here?” I look around, rolling my shoulder a few times to ease some of the tension from yesterday’s game. “Where the fuck is here?”

“This is my suite; it comes with a deck view.” He chuckles, a small shrug following. “And you got here like you always do, son. You called me after you had your fun. I sent an Uber after you and had them drop you here.”

My frown falls to the grass. Not a single image from last night popping into my mind.

“Last I remember we went to the bar to meet those A’s scouts you said were coming to talk to me on the DL, but I don’t remember them showing up.”

“You’re lucky I was able to get a hold of them to let them know you retired to your hotel room.” He lifts a brow.

I nod, and then every muscle in my body locks.

My hotel room.

My motherfucking hotel room.

My girl.

My girl, who has no clue she’s my girl ...

Oh fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Last night I didn’t … fuck me, did I?

Setting the water and pills down, I run my hands over my hair, scrubbing them down my face. I dart past Coach, rushing around in search of my shirt and shoes, both folded neatly on the armchair inside.