Wondering if I’m thinking about her.
Because God help me, I am.
We’re in Oklahoma tonight.
The minor-league traveling-ballplayer life.
The bar is loud. Not in the fun way. In theI’d rather be anywhere elsekind of way.
I sip my beer, half-listening to my teammates talk shit and celebrate the win. A blonde with glittery eye makeup leans across the bar, brushing my arm. “You’re Logan, right? Number eleven?”
I nod, polite.
“You’re…hot.” She’s drunk. Blunt. Handsy.
I fake a smile. “Appreciate it.”
She leans in closer. “Wanna get out of here?”
And just like that, the old version of me would’ve been all in. She’s gorgeous, interested, and making it really damn easy.
But instead, I glance away—at the neon beer sign, at the TV showing a replay of the game, at anywhere but her face.
Because the only face I keep seeing lately?
It’s still Cassie’s.
That smirk. The way she bit her lip as she stood in the kitchen laughing at something I said. The way her hair slipped out of that messy bun when she was cooking the other night.
“Maybe another time,” I say, sliding off the barstool. Her expression twists, confused, but I don’t owe her an explanation. I just need to get out of there.
Back at the hotel, I strip down and step into the shower, twisting the knob all the way to cold. Ice-cold. It hits me like a slap, but I grit my teeth and stand there, trying to shut off my brain.
The more I try to be numb, the more it doesn’t work.
Cassie’s laugh slips in. The way she looked up at me in the kitchen. Her voice whispering,“You think I’m super smart?”
My hand curls against the tile wall.
Damn it.
I close my eyes and just let it happen.
I picture her—bare, slick, pressed up against the shower wall like that night. Only this time, there’s no curtain between us. No stopping. I’ve got my hands on her hips, her thighs, her neck—guiding her, gripping her, feeling every inch of her pressed to me.
I groan through gritted teeth, coming hard and fast, like my body’s been waiting for a release it didn’t get permission for.
Afterward, I just stand there, breathless, forehead against the cold tile.
What the hell is happening to me?
I rinse off, shut the water off, and step out.
I’m still not satisfied and still missing her.
Still completely, utterly screwed. Something’s gotta give.
Chapter Nineteen
