Gabe: Not for another two weeks.
Layla: Maybe then?
Gabe: Absolutely.
Layla: Perfect.
Gabe: I’ll text you.
Layla:
Gabe:
After my text exchange with Layla, I lay back against the pillows and shut my eyes, pleased as shit that she’s agreed to a date. When she texted me back, I had to stop myself from pumping my fist in the air. There’s nothing more I want right now than to see Layla again, other than winning the World Series, of course. But now I have two whole weeks to wait until I get to feel her soft curves again. Settling in, my mind drifts back to the night we shared and how good she felt, her body one with mine. And that’s all it takes to get me hard, to the point of being painful. Hitching my hips, I push down my athletic shorts and grip my erection, precum dripping from the tip. Jacking my dick and using the precum as lubricant, I stroke my dick, desperately trying to find relief. Squeezing and stroking, I imagine it’s Layla’s hands pleasuring me. Needing to come, I stroke harder and faster, keeping the right amount of pressure on my dick. I’m almost there. Finally, after what seems like forever, I feel a familiar tingle and my muscles tighten, my balls drawing up, signaling my climax. I come, my release shooting out. I’m breathing hard and my ab muscles are clenched as the last vestiges of my release seep through my fingers. Fuck, I needed that. If only Layla were here.
CHAPTER 7
GABE
CHICAGO, IL
I’m back in Chicago. It was my home when I played for one of the world-famous teams that are located in this amazing city. And it’s still my home during the off-season. My kids are here and so is their mom. This place is it for me, even when I have to move to another city for the season. That’s just how it goes being in the big leagues. Players move all the time, as do many of the coaching staff. I don’t mind living outside of Chicago during the season, as the team is always on the move. But my heart is in Chicago. It always has been and always will be.
We had an afternoon game against my former team and we squeaked out a 3-2 win, notching us one step closer to the postseason. I’m free to do what I like tonight and I’m more than ready for it, because tonight, I see Layla again for the first time in weeks. I’ve missed her, but she’s more than made up for it through her texts. We’ve kept in touch as much as possible, but it’s just not the same as being in the same physical space together.
After the team gets dropped off at the hotel, I take a cab back to my place in the city. I haven’t been back since the Vipers were last in town, which was almost a month ago. Swinging open the front door, I take in the familiar space of my Greystone. It’s a historic home that’s been modernized and it suits me just fine. Mind you, it’s not the home I shared with my now ex-wife. I bought this place after we signed the divorce papers. I keep this place so I can spend time with my kids when I’m not busy with my coaching career. And an added bonus of the place is secured parking. I keep a vehicle here for convenience.
Having time to kill before my date with Layla, I clean myself up and get dressed in a smart but casual black suit paired with a crisp black button down shirt, open at the throat, and pair it with one of my favorite watches, which I collect. Some people collect knick-knacks or sports memorabilia. I collect neither, but I do collect watches. The watch I’m sporting tonight is one that I picked up from an auction house. It’s worth a pretty penny. Not that I like to blow money on frivolous things—I don’t. But watches are one of my weaknesses. And my other weakness? The woman I’ll be meeting tonight.
Spritzing on my signature scent, a mix of citrus and sandalwood, I take a look in the mirror. Not bad for a forty-something former major leaguer. But even that’s laughable, because I’m in better shape than players half my age. It’s all priorities, I guess. I just choose to keep in killer shape, so I can keep up with my team. And it doesn’t hurt either that Layla likes the way I look without my shirt.
Ready for my date with Layla, I head out. I’m meeting her at Bellamorre, an upscale restaurant in the West Loop, which is one of my favorite places to eat when I’m back in town. I think she’ll enjoy the food and the ambience. It has a laid-back vibe, but is fancy enough that it’s not just a casual eatery. It’s the perfect place to take Layla on our first date.
Walking from the parking garage, it takes me a few minutes to get to the restaurant. But as soon as I round the corner, the restaurant a few doors down, I catch sight of Layla in a short, fitted dress. Her soft, shiny hair falls in waves down her back and she’s wearing heels again. Damn the woman is sexy. Quickening my steps, I go to her.
“Layla.” She turns around when she hears her name, her eyes finding mine.
“Gabe!” she calls out cheerfully, a smile on her face as she struts toward me.
It feels so damn good to finally see her in person again. A hand at her hip, I bend down and brush a light kiss across her cheek. Feeding off my energy, she steps into my arms and places her soft, pillowy lips against mine. I bring her body against me and we kiss, mindful we’re on the street, people all around us. But we’re both starved for each other. It’s been weeks. But it’s felt much longer than that.
“Mmm, I’ve missed you,” I breathe against her hair.
“Same,” she says exhaling softly, her pelvis bumping the hardness between my legs.
“What you do to me, woman,” I tease, smiling down at her beautiful face. Her eyes twinkle with mischief. She knows exactly what she’s doing. “At least feed me before ravishing me,” I joke, hands still on her hips.
She snorts softly. “You know I could say the same,” she teases right back.
In all honesty, I can’t wait to strip her bare and sink myself inside her sweet heat again. I growl softly and take her hand in mine, leading us towards the entrance of the restaurant. If we don’t go in now, we’ll miss our reservation. And I don’t want that, as Layla is more to me than just a means to an end. I genuinely enjoy her company; the smoking-hot sex is just a bonus. A really good bonus.
Keeping her hand in mine, I lead her into the restaurant. “Reservation for Goldwyn.”
“Right this way, sir.”
We’re seated at a table near the back of the restaurant. It isn’t even remotely private, but the place has a cozy ambience, with low lighting. With any luck, no one will even be looking for me. I’m not uber-famous, but my face is well-known around the city of Chicago. If people are looking, they’ll recognize me. Not that I mind, but I want my focus to be solely on Layla. Our time is short and I want to spend every minute I can with her, as I don’t know when I’ll be able to see her again. It could be weeks or it could be months. It all depends on how my team navigates the postseason.
A waiter stops by and I order a bottle of wine. But not just any wine—one of the most expensive bottles of Pinot Noir on the menu. Layla’s favorite.
