Bennett (On the Line 2)

I listened to Orion’s post-game talk, showered, and went back to the bus we traveled on. Since the team lived in these close quarters on road trips, not going out for dinner with the guys was the only way I could get some time to myself.

Instead of texting, I dialed Charlotte’s number.

“Bennett,” she said, sounding surprised. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah. I wanted to hear your voice.”

After a pause, she said, “You did?”

I pictured her in bed, her curls spilling over onto the second pillow I thought of as mine.

“When can I see you?” I asked.

“Why, do we need to talk about something?”

“Yeah, we do.” I climbed up into my bunk and pulled my privacy curtain closed. “Look, I like you. I have to travel a lot, but when I’m home, I want to see you.”

“If you’re concerned I’m not going to let you be part of the baby’s life—”

“It’s not that. I want to see you. We had something. I know we did. And I know things are different than we were expecting, but . . . I still like you.”

“Do you think it was the alcohol? That night, I mean?”

“Not for me. I had two beers that night.”

She sighed. “Bennett, it’s . . . I’ve never done anything like that. Slept with a guy the first night I met him. I wait a long time for that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, well, I like to think you just couldn’t resist me,” I said lightly.

“How often do you have one-night stands?” she asked, unaffected by my charm.

Fuck. I wasn’t going to lie to her, but I was pretty sure the truth wouldn’t go over very well.

“Just the one time since I met you,” I said. “You know, the one you saw at my place. But you know nothing ended up happening with me and her.”

“You’re not sleeping your way through Pensacola?” There was a smile in her tone.

“How do you know I’m in Pensacola?”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Hey. Tell me,” I said.

“I may have watched your game on the Internet tonight,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “And you may have played a great one.”

My heart swelled. She’d been watching me. It didn’t matter if she’d been in the stands wearing my sweater; she’d been watching. She cared.

“I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon,” I said. “And I really want to take you out for dinner. Don’t say no.”

She breathed a soft sigh of amusement into the phone. “Okay, I won’t.”

“I’ll text you from the road.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“’Night.”