“Riley. Ember Riley,” I reply, knowing he’ll probably try to find me if I ignore him.
He types in my full name, then presses the message icon and sends me a message that beeps from my clutch.
He smiles, satisfied that I didn’t give him the Pop-Corn phone number, then steps aside to let me through, but my feet are planted. Damn my feet to hell. I need to leave, but leaving him feels so much harder this time.
A flashback from last night flips through my mind. The kissing and laughing. The feeling of his tongue on my skin and his breath on my body. The way he touched me and held me like he never wanted to let me go. My heart hiccups in my chest.
I need to get out of here.
I look down at my shoes, the ones rooted into the ground, urging them to move. They shift up onto their toes, giving me enough height to plant a kiss on his cheek. He inhales deeply and his eyes close. When he reopens them, he palms my cheek, then swivels my face so my lips meet his.
His kiss is soft yet demanding, and it swallows me whole. It’s consuming in ways I never knew a kiss could be.
The taste of his cinnamon spice and citrus linger on my tongue as I pull away. He presses his forehead to mine, and I avoid his gaze as it attempts to find mine. That will be my downfall and crush my resolve. Urgently, I turn away and step through the door, rushing to the front of the hotel room.
Dane is now sitting upright on the couch with an ice pack on his forehead as I pass through. A third guy I was never introduced to is now in the kitchen drinking coffee with Seamus and Kobi.
“Does he know you’re leaving?” Seamus asks, as he jumps off the barstool and begins to follow me like it’s his sole purpose in life. I remember him from last night. He’s the scary one with all dark everything. As I glance back at his domineering form trailing behind me, my eyes are drawn to a large but faded scar that crosses over his chest, and a smaller scar in his lower abdomen, which just adds to his broody and frightening demeanor.
“He does. We’re good. Great to meet you guys.” Seamus stops, thankfully, and I wave with a half smile back at them as I grab the door handle and exit, heading straight for the elevator.
The doors are barely open enough for me to shimmy through before I’m punching the lobby button, and when the doors finally close, I blow out a hefty breath. Pulling out my phone to check my Uber, it’s only a minute away, which provides another sigh of relief, knowing my getaway car is nearby.
I click out of the app and into my text messages. A single text message from an unknown number pulls through. I know it’s Hudson, and when I open the message to see two simple words, they weigh down on my already heavy heart.
Unknown Number: Don’t go
10
HUDSON
It’s amazing. Time.
It’s the most deceitful scientific measurement of reality. Quantifying your irreversible timeline in seconds, yet somehow our own awareness of time can easily alter its basic mathematics.
How is it that something so scientific, so matter-of-fact, can feel so different in defining moments?
Two hours on a plane with the most captivating woman I’d ever met felt like nanoseconds. Two hours on the plane flying back home, every minute getting further away from her—both physically and mentally—felt like a life sentence.
And in the last three days, the minutes have gone by painfully slowly, even though the days have felt fast.
Before flying to Vegas, I got, potentially, the most exciting news of my career. I flew to Seattle for a meeting with the Smashers’ coach. Apparently, something came up, and he had to cancel. That sent me flying directly to Vegas with only a sliver of hope that a trade could happen.
Leaving Vegas on a dreadful, and terribly boring, plane ridewith a seatmate that held no comparison to Ember. I finally made it back home, just to be told by my coach that he booked me a plane ticket back to Seattle for a rescheduled meeting. That would have been the highlight of my week, if not for meeting Ember.
So, I went home, packed a majority of my belongings and jumped on a flight back to the airport where I had first laid eyes on her.
I didn’t need to pack everything, but I couldn’t help but hope that I was leaving San Diego for good. Not that I dislike San Diego. It’s one of the best cities in the world.
But I’ve been ready. Ready in all the ways I could ever be ready for this change.
I could get traded back to the major leagues.Finally. Something that I’ve been waiting for, for what feels like forever. Years of training, growing, rebuilding, and dreaming for an almost impossible opportunity. Along with years of dread that it may never happen. And now? Now, I have a chance, and it feels like my injury was yesterday. I can’t recall anything I’ve learned or healed from during that time.
Again,time—the best magician in the world.
Fast forward to today, Wednesday, the day I meet Coach Raymer. He’s the coach for the Seattle Smashers and has the reputation of a total hardass. When I flew here before the bachelor party, I was a nervous wreck. So, when I was told something came up and he had to reschedule, it was devastating. I believed he truly had an emergency and wasn’t just being a jerk. But I have to admit, there was a small part of me that felt discouraged, like he changed his mind about meeting me and I missed my opportunity. So, needless to say, I’m glad he actually rescheduled and I’m here now. Nerves completely faded. Confidence on full alert.
My coach said this is truly an interview, that he wants to meet all the players he was considering before making his finaldecision. But I refuse for this to turn out any other way than me leaving as a new catcher for the Seattle Smashers.
