“Amelia.”
My name falling from his lips has me blinking away tears.
When he pulls back, his forehead resting against mine, we’re both breathing hard.
For a moment, the world shrinks down to this room. This bed. This feeling.
And as his lips find mine again, unhurried and devastating, I know without a doubt that crossing this line will change everything.
And I could not care less.
FOURTEEN
Wild
I wake up with the ghost of her still on my skin.
The room smells like her. Soft, warm, familiar already. For a few seconds, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, letting it sink in.
Last night was real.
She was real.
I watched her sleep, hair fanned across my pillow, lips parted slightly, completely unguarded. The sight hits me harder than any fastball ever has. There was no performance in her last night. No masks. Just heat, connection, and a closeness that felt too damn natural for something that’s supposed to be wrong.
I’ve never felt this way.
Not the wanting, that part’s easy. I’ve wanted plenty of women.
It’s the falling that’s new.
The way I felt afterward, wrapped in her, both of us quiet and blissed-out, like the world had finally stopped demanding things from us. The way she smiled when she left this morning, lingering in my doorway like neither of us wanted to be the first to fully let go.
I already made plans for tonight.
I don’t want space.
I don’t want distance.
Now that I’ve been inside her, emotionally and physically, being away from her feels wrong. Like I found something essential and immediately lost access to it.
I get ready on autopilot and head to the stadium, forcing myself back into routine. Armor on. Wild Calloway in public mode.
When I walk into Susan’s office, my gut drops.
Susan is there.
And Amelia.
She’s seated beside the desk, tablet in hand, hair pulled back, professional and composed like last night didn’t happen at all.
Disappointment hits fast and sharp, but I bury it just as quickly. I’m good at that. Always have been.
“Morning,” Susan says, studying me closely.
“Morning,” I reply easily, dropping into the chair.
The session starts like any other. Grief, sleep, coping. I give them the truth, just filtered enough to keep the secret safe. Ameliaasks a few thoughtful questions, her voice steady even though her cheeks flush faintly when our eyes meet.
