“No, it’s not.” My agent approached, dreads in a ball on top of her head.
Zuri sighed, as if to say my manager wasn’t helping.
Nah. She was. LaShawn kept it real. “Nice to meet you, Journey. Good job,”—LaShawn glanced over her shoulder—“playing up the concerned girlfriend.”
“I am. Well, not his … I care.”
LaShawn cocked her head. “Let’s do this, Montana. You have three years left. They won’t cut you.”
I swallowed, throat dry. A reel played in my mind where TMZ lit my ass on fire, shared how disrespectful and disgraceful my actions were to the kids this sport loved.
“Montana,” Zuri whispered, standing. “You got this.”
Her hand pressed against my jaw, firm and soft, and she edged up in her heels to meet me. I bent. No way I wouldn’t meet this beautiful woman halfway.
Our mouths collided. None of Zuri’s polite, innocent mess. Her lips brought fire like they had on my living room floor an hour ago. The taste of her was an explosion of everything I’d been holding back since the ride over.
Zuri didn’t hesitate; she owned it, lips moving against mine with a hunger I’d have unraveled this morning if not for alarms and business.
Her fingers slid up the back of my neck, nails grazing my skin. My breath caught.Damn. I still had a little PTSD from when those talons brought the pain. Now? All silky soft. Sensual. Everything I expected in this beautiful woman.
More than that. This kiss made me rethink my priorities. Ballparks. Contracts. Stats. Did anything matter anymore? Nah.
Just her.
Fireworks couldn’t describe this. Lightning hit marrow. I pulled her in so tight that she couldn’t breathe without breathing me in too. My grip constricted. That alarm had me on time this morning, but I’d be damned if they didn’t see us standing here and respect that I needed this.
After a throat cleared nearby, Zuri pulled back, all ragged exhales, red-hot cheeks, and grins. I didn’t want to admit I needed to catch my breath too. She gripped the bottom of my beard. “Don’t let them take what they didn’t give you. You hear me?”
I nodded, jaw tight. As I turned toward the doors, I knew this woman was my bone. My strength. Weakness. The damn humble pie I never bargained for.
LaShawn and I stepped into the boardroom. A dozen sharp suits lined up around the table. Dodger logos gleamed from pens to paperweights. The air smelled of money and disinfectant. Nobody here ever sweat to earn a dollar.
Face carved from stone, I sat. If they knew my background.Whothat man was to me. Maybe they’d have sympathy. Look down on me with pity.
Pride locked my mouth shut. That jailbird, my sperm donor, didn’t deserve to be spoken of.
Martinez sat forward. “You’ve always been dynamic. Fire, Babineaux. Fans like fire. Media loves fire. Fire unchecked?” He sat back, swiveling in his chair. “Burns the brand. You’re selling tickets to fans. Men. Women.Children. This is not a boxing match!”
Sniggers rolled around the table.
I leaned forward, letting my gaze sweep to every owner. “I deliver. At bat, in the box. You pay me for wins. Y’all got rings because of me.”Me and my boys, but arrogance sounded impressive.
Hartley’s smile tightened. “What good is a bat if the man holding it …”
Don’t say it. Don’t you dare cut me!
“… sits through spring training?”
That sliced through me. I couldn’t miss spring training. It kicked off the season. I worked my jaw.
LaShawn touched my shoulder briefly—a silence check.
I swallowed the heat in my chest, then let the truth spill out raw. “I’d never dream of damaging the team. MacKenzie, Ohtani, the rest of ‘em? That’s family. I’m here to build something real. Whatever disciplinary action you consider given the circumstances have changed, I’ll take it. That’s how much I love this game. My team. But don’t y’all forget, when the bases were loaded this October, bottom of the ninth. Who ain’t choke!”
Martinez chuckled. “Babineaux, I just arrived from over a month in St. Bart. You been?”
I almost rolled my eyes.
