Page 17 of Framing the Pitch (Red Dirt Romance #1)

Trace talks about everything but Millie on our way back to the stadium to pick up Trace’s truck. He follows me back to my apartment and parks next to me before jumping out and grabbing bags out of my backseat.

I follow him up to my door and unlock it for him, my concern growing when he launches into another recap of a portion of my game when he sets the bags on my counter.

I put away the few perishables before grabbing the last two bags and carrying them down the hallway to my room.

Trace follows me, still chatting aimlessly until I toss the bags onto my bed.

I expect him to flop down on my fluffy comforter, but he wanders around my room, picking dirty clothes off the floor and straightening things on my dresser and side table.

I duck into my closet and pull out my suitcase.

Setting it on the end of the bed, I step to the side, blocking Trace’s Roomba cleaning path.

“Are we going to talk about Millie now?” I ask and wait, watching for Trace’s reaction .

His air of indifference finally falls, and as his shoulders slump, he drops to the edge of my bed, forcing me to look down at him.

“We can talk about Millie now.”

“Well?” I ask, hoping he’ll fill in the answers to the questions I don’t even know to ask. When he’s silent, but not avoiding my eyes, I go on, “How did she know where we were?”

“I don’t know.” Trace’s forehead creases and lines pull at the corners of his eyes and mouth as he comes face to face with the realization that Millie planned running into us. I turn and take a few steps away, needing the space to process it all.

“First the stadium, and now this…” I pivot on one foot, coming back to face Trace, but he doesn’t meet my eyes, which is so unlike him. Almost like he’s hiding something. “Those are our only Millie incidents since we announced we’re dating, right?” Fake dating, but…semantics.

“We’ve been together the whole time. You would know if there was another.” But Trace’s focus slips away from me, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

A sigh deflates his chest before he looks back to me.

“Millie tried getting through my property gate in Dallas the day of your first game. I have video of her from the security camera. But I changed the code, so she couldn’t get in.

She pulled up, tried the gate three times, and then left.

” A shrug accompanies him pulling out his phone and extending it in my direction. “You can watch the video if you want.”

I shake my head, and his hand drops down to his thigh.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask quietly.

“I didn’t want to throw you off your game.” Trace looks back at me so earnestly that I can’t find it in me to be upset with him. “I know this season is important to you. Getting the championship back, generating hype for the new teams. I didn’t want to be the cause of you having a bad game.”

“Trace.” My voice is soft and understanding.

“One bad game won’t be the end of my season.

” Our season is so different than the NFL.

While they have one game a week to plan and prepare for, I’m playing between three and six.

With the difference in size of the leagues, one bad game for me is the equivalent of one bad quarter for Trace—barely a blip on the radar.

“I’d rather know what’s going on with you and the whole Millie situation than be kept in the dark.

” I slide my hand onto Trace’s shoulder. “We’re a team. We’re in this together.”

Trace reaches a hand up to cover mine on his shoulder, his head tipping down to avoid looking at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

I reach out with my free hand and cup his cheek, forcing him to look up at me. His eyes are filled with raw emotion—remorse and worry and longing .

In the space of a heartbeat, a tight feeling spreads across my chest, constricting my lungs and making it hard to breathe. That’s something I’ve never seen from Trace in all the years we’ve been friends. Because we’re just friends , I remind myself.

But just friends don’t look at each other like that, and with my hand on his cheek and his fingers tightening around mine, the line between friends and something else blurs.

For the briefest moment, I’m back in the stadium parking lot with Trace leaning down toward me as I sit in my car, that same flicker of longing passing between us.

My mouth parts, and I slowly suck in a breath. But the minute movement breaks the spell that Trace’s eyes have on me. He blinks and lets his hand fall away from mine. I drop my hand from his cheek and take a step away, as if reminding myself that just friends is all we’ve ever been .

“Are you ready for the charity event tomorrow?” I ask, changing the subject and taking the opportunity to step away from Trace.

I head back into my closet to grab the uniforms I’ll need to take on my upcoming road trip.

We play all three other teams in the WFL over the next week and a half, starting in Phoenix on Friday and ending in Oklahoma City before we get a break for Independence Day.

While I’ll be jet-setting all over the country with my team, Trace has to stay in Dallas to attend the yearly charity gala put on by the Wranglers that benefits local sports programs for kids in low-income areas all over the country.

He’s planning on dropping me off at the airport in the morning and then making the four-hour drive back to Dallas, just in time for Friday’s event.

“Tux has been hanging in my closet since last week. Don’t really have many places to wear that thing.” He chuckles like he’s just made the funniest joke, even though it’s barely on par with dad humor.

“Well,” I say, poking my head out, “don’t wear it to any of my games. Everyone will think you’re proposing or something.”

“Noted,” I hear Trace mumble as I disappear back into my closet. “Anyway,” he continues at a normal volume, “it’s the same old, same old. A little chatting here and there, eat a few hors d’oeuvres, and avoid all the lovely old ladies who try to ply me with champagne for a dance.”

I step out and throw one of my jerseys at his face, catching him off-guard.

He pulls the navy blue material off his face, revealing a perfect smile that’s the most relaxed I’ve seen him all night.

