“Pretty sure, with you on the mound, the Rattlers didn’t stand a chance,” I conclude with a definitive nod as I place a hand on his shoulder and give it a squeeze.
This time it’s Noah’s cheeks that redden, as he mimics my earlier posture, avoiding eye contact as he stares at his cleats. Apparently, we’re both allergic to compliments.
“You hitting on my woman, Benson?” Fletcher hollers, calling Noah by his last name.
I fold my arms, bracing myself for what’s about to come.
“Your woman, huh?” I shoot back, my eyebrow raising as I feign annoyance, though the grin tugging at my lips gives me away. So much for the tough girl act.
“Well, according to what’s-his-name from the bar we met at, that’s exactly what you are. Plus, after tonight, I think it’s only right to inform you that I’m officially calling dibs.”
My mouth falls open. “What? No! You don’t get to call dibs,” I sputter.
“That’s weird, because I’m pretty sure I just did,” he says, his voice teasing but with a new, sharper edge to it. “Why? Were you hoping someone else on the team called it first? Would explain why you and Benson here are getting so touchy,” he huffs, standing a bit taller as his playful mask finally slips.
I can’t decide if I should be proud that I have it in me to make him jealous, or utterly annoyed that he thinks I want Noah, or really, any of the players here. Has he not been listening to a single word I’ve said? I don’t want to dateanyone.
“First of all.” I plant my hands on my hips. “You guys are my coworkers. Nobody on this team gets dibs, and I sure as hell don’t want anyone claiming me as if I’m a prize or worse, someone they can own. I’m a free. fucking. agent,” I declare, making sure to hit every word so there’s absolutely no confusion.
“On that note...” Noah takes a careful step back. “I’m supposed to be meeting Margot and Owen. So uh, I’m going to go and do that,” he rambles, throwing his thumb over his shoulder before scurrying away.
“Tell them I said hi,” I try to recover as I shoot a wave toward his already retreating backside. I may not have gotten any real introductions to his childhood best friend/baby momma and son, but he’s rambled on so much about them I feel like I practically know them already, especially after seeing all the adorable pictures of his four-year-old son. He’s pretty much his dad’s mini-me and beyond adorable with his shaggy brown hair, and matching brown eyes.
“Will do,” he calls over his shoulder.
“You sure I didn’t just interrupt something here?” Fletcher asks, the unmistakable tone of jealousy still lingering.
I could have some fun here, and I’m sure I’d enjoy every second of it, but it’s probably best not to push my luck. The lastthing I need is for it to get around that I have a thing for Noah. He may be an amazing baseball player and a cute boy-dad, but we’re friends, and that’s all we’ll ever be.
“Oh, Stop,” I cut him off. “We’re friends. Nothing more. Same as you and me,” I remind him as I follow Noah’s lead and make my own escape toward the dugout.
“Hate to say it Holls, but we could never be just friends. You and I? We’ve always been meant for something more," he insists, falling into step beside me.
“Careful there, Bud. I was willing to be nice and offer you my friendship, but keep that up and I’ll be forced to reconsider,” I warn, staring straight ahead, not daring a glance in his direction.
“Bud?” he asks, sounding less than thrilled with the nickname.
“Yep. You know, since you’re mybuddyand all,” I explain, finally looking over as I shoot him a sickeningly sweet smile.
“If that’s what helps you sleep at night, keep telling yourself that, but we both know what’s happening here... you want me.”
I snort a laugh. “In your dreams.”
“Oh, you’re in plenty of my dreams. Usually though you tend to be a lot nicer and actually want to spend time with me. We’re also usually wearing a lot less clothing and in a lot more risque of positions,” he smiles.
My cheeks flush, but I refuse to flinch or look away.
“That’s weird, because in my dreams you’re usually minding your own business and staying as far away from me as possible. Then again, that may also be because you tripped over your own ego, and are therefore being forced to spend the rest of the season on the bench.”
“You may think you’re hurting my feelings darlin’, but as long as I’m starring in your dreams, I’d call that a win,” he says, easily matching my pace, that smug, knowing grin staying planted on his face.
“Wow,” I say, drawing out the o. “That’s what you call a win? Dream cameos fueled by pure delusion? Bold strategy, but kind of a low bar, don’t you think?”
“No, it’s the opposite actually. You went and raised it so damn high I need a ladder and a prayer to keep up, but don’t think I plan to stop climbing anytime soon. It’s you or...well, it’s just you. Why waste my time with anybody else?”
I stop walking and turn to face him.
Great, now he’s doingthe look.The one that has my heart, which I swore was made of steel melting, especially when paired with that speech. That’s probably one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me. Which is exactly why I need to be careful. He probably says this to every gorgeous woman he encounters.
