Forget earlier.
Forget five years ago as we innocently flirted before her ex showed up.
Forget intermittently in my dreams since then.
I haveneverwanted to kiss Alex more than I do right now.
My hand rubs my beard scruff as I war with myself. If I step forward, if I demolish the space between us, I’ll ruin any chance of this ever being…anything—fake or otherwise. Alex clearly sees me as some sort of loose-moraled playboy. She’d probably slap me if I tried to kiss her.
“How about we try to get through the next three days without killing each other? Do you think you can handle that, Ms. Stevens?”
Alex bristles. Just like she always does when I use her professional name. The culture is so relaxed within baseball that everyone uses first names. From the umpires to the franchise owner, I’ve never used a title when addressing anyone.
When Alex stares me down, I lift my palms. “Or—”
“Fine.”
“Fine?” I let the corner of my mouth tip up. “Maybe you could add a little sugar to that spicy answer. Don’t forget, I’m the one doing you a favor.”
It’s Alex’s turn to cross her arms. “If this is some type of twisted, quid-pro-quo situation, I’m out.”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking you for anything.”
Though, honestly, a part of me wants to ask Alex to consider the true caliber of my character instead of what’s been splashed in the media over the years. Realistically, the only way to change Alex’s mind about me is to show her who I really am.
She eyes me again for a long second. “Okay.”
Before I can say anything else, her phone rings with Mags’s caller ID. Snatching the phone, I open the call to speaker mode.
“Hey, Mags. We were just talking about you.”
When Alex lurches for the phone, I hold her back with one hand, lifting the phone away with the other.
“Oh, good, you’re both together. That nice Mallory said you’d both be busy for a while, but I wasn’t sure if I should head back to the hotel or wait.”
“Head back to the hotel,” Alex says, as I answer, “Wait.”
“What was that?”
Before Alex can protest again, I curl her back into my front and cover her mouth with my palm. I know I’m risking bodily harm by manhandling her like this, but a fully formulated plan just burst into my brain, and I’m determined to see it through.
“I said you should wait. I’ve got a fun idea, but first, what did you think of the game?”
As Mags jumps into a full recount of her front-row experience, I lean my chin toward Alex, releasing my palm from her mouth.
“Are you okay?” I whisper over her temple. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“I should kick you in the shins for that maneuver,” she whisper-hisses.
“Answer the question, please. I need to know you’re okay.”
The air seems to shift as she pauses.
“I’m okay.” Alex softens against me, and the resulting victory swirling in my veins feels sweeter than any win I’ve ever taken from the field.
“At the very least, I should have licked your palm.” Her muttered petulance makes a smile spring to my lips.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” I murmur, closer than I probably should be. “That would’ve been gross.”
