Page 32

twenty-eight

. . .

[India]

I’m only slightly embarrassed that Declan and I have been caught leaving a dark conference room together during a fundraising event.

However, I’m truly mortified when I round the corner of the secondary hallway and run smack into my boss, Connor Reid.

“India.” His tone is light but sounds surprised by my abrupt exit from the narrow corridor off the main concourse.

“Connor.” I choke on his name. While roughly my own age, we are not equals, as he manages The Den, and all its operations.

When we first met, I was quickly put at ease by his warm smile and encouraging words.

He praised the selection of interviews I submitted as part of the interview process and honored my request to leave my father out of any decision making.

Connor admitted he didn’t know my father, he’d simply been impressed by what he’d seen of my reporting and thought The Den could offer me more opportunity.

He was right and I never wanted to do anything to jeopardize the position I’m in.

Like allowing the general manager of the team I’m supposed to be reporting on finger me in an empty conference room.

“Is everything alright?” He glances over my shoulder, but I don’t need to turn to see who he sees. Both Declan and Eddie exit the same hallway behind me. Connor’s compassionate eyes narrow.

“I’m fine,” I lie, shaking in a new way.

Does he know what I just did? I have no idea what I look like.

Is my lipstick smudged? My makeup smeared?

What does my hair look like? Taking a deep breath, I wonder if he can smell Declan on me or the scent of what happened between us.

What Declan did to me to calm my nerves which are racing once again.

“You seem flustered.” His attention comes back to my face before pinging over my shoulder once more, especially when it appears both Declan and Eddie have stopped at the edge of the hallway, only feet behind me.

“Gentlemen,” he grumbles as if using the term loosely.

“Connor,” Declan addresses my boss.

“Mr. Reid,” Eddie adds.

Eddie passes us first, without a second glance in our direction, but I sense Declan lingering. Eventually, he too passes us, brushing by a little closer than necessary.

Connor steps back from the unexpected nearness while I try to hold my ground, fisting my hands at my sides.

This is so awkward.

Connor watches Declan’s retreat a second before looking back at me. “If there’s something you’d like to tell me?—”

“Nothing, sir,” I quickly interject before clearing my throat. “I mean, what would there be to tell? ”

His eyes narrow once more. “I don’t know. You tell me?” Then he softly chuckles like this exchange is rather silly.

“Were you leaving?” I ask, in an attempt to redirect his focus.

“Oh.” His brows lift. “I wasn’t. But I’d noticed you left the ballroom and hadn’t returned yet, so I thought I’d come check on you. Your speech was very impressive.”

“Thank you, Connor.” Both this praise and his concern are comforting. It’s also a reminder that I’m here for a job, not sneaking off to make out with my . . .

What is Declan Wylde to me? A crush? My boyfriend? I fight the urge to glance over Connor’s shoulder, curious where Declan has gone.

A distraction. That’s what Declan has become. One that I cannot risk.

“I just needed some air, sir. Nerves.” I wave a hand around my lower belly, then want to kick myself because I have no idea if my dress is a mess where Declan slipped his hand between the slit up my leg.

“I’m just going to take a moment in the ladies’ room, and I’ll be back to the event,” I state, more like I’m telling myself than my boss this is my next course of action. I need to get my head back in the game.

My game. My goals.

Yet, as I head to the restroom, my legs wobble once more at the thought of stepping away from Declan Wylde.

I’d sent Declan a message, telling him I had a headache and didn’t think I’d be good company tonight. He’d already disappeared from the fundraiser while I stayed a while longer for appearance’s sake.

As I drive to my house, I curse myself for both the lie I said and the lie I acted .

How often had I done what Malakai wanted me to do for appearance’s sake?

How often did I do what my father asked of me, for his approval?

How many times did I rebel against both situations to prove my independence?

In many ways, I was doing the same thing now, kowtowing to the rules of a job. My career depends on abiding by them. While I am not a rule stickler, I am also not complacent when it comes to my goals.

Not anymore.

So, despite Declan being part of my dreams, I could not see how to make us work.

We’d be on and off through the season, where I would have to continue to be cold in public and hot in private.

In the offseason, our relationship would only build.

I’m certain the chemistry and connection would only make it harder to draw a line when a new season started next spring.

It wasn’t fair to him, and it wasn’t fair to me.

I could already feel my heart cracking in half and my stomach churning. At least the lie I told about a headache was coming to fruition. My head suddenly throbbed.

To my surprise, Declan is sitting on the stairs of my front porch when I pull into my driveway. The same front porch he kissed me on our second date, wanting to give us both the experience of a front-porch kiss and the innocence of a first date.

I exit my car with wobbling knees and fist my hands at my sides, then extend my fingers, wringing out my hands. Sweat pools beneath my pits as I know what I need to do, but don’t want to do.

Still wearing his suit from the evening’s event, I realize I hadn’t complimented him earlier. From uniform to formal wear, Declan Wylde is breathtaking, although my favorite outfit of his is his birthday suit .

Unfortunately, I am not going to see it for a while. If ever again .

