Chris looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know what. “Well, have a good—”
Her heart was doing the stupid flip-flops her brain knew better than to acknowledge. Her brain was an idiot, that was the only explanation for why she interrupted him with, “Do you want to go get a beer?”
His expression alone told her that he would have been less shocked if she’d stripped off all her clothes and done a fan dance right there in the parking garage. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, looking as though he was torn between asking if she was stupid or drunk or both. “You do remember what happened with us, right? I told you I’d like to start seeing you, and you told me you weren’t going to renew my contract at the end of the season.”
“I didn’t say that. I just heard a rumor and I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “It’s been a terrible day.”
“I can imagine.” He sounded truly sympathetic, and that eased the smarting of his rejection a little more. “Grubs.”
“I just thought,” she took a deep breath, laughing at herself before she finished her sentence. “I don’t know. Maybe talking to someone who understands the business. It might help.”
“It’s kind of unfair to ask that of someone you personally and professionally eviscerated while he was naked,” he pointed out.
She couldn’t argue. It wasn’t his fault that her psyche—and her libido—had somehow fixated on him. Every hour of the past few days that she hadn’t been wound up in baseball business, she’d been thinking about Chris. Not in moony daydreams, but with real regret. Of all the people in the organization, Chris was the only one who’d been around it as long as she had. She’d stupidly destroyed that bond by turning him into a one-night stand. “Yeah, you’re right. Have a good one.”
As she turned to walk away, he caught her hand and held it a little longer than he’d needed to once she faced him again. He stroked his thumb over her palm, then reluctantly released her. “Look, I really do need to do some homework here. But I’ve got a day off after the next road trip. Give me your number, I’ll get in touch with you.”
“As friends,” she prefaced gently, before reciting the number for him to punch into his phone. “I mean, I don’t want to lead you on and be more of an asshole.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t think you could be more of an asshole.” He winked and pocketed his phone again. “See you later.”
She watched him walk toward the security door and laughed in disbelief, shaking her head. When she got to her car, she stopped trying to repress the giddy shiver that went down her spine and just gave into it. How ridiculous could she possibly be? She’d lived out the dream of every American female, to have sex with, then blow off, her first crush. But sleeping with Chris hadn’t cured her of the crush she’d harbored all those years ago. On the contrary, it had returned all of her factory settings to default lusting after Chris mode. It was colossally unfair.
Midday traffic was light, and so was the crowd at the little Irish-themed pub down by the riverside. She parked behind the building and was almost to the door when her phone chimed with an incoming text. Closing her eyes and wishing super hard that it wasn’t Molly with another emergency, cake or baseball-related, she unlocked the screen.
It wasn’t from Molly. It was from a number she didn’t recognize. The only clue to who had sent it was the message’s contents: “Mitten Brewery on Leonard has good fries to go with that beer.”
A smile touched the corner of her mouth. Okay, she was going to be friends with Chris.
She could totally do this.
Chapter Five
After an uncertain winter, Chris had to admit that it felt good to be on a winning team again. They easily swept New Orleans. Hell, their outfielders had made it look effortless. At times, he’d wondered if they’d even broken a sweat out there.
Folding his 6’ 2” frame into an airline’s idea of a seat sized for a human body, he grimaced. He’d only been on the mound two innings in the last game, but his shoulder would ache like he’d pitched a full no-hitter the entire ride home. That… felt less good. He’d thought he’d come to terms with the reality of what was most likely his last season, but it was harder to face when he was coming down off a winning high.
The bullpen looked good, provided they kept the kids they’d brought up from the minors. Jackson, a tall, spindly Oklahoma boy, was getting deeper into the game now, which took the pressure off the relievers. Chris regretted that he wouldn’t be around next year to see what the kid would do in his second season.