From Enemies to Expecting
“You’re so sweet to worry about me.” Her hand was still in his, and she thumbed his knuckle almost affectionately. “But I can amuse myself. All I have to do is think about how much it’ll be killing you to stand next to me, knowing that I’m completely naked under this dress.”
Hot coffee scalded his throat as he choked on it.
Clearly nowhere nearly as concerned as she should be—since his inability to breathe or swallow was her fault—she arched a brow. “Are you okay?”
“What do you think?” he growled. “Are you really commando? Like, one hundred percent?”
She nodded with a sly smile. “And I plan to sit really close to you during the game. Maybe there will be a table that might cover a wandering hand or two?”
That dress took on a whole new definition of shock value—and now he definitely wanted to cover her up. With his naked body.
Going commando under a simple dress should definitely be a morning-after rule. He just couldn’t decide if the rule should state never or always.
Trinity chatted some more about strategy and photo ops while drinking her coffee and refusing to eat anything, a female tendency he could never understand. The team had already left for the stadium so they could get started on their pregame rituals. Ballplayers were a superstitious lot, and you couldn’t pry their customs from their cold, dead fingers. They always ate at the ballpark, mostly so Gordon could watch the players like a hawk, but also because hotel food sucked.
Normally, he’d be with them, angsting alongside the coaches. But instead of doing his job, Logan was still at the hotel, listening to his fake girlfriend–slash–real lover talk about how great it was that this partnership was paying off.
“Fyra was featured in a cosmetic review on Allure’s website,” she gushed. “And it was so positive that our northeast distribution warehouse is out of stock of Bahama Sunset eye shadow and the mascara they mentioned. They panned us last time, claiming the products they tried were overpriced. Like anyone cares about value when it comes to whether your mascara clumps or not.”
“Uh-huh.” Her lips moved constantly and he couldn’t help but think about how quiet she got when it counted. When talking wasn’t necessary because they were communicating perfectly with their bodies.
He wasn’t done with his fantasies, that was for sure. And for the first time in his life, he resented the fact that he couldn’t just watch a baseball game with a gorgeous woman and then take her back to his room for some postgame activities. Maybe he could cut things shorter than normal. He was already making concessions by not being on the field at this moment.
“We’ll leave in about an hour,” he told her as they left the restaurant after breakfast.
“Oh. Isn’t the game at one o’clock?”
He hid a smile. “Yeah, but the team usually gets there about six hours early. I’m cutting you a break since it’s your first time.”
She hit the lobby an hour later, exactly on time. The day was perfect for baseball—cloudy with a slight breeze off the bay, which put the temperature near sixty degrees. Logan loved this area, especially in the summer, when it routinely reached 110 in their home stadium in Texas. Trinity shivered as they stepped outside the glass doors to the valet stand.
Without hesitation, he stripped off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. Gratefully, she smiled and slipped her arms into the sleeves. He didn’t feel guilty at all about getting extra clothes on her and bit his tongue instead of asking if she owned a sweater.
He was pretty sure he already knew the answer to that.
Somehow he resisted putting his hands on her during the limo ride to the field. The stadium sat overlooking the bay with a great view of the Oakland bridge. Across the bay, San Francisco gleamed in the low light of the morning, and he was extraordinarily glad they didn’t have to venture to that side of the bridge. The traffic in the Bay Area rivaled Dallas, and he was not a fan of sitting in the car for hours.
Of course, he’d never done it with Trinity. That might make a long commute worth it.
The stadium was less grand than some others, but he got a rush walking through the gates regardless. The smell of popcorn lingered in the air, something almost all stadiums had in common, even the open-air ones. He’d never lost the sense of being on sacred ground, and no matter what time it was, he could hear the thunk of the ball against his glove, the shush as it sailed through the air, the roar of the crowd in his head. God, he could still feel the energy even though it had been nine years since the last time he’d pitched here.
Some days it felt like his life had ended when his career had.