I cross the short walk to my front steps and stop short a few feet away from him.

“Hey,” he whispers, a bashful smile on his face as he remains seated on my front step.

“Hey.” I swallow thickly, tears already welling in my eyes. “Didn’t you get my message?”

He stares up at me a second. “The one about your headache?” His tone is edgy, as if he knows I’m upset we were caught and running away from my shame. He’s onto my lame excuse.

But as he watches me, his expression shifts. I have no idea what he must see but his brows pinch with concern. “Unless you really do have one, in which case, I’m here to take care of you.” Smile restored, although hesitant.

My nose burns from his concern. My eyes prickling from his kindness.

“You can’t,” I whisper, choking on the words because the very thing I want is Declan Wylde to take care of me. To love me. A desire which conflicts with the thing I should be chasing—my future.

It isn’t right for me to sneak into ballrooms or tiptoe around a strictly-written clause in my contract. No fraternizing with staff, coaches, or players on the team.

“Declan,” I sigh, glancing at the boxwoods in front of my house while I lick my suddenly dry lips. I didn’t want to say what I needed to say. I don’t want to do what I must do.

I force myself not to look at him because I’ll give into that longing. That wanting him in the worst way, knowing he’s possibly the best thing to happen to me.

But I need to look out for what’s best for me.

Slowly, Declan rises from his seat on the steps and stands in front of me. I sense his hesitation, the cross between desire to reach out for me and cautioning against touching me .

“Tonight was a close call. But Eddie won’t say anything.” He chuckles, still sounding tense, while he scratches at the back of his neck. “He might have been having his own dalliance in another conference room.”

My head snaps upright, stumbling over my curiosity about Eddie and focusing on my own issue.

“My boss caught me.”

Declan lowers his arm and stands straighter. “He doesn’t know you were doing anything with me.”

“We were coming out of the same hallway together.”

“I was exiting the hallway with Eddie.”

“Moments after I left the same hall,” I reiterate, and a horrifying thought hits me. Does my boss think I ran off with two men at once? My skin pebbles at the thought while shame washes over me, dousing those goosebumps.

“There’s nothing to worry about, sweetheart,” Declan states, finally giving in and rubbing his hands up and down my chilled arms.

But I step back, closing my eyes at the loss of his touch, and interpreting his words as patronizing. “There’s everything to worry about. For me .”

My flesh prickles as a cool breeze brushes over me, and I wrap my arms around my middle, rubbing at my own arms.

“You know working at The Den is important to me,” I remind him of something he doesn’t need reminding about. We’ve talked about my desires. He’s listened to my plans. He’s been encouraging and protective, and yet, I can’t see a way to continue as we are.

“I do and I’d never do anything to jeopardize that.” His eyes widen, as if panicked.

“But I’m jeopardizing it by . . .” I swallow once more as my vision clouds. My eyes sting.

“Being with me,” he finishes, his voice quiet and strained before he reaches for me then thinks better of the motion and slips his hands into his pockets .

With a heavy heart, I turn my head away from him, speaking toward the boxwood bushes because I cannot look at him with what I have to say. “I’m going to get that job with the AWBL, and then I’ll be moving. And you’ll still be here?—”

“I’ll follow your lead,” he says, like he’s been saying all along. But he can’t mean he’ll really follow me.

“What?” My head snaps back toward him, then I shake it.

“You can’t do that. This is where you were meant to be.

” In Nashville. With Montgomery. He’s already moved once to be near his daughter and a second time to stay close to her.

He shouldn’t separate himself from her now.

She only has a few more years before she’s off to college.

Plus, he has a good gig with the Terrors.

And even if I’m getting ahead of myself, with the new league not starting for another year and no promises made about a future with them, I’m still not giving up the chance at a personal homerun.

But what about a chance at love?

The whisper is like the breeze around me or that tail behind a homerun-hopeful hit, that drops into a centerfielder’s mitt or falls past the foul line.

You can never predict where the ball will land.

You can never predict when a second chance at love will strike again.

And if I don’t take a swing with Declan . . .

And I don’t take a hit with the women’s league . . .

My headache doubles until my vision is nearly impossible. Hopeless tears fill my eyes.

“Why do I feel like you are breaking up with me?” He chuckles again, only the sound that should be light is strained, worrisome, . . . and correct.

“I don’t want to,” I admit, swiping at the tears suddenly running in rivulets down my cheeks.

“But . . .” He hesitates .

There is where I should say there is no but . Be corny about wanting to grab his, but I can’t.

Declan licks his lips and glances away from me, pausing to collect his thoughts before turning back to me.

“What if we just take a break? I can wait. The end of the season is only a few weeks away. After that?—”

“I’ll still be bound by my contract with The Den. And you will still be the head coach of the Tennessee Terrors,” I state with finality.

I’m not asking him to quit his job. And I’m not giving up mine.

We are at a stalemate.

That bottom of the ninth, two outs, bases loaded and all it takes is a single to bring someone home and tie the game. But games can’t end in a tie.

Extra innings are needed, only we don’t have the time, and I’m not hopeful of a win.