I reach into the pocket, actively tell myself to ignore the firm ass muscle under the denim of her jeans, and whip the card out so fast that it goes flying as I lose my grip on it.
We both bend to pick it up off the pavement at the same time, and our heads clunk together.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
So does she.
“I’ve got this,” she grits out. “You can go.”
“As soon as someone else is helping you.”
She snags the card and straightens with another wince. “Ballpark isn’t abandoned, Duncan. Someone can help me.”
“I’m not trying to insult your independence.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
“So why won’t you let me help you?”
“Youdressed me. And you drove me here. I think you’ve helped plenty.”
Of course she doesn’t want me walking into the ballpark with her.
She’d have to admit she knows me.
When we were together, she didn’t want to tell anyone.You’re not one of my players, but you hang out with them, she said.This could impact my job, and I’ve never loved a job the way I love this one. Let’s just keep this to ourselves for now.
I still don’t know if that was the whole truth, or if her insistence on discretion was code forI don’t publicly admit to my meaningless flings.
There I was, falling head over heels for a kind, sexy, playful woman who spent her workdays wearing anI’m a hardassmask to take on the world and win it over one day at a time. She was helping take her team on a path to greatness and glory for the first time in their entire history, while showing me her soft side at home, but I was ultimately nothing more than someone to scratch an itch.
“Will you at least text me later and let me know you’re okay?” I ask.
She doesn’t look at me. “Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I should turn around, walk back to my car, get in, and leave.
But I can’t.
Not until she’s inside.
And she’s not moving very quickly to get inside.
I rub my head. Fucking thing aches where it hit hers, and I’m used to taking knocks to the head. Hers probably doesn’t feel too awesome either.
“I’m sorry,” I grunt.
“Not your fault.”
“I pulled too?—”
She looks over her bad shoulder at me, brown eyes igniting as hard as her jaw is clenched. “It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”
I’ve heard my buddies on the baseball team talk about her from time to time since she started here over five years ago.
