All this time, I truly thought that Emmett had taken advantage of my grandfather’s kindness to get what he wanted. All to find out, it was his own kindness that made sure Kai had the resources he needed for his son so that he wouldn’t retire before he was ready to.
I truly can’t find words, so my grandfather fills the silence.
“Haven’t you deep-dived into that year’s budget? The numbers might look a bit confusing due to where they’re allocated, but if you look hard enough, you’ll see where that money was coming from.”
Of course, I haven’t investigated that year’s budget yet. I haven’t been able to get further than last season. Instead, I formed an opinion off what I was told instead of looking into it myself.
“One day, you’ll see what I see, Reese. That guy right there is not only a fantastic manager, but he’s a gem of a human.”
Little does he know, I already see it. And that’s the problem.
I find him in the dugout once again, jaw ticking with frustration from that interaction with Harrison. But then when Isaiah bounds up the stairs with his hat and glove in hand, headed for his place in the infield, Emmett stops him and pulls him into a hug to speak quietly in his ear.
I can sense by the way Emmett’s shoulders relax that he’s no longer acting as the protective hothead. He’s in full-on father figure mode, and the quick switch-up is, unfortunately, very attractive.
Isaiah nods and when they pull away from each other, he’s got that goofy grin back on his face. Emmett cups the back of his head, playfully shaking him before sending him onto the field for the top of the eighth.
He’s good down to his core, isn’t he?
The players adore him. My grandfather adores him. And I think I might kind of adore him.
Which is just fucking great.
Thisis the man that changes my mind? The one I can’t have. The one I shouldn’t want. My goddamn employee.
And as if he knew I was having an existential crisis over him, Emmett has the audacity to grab the nearest water bottle and take a long drink before pouring the remainder down the back of his neck to cool himself down.
Fuck. Me.
Fuck this heat. Fuck my hormones too.
He may be cooling himself down, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so warm. Or so annoyingly turned on. It’s like I’m watching the start of one of those male revue shows and I’ve got a front-row seat.
It feels criminal that I don’t have a bit of cash on me.
Will they need to change the age rating of this game on the television networks?
The water rains down his back, causing that already thin shirt to practically disappear against his skin. It clings to every hill and valley, showing off every detailed line of that black ink.
“Well, that’s one way to sell tickets,” my grandfather says, laughing next to me.
Good God.
I need to go hide in my office for these final two innings. Alone.
Emmett turns, tossing the empty bottle onto the bench behind him. And then, as if by instinct, he looks up.
To my box. Right at me.
He does it in a way that tells me he already knew exactly where I’ve been for this entire game.
There’s a hardness in his jaw and an intensity in his stare, but neither of us breaks eye contact.
It reminds me of the way we watched each other through the mirror when I found him in the gym last night.
It reminds me of the way he might watch a woman as he’s making her come.
My grandfather, bless his sweet innocent soul, lifts a hand to wave at the man I’m currently having all sorts of inappropriate thoughts about.
