It’s nice of her to say, but it’s not true.
“You saw my medicals, didn’t you?”
“You could have moved toDH, got out from behind the plate, just focused on hitting.”
“Nah, I’d done my twenty. I would have driven everyone crazy only playing half the game, hanging out in the dugout, not being able to control what was going on out on the field, and they had that kid Díaz coming up behind me. It wouldn’t have been fair to him.”
She tilts her head in silent agreement, but then she levels me with a serious stare. “We got interrupted back on the plane and you never answered my question. Why are you back?”
“To get the one thing I never had as a player.”
“A ring,” she answers for me.
“A ring. You told me once that’s what you wanted too.”
“I did. I do.”
“And here we are on the same team, again, and we both want the same thing.”
“So what are you saying?”
“What if we call a truce on . . .” I wave vaguely at the space between us, “this and focus on that. What if we trusted each other, like Stew wants, and build this team together.”
“If I agree to this, I need a clear chain of command. Stew named me his interim. I’m ultimately the one responsible for making a call. I had to deal with you ignoring my analysis when– what did you say? – conditions changed on the field, but now you’re going to have to deal with me telling you no. This is my world, not yours.”
“You’ll listen to me? You’ll hear me out?”
“I will,” she says, firmly, her eyes blue steel. She means it.
“Okay, Sullivan,” I say, extending my hand to her. “Let’s do this.” Her hand slides into mine, cool to the touch, her handshake firm, strong even, stronger than I expected, but soft too.
“For the ring?”
“For the ring.”
Then she tugs on my hand, using it as leverage to pull herself almost entirely against me.
“But if you ever pull another stunt like you did today again, you’re done, understood?”
I hum a yes as my eyes are drawn down toward her mouth and, just as I make up my mind to lean in and fuck the consequences, she nods firmly and drops back a step.
My hand doesn’t release hers, though, and I can’t quite convince myself to let go. But she’s not letting go either and her eyes lift to mine, a question in them.
Is she remembering too?
Because every one of my senses is on high alert, instant recall back to a parking lot inLAwhere I was emotionally wrecked and physically exhausted and didn’t have the energy to fight against the rising need to pull her in and find out if that mouth of hers wasn’t just talented with verbal slings that always hit their mark.
It would be so easy, just a quick tug and she’d be back in my arms. I wouldn’t even have to bend that far down, as she’s tall enough that I could kiss her all day long and avoid an aching neck.
Shit like that matters when you’re pushing forty.
But I shouldn’t and, to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure ifshe’d kiss me back or haul my ass toHRfor sexual harassment. I’d say it’s a coin flip.
Finally, she’s the one that pulls away and I let her go as she steps back and then worries her bottom lip with her teeth.
Fuck, I didn’t need to add that expression to the catalog of things I can fantasize about.
Distraction. I need one. Badly.
