All I see is red.
That anger that had begun to tamp down from that last interaction with Reese quickly amps back up. My blood goes hot, and any energy I may have expended on that leg workout comesflooding right back, giving me the overwhelming urge to punch this guy straight in the face.
They finish their business and exit the bathroom, but before they leave the gym, Harrison says one more thing to Reese. “If you need Friday night plans, I know of some ways to keep you busy.”
As soon as I hear the door to the gym close, I leave the shower stall, exit the bathroom, and immediately find Reese already looking in my direction. As if she knew I overheard everything and would have something to say.
“Has he spoken to you that way before?”
She sighs. “Emmett—”
“Reese.” There’s even more anger and urgency in my voice the second time. “Has he spoken to you that way before?”
She doesn’t say anything, but her silence is enough of an answer for me to know that that little interaction was nothing new.
I already know why she doesn’t want to confirm it. She doesn’t want me to think her idea of trading him has anything to do with the way he addresses her. And I know by now that Reese would put all of that to the side for the good of the baseball club. If she felt he was the right player for her team, she wouldn’t dare think of getting rid of him simply because he’s a patronizing little prick.
But I fucking would.
I shake my head, utterly pissed off that I didn’t know about it sooner. Then I look her dead in the eye, arms crossed over my chest when I say, “Trade him.”
15
Reese
“What’s up with Monty today?” my grandfather asks from the seat next to me. “I’ve never seen him like this before.”
From up in the owner’s box, I watch as Emmett returns to the dugout after spending a few minutes on the field, getting in the umpire’s face. To be fair, the ump has blown too many obvious calls, but Emmett typically handles that kind of thing with a bit more of a level head.
I attempt to keep my tone uninterested when I say, “Not sure.”
But the problem is that I’m very much interested in just about everything regarding that man.
It’s an abnormally hot day in the city, and we just so happen to have a game smack-dab in the middle of the warmest afternoon hours. And because of it, I fear the heat is getting to everyone.
Emmett.
The umpire.
Me.
Regardless that I’m sitting in my air-conditioned suite, every inch of me is on fire from just watching the game.
Well, if we want to get specific, it’s from watching the field manager.
Thankfully, my grandfather is too oblivious to notice that I haven’t been able to pull my attention away from the dugout. And I’m lucky this suite is situated above the stands off the third baseline, where I’m granted a bit of privacy unless someone knows to look for me up here.
Anyone who saw that rumor online, the one about me leaving Emmett’s hotel room, would quickly learn it wasn’t just a rumor by the way I can’t tear my eyes off him.
I kind of . . . missed him this week.
A sentiment I swore I’d never feel when it comes to Emmett Montgomery.
I missed the shit-talking. I missed knowing he had my back. I missed being able to talk to the one person in the entire franchise who truly sees how hard it is for me to be a woman in this industry.
I just missed him, and yes, I know I brought this on myself. It took everything in me not to respond to his text or answer his call, but I know I’m doing the right thing by keeping our communication professional and putting a safe distance between us for now.
To him, maybe our flirty banter was no big deal. Maybe to him, me cutting off any personal communication was a drastic move because he never felt the danger of coming too close to crossing a line.
