Page 18 of Framing the Pitch (Red Dirt Romance #1)

Coming back to the hotel after a loss on the road is not the same as retreating to my home after we lose in San Antonio.

Most notably because I’m not alone. Erica is my road trip roommate, and she follows me into our hotel room, both our feet dragging a little thanks to the intensity of the game.

Like usual, the Firebirds are tough competition, especially on their home turf, and tonight was not an easy game.

While Lexi started the game, Erica came in to relieve her in the fifth inning and pushed to close out the game in extra innings.

Even though we have a talented pitching staff to work with, throwing that many pitches in back-to-back-to-back games is taxing, and an early game tomorrow cuts down on our recovery time.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and unfortunately, it’s not a short text or social media notification I can ignore until morning. But when I pull it out to see who’s calling, my day instantly gets better.

“Hey,” I say, pressing my phone to my cheek as I kick off my shoes at the end of my bed and walk between the two beds in the room, searching for a plug for my phone charger.

Normally, I’d swap my team sweats for regular pajamas, but it was a long game, and I could fall asleep standing up.

Unlike me, Erica goes digging through her suitcase for pajamas and changes into them faster than I can get my charger plugged into one of the built-in outlets on the nightstand.

“Hey, Sugar.” Trace’s voice sounds about as tired as mine feels, even though he didn’t just play ten innings of back-and-forth with the team we’re tied with for first place in the league. “How was your game?”

Relief sweeps through me as his voice fills my ears. Which is dumb because he video called me earlier today before we left for the stadium to ask what socks he should wear to the gala. “We lost in extra innings.” I stifle a yawn. “We just got back to the hotel.”

“Then I’ll keep this call short so you can get some rest.” Trace’s voice softens, and I see his soft smile in my mind’s eye. I sniff and swallow my rising sadness that he’s not here with me now.

I shrug, even though I know Trace can’t see it. “It’s alright. It was a good game. It’s not like we made a lot of dumb mistakes, you know? Just gotta come back tomorrow and play better.”

“I don’t want to keep you if you need to get some sleep.”

“No, no,” I protest, kicking my legs out and leaning on the edge of my bed.

I watch Erica as she applies lotion to her feet and slips on a pair of fluffy socks before tucking her legs under her own covers.

As she gets situated, she points to the light on the table between our beds in a silent question.

I shake my head, and she flips off the light, plunging the room into darkness.

“How was the gala?” I ask, dropping my voice and scooting back onto the bed, wiggling my way up to the top to slip my legs under the covers and rest my back against the headboard.

Trace chuckles. “Same old, same old, Naomi,” he teases. “Pictures, food, dancing.”

“No sweet, old grandmas stealing you away from me?” I tease back.

“Never,” Trace says, his voice dropping low and sending a shiver through me.

Something in the way he said that word wraps itself tightly around my heart, refusing to let go.

What I had meant as a joke quickly turns into an unspoken question that I’m not sure I’m ready to answer, mostly because I’m pretty sure that my answer would not match Trace’s.

“Any Millie sightings?” I ask, changing the subject.

“No, actually.” Gone is the deep, husky tone, replaced with a lightheartedness that astounds me. Just a few days ago, our almost run-in with Trace’s ex-girlfriend set us both on edge. “Which honestly surprises me.”

I nod along as Trace continues.

“I figured that at a big, public event like that, Millie would have tried to contact me again. I even put Duke on alert about it, but…radio silence. Not a trace of her.”

I scoot away from the headboard and plop back onto my pillow. “That’s weird.”

“Agreed. What wasn’t weird”—the surprised tone in Trace’s voice shifts into something a little more mischievous—“was that everyone was asking about you. ”

“Me?” If I weren’t so exhausted from a ten-inning game, I’d be sitting back up right now.

“Yes, you!” Trace’s sudden laugh takes me by surprise and lifts my spirits. “They all wanted to know where you were and why you weren’t with me.”

“Who’s they ?”

“Teammates. Coaches. Even a few of the organization chairs. They asked if I thought you could help them expand their outreach to include softball.”

“ What? ” I roll over, putting my back to Erica, even though I’m pretty sure she’s asleep already. “And what did you say? ”

“I told them you were busy with some away games at the moment, but you could be contacted through your agent or the Storm’s front office.”

I’m speechless because what do you say to that ?

Of course, my plan was for the team and, by extension, softball in general to get more exposure and support, but if I’m honest, this kind of attention was a long shot.

Secondhand fans flocking from Trace’s profile to the Storm’s, sure.

But actual interest? Growth? Charitable opportunities?

Absolutely mind-blowing.

“Naomi?” Trace asks when I haven’t responded after a few minutes. He probably thinks I fell asleep on him, even though it’s an hour earlier in Phoenix than in Dallas. If either of us should be dozing off, it should be him.

“I’m still here,” I say softly, finally finding my voice.

“Are you okay with what I told them?”

“Yeah! Of course!” I can feel tears welling behind my eyes, but this isn’t the time to let them loose. “That would be an amazing opportunity.”

I can hear Trace’s shift from concerned to happy in his one-word answer. “Good.”

Trace changes the direction of the conversation and tells me more about the gala—who was there and what his teammates think of him dating again. My eyes begin to drift shut, no matter what I do to try and stay awake.

A snore and rustling sheets from the other side of the room jolt me out of my dozing enough for me to roll over to look at the alarm clock on the side table. It’s later than I thought, and I need to get some rest or tomorrow’s game will go worse than tonight’s.

“Trace, I’ve got to get to bed,” I interject between sentences .

He’s silent for a moment before he acknowledges my instigation of goodbye with a soft hum. “Are you sure you don’t want me to catch a flight to Phoenix?” he asks, his voice still soft, almost wistful.

“No.” Even though there’s a part of me that is begging to say yes.

What is wrong with me that I can’t handle a few days away from him?

I’d never had this problem just a few weeks ago when we only saw each other once or twice a month.

“I know you have other things you’ve been putting off to spend time with me these last couple weeks.

You should take care of those, and then we can catch back up in Oklahoma City, like we planned. ”

“Naomi.” Trace’s voice drops again, and I pull the blanket higher on my shoulder like it would somehow be able to keep the shiver from running down my spine. “You are more important than all of that. If you need me there, I’m there.”

Something shifts in me with his words. He’s always been there for me, throughout our entire friendship; that’s nothing new.

Even now, he’s just a text or a phone call away.

But Trace is talking about flying to meet me on a whim—and while I know his bank account wouldn’t bat an eye at the price of a last-minute flight, I have to blink back the beginnings of tears pricking the back of my eyes.

“I know,” I say quietly. “But it’s okay. Really. Let’s just stick to the plan.”

I hear Trace’s soft sigh, then an equally soft, “Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I promise.

“Goodnight, Sugar.”

“Goodnight.”

I end the call and reach over to plug my phone into its charger on the nightstand. Rolling onto my back, I pull the blanket up to my chin and close my eyes, hoping that sleep will only be a few minutes away .

Rustling on the other side of the room has me opening my eyes again, even though I can’t see anything in the dark.

“Naomi?” Erica’s disembodied voice floats across