Page 56 of The Sweet Spot

“Good to hear.”

“Look, we're both busy people. We're hardworking and competitive. I like that you aren't waiting around for me and have your own thing going on, but is that what you want from me? I won't be able to watch your every game or travel with you.”

“I'm not interested in dating my biggest fan, but I sure as hell hope you're interested in dating yours.”

“We'd have to actually talk,” she says. “Like, actually talk. Not just—” she waves her hand vaguely at the bedroom behind her. “That's a lot of pressure to put on any relationship, let alone a new one.”

“I can talk.”

“JB.” She just looks at me, a little tired, a little undone around the edges in a way she never is when she's in full Whit Marlow mode, and I like this version of her so much it's genuinely becoming a problem. “I don't know how to do this in the middle of a season.”

“Neither do I,” I say before stepping forward and resting my hands on her hips to pull her into a hug.

“That's not reassuring.” Her voice is muffled against my chest.

“It's honest.”

“Are you sure?” she asks again.

“Do you think I'm not all in?”

Her silence is enough of an answer.

Leaning down, I kiss her on the nose. Then on the lips. “Whit, I've been calling pitches in front of forty thousand people since I was twenty-two. I know how to read a situation, and I know when something is worth fighting for. You are. This is. Let me prove it to you.”

She studies me for a beat before stepping out of the hug, which I do not love, but I am getting alarmingly close to missing my flight, so there's that.

She holds her hand out, palm up in front of me, expectantly. When my brows furrow, she wiggles her fingers. “Come on. Give me your phone.”

“My phone?”

“Well, if we're going to do this, you're going to need my number.”

That pushes me into action. I reach into my pocket and hand it over to her.

She raises it to my face to unlock it, then turns the screen back to herself.

Shit. I hope my Catfish group chat doesn't blow up while she's got it.

Pulling down the collar of her robe, she reveals a little of her collarbone as she takes a selfie. It's only when she finishes that I realize the hickey I gave her last night is on full display.

She hands the phone back. I look at the screen, and immediately bark out a laugh.

“Did you seriously save your contact details as Coach?”

“Isn't that what I am? Or would you prefer good girl, since that's all you kept shouting last night?” she asks with wide, innocent eyes, her shoulders shimmying slightly.

Yeah, that boner is fully grown now, because all the memories from last night are right at the forefront of my mind.

She steps forward, pushes onto her tiptoes as her hand threads through my hair, and she kisses me.

I am going to miss this flight.

I am one hundred percent going to miss this flight, and our GM is going to lose his goddamn mind.

She pulls away just as I try to deepen the kiss. “Have a safe flight, JB. Call me when you're free.”

She walks back into the bedroom, and I find myself watching, memorized by the sway of her hips.