He shakes his head as he begins folding the shirt.

“You never know, Naomi; one of those nice, old grandmas might steal me away from you.”

I walk over to where he’s sitting on the bed, my open suitcase next to him. Dumping the armful of clothes I brought with me onto his lap, I accept the folded jersey and tuck it into my bag .

“They’ll have to get in line. Apparently, you’re a hot commodity, and I’m not about to let you go.

” The wink I shoot him comes out of nowhere, and his relaxed smile widens.

He folds my uniforms and other team-branded clothing before passing them to me to be packed into my suitcase.

We fall into a comfortable silence as I finish packing my clothes.

The easy rhythm reminds me of our college days, when we spent more days together than not, before we graduated and went our separate ways.

Even though we always make time for each other, meeting up as frequently as we can and sending messages and videos back and forth without end, I’ve missed being with Trace in person for longer than a day or two at a time.

Heading out for the next three series feels like I’m saying a too-final goodbye, even though Trace will be at my games in Oklahoma City in about a week.

For only being back together for a week and a half, life without Trace already seems unimaginable, and I shut out all thoughts of what it will be like when the season ends and we go back to our previous post-college relationship.

“The prodigal catcher has returned!” Erica declares as I drop into the seat next to her on the plane.

“What are you talking about?” I laugh as I tuck my bag underneath the seat in front of me. “I’ve seen you every day this week. ”

“Yeah,” she exaggerates, rolling her eyes, “but seeing and hanging out are two very different things. You’ve been so busy with Trace this week that I’ve only seen you.”

“Being busy with Trace Davenport sounds like a pretty good reason,” Deja interjects, leaning her head forward between our seats. “If it can’t be me”—she winks at me—“at least it’s one of us.”

My face flames at her innuendo. Erica eyes me, her lips pursing into a wry smile, but I can’t rebut with Deja here.

But I’m all in. I shift to the side, turning to see Deja better. “Just taking one for the team.” I return her wink, knowing exactly what I’m implying.

Deja laughs and settles back into her seat, leaving Erica and me alone again. Or as alone as you can be in first class on a commercial flight.

“So are we going to talk about it?” Erica asks in a low voice, eyeing me with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m all yours once we get to the hotel in Phoenix.”

Erica watches me for a beat, then looks away. The rest of our team, equipment managers, and coaching staff file onto the plane, followed by the remaining passengers.

Talk turns away from me and Trace and even stays fairly clear of our games this weekend in Phoenix—there will be plenty of that when we touch back down in Arizona.

How we spend our time on flights varies across all the players on the team.

Some prefer to rest, others read, some catch up with teammates about non-softball related things.

I have a new audiobook queued up on my phone, and I throw my noise-cancelling headphones on after takeoff, but I can’t bring myself to start the book.

After spending almost all of my waking moments over the last week with Trace—something that hasn’t happened for years —it feels like I’m missing a limb without him here.

Erica bumps my arm, knocking me out of my thoughts. She mimes taking off headphones, and I pull one side off my ear.

“Are you okay?” she repeats the question I missed.

“I’m fine.” I hope I sound fine because I cannot be this hung up about Trace not coming on this road game trip. Tucking my phone between my thighs to hide the fact that I haven’t made any progress on my book, I pull my headphones off all the way.

She hmm s, and the face she makes tells me she doesn’t believe a word of what I’m saying. The more I look at her, the more I doubt I believe what I’m saying.

“Trouble in paradise?” Erica guesses.

I turn to look at her. “No, of course not.”

Erica raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Well, if you’re so fine , then what’s with that face?” She reaches up to poke me in the forehead. I relax my face, realizing that I’ve been scowling.

Telling her that I miss Trace would be like throwing a changeup down the middle—asking for that metaphorical ball to get crushed over the centerfield fence.

“Jenna’s wedding,” I say, laying all the blame for my off mood on my younger sister, and not for the first time. “It’s coming up in a few weeks, and the closer it gets, the more I dread it. I haven’t been back home since Christmas.”

Her eyes soften in understanding. As one of my oldest teammates, and certainly the teammate I’m closest to, she’s fully aware of all of the drama surrounding my mom and the rest of my family.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

“You’ve met my mother.”

“Okay, maybe it will be bad, but you can just pop in, say hi, then bust out of there before anything too horrible can happen.” Erica pauses, tilts her head, and squints. “Is Trace going with you? ”

I roll my lips together and nod. “Yep.” And while I should be nervous about taking my fake boyfriend home to “meet the parents,” for lack of a better phrase, I only feel relief knowing that I'll have Trace there to have my back while I deal with my family. If anything, he’s going to be the reason I make it out of that weekend without spending some unplanned time in the slammer.

I keep nodding, not sure of what else to say. Trace is coming, it’s a fact, and I don’t need to be unpacking my complicated emotions in the middle of the flight with nosy teammates just a row away.

Erica smiles, obviously pleased that, as she put it before our whole fake relationship went public, our fake relationship is indeed including “regular dating activities,” like going to a family member’s wedding. “Then everything will be fine. You guys might even have fun .”

I roll my eyes at her insinuation but smile. Because she’s right. Everything will be fine—the next week and a half, the weekend of the wedding…it will all be fine.