“Stop it.” I clear my throat and cross my legs to keep the pulse in my core at bay. Because yes, seeing him again ignited all the feelings from our night together. The man is a walking temptation.
And he has tattoos.
“It looked like you were thinking about it last night.” His tongue flicks out, wetting his lips before capturing his bottom lip with his teeth. He’s too pleased with himself at my obvious discomfort.
“I was not. I was merely making sure your first post-game interview went off without issue. It’s part of my job.” I deserve a gold medal for keeping my voice neutral and not panting like a dog at his filthy words and innuendos.
“Sure thing, Princess. Thought your job was the lawyer part, not the PR part.” He motions to the papers in front of him and the nameplate that sits on my desk.
“It is, but I keep a close ear to the ground on all the players when I’m around. It’s called being dedicated to my work and this team.”
“Is that what they call it?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Affronted, I slam the pen down on top of the paperwork in front of him.
I’m sick of people assuming the worst of women in this industry. As if the only way we can succeed is to sleep our way to the top or have some inside connection. I’ve worked my ass off. Proven my worth and put up with a metric ton of shit from the men in the industry who are supposed to be my bosses and peers.
“I didn—” He sits up in his chair, reaching towards me. A hint of guilt flashes across his face, but I interrupt whatever he was going to say.
“I am a goddamn professional. This is, and will be, nothing more than a professional relationship. Any delusions you have about that changing or what may have happened between us before I realized who you were are justthat—delusions.”
“So, Bree is a fantasy and Gabrielle is untouchable?” He picks up the pen and I hold my breath as he starts signing.
“Yes,” I breathe out, relieved when he finishes.
“I can respect that.” He places the pen back on the desk and pushes out of the chair. I don’t trust myself to speak, so I just watch as he walks to the door. Unfortunately for me, he takes a parting shot with a look over his shoulder.
“For now. But Bree, you know where to find me when that changes.” He shoots me a wink and a sinful grin as he checks me out one final time before he strolls out the door and down the hall.
Frazzled, I cross the room and close the door, locking it behind him and leaning my back against the cool wood to regain my composure. I’m surprised I don’t suffocate from the tension he left in my office. This is why I’ve never had a one-night stand before. Karma hates me and delivered him straight to my office door wrapped in a warning label.
I collect the papers in a stack and move back behind my desk to sign them for the team, witnessing beside his signature as I go. When I get to the last page, it’s blank.
He signed all but one of the papers—the fraternization policy.
Fucking hell.
Three weeks. That’s how long it’s been since I walked out of Bree’s office after she demanded professionalism. I’ve barely seen her since unless it’s at a game where she’s wearing Miller’s jersey and sitting with Fields’ wife. To the world she may be Gabrielle, but to me, she’s still Bree. Every time I’ve tried to think of her as Gabrielle, it feels like a foreign language my brain can’t comprehend.
“If we can keep up this momentum, we’ll solidify our lead in the division before the All-Star break in a couple weeks, and then it’s a race for them to catch us.” Fields comments, going over the stats on our way back to Nashville after another away series.
“Gah, I want a ring.” Miller chimes in from the window seat beside him on the Troubadours private jet.
The Music City Troubadours are the newest team in the Major Leagues, starting in 2020 during the global pandemic. The Troubadours were the worst team in the league that year butsecured a spot in the Wild Card round last year. This year, we’re leading the division, showing no sign of slowing down, and hoping our playoff run goes deep so we can bring home the World Series Championship.
“Me too.” Fields nods.
“Hey, at least you got one last year. I’m ringless in every way,” Miller jokes.
“Yeah,” Fields dreamily looks down at the gold band on his finger. They’ve folded me into their duo from day one, but I realize sitting here listening to them that I don’t know much about them outside of baseball. Time to give that team bonding thing a try.
“How did you get the girl?” I ask Fields from my seat across the aisle from him.
“Oh yes, please tell us,” Miller crosses his legs and props a hand under his chin like he’s waiting for gossip.
Fields looks over at me ignoring his best friend. “What would you like to know?”
“Don’t think I’ve ever heard the full story about how you met your wife.” I know he and Ivory have been together for a few years and got married last November—which was where I met Bree for the first time—but that’s about it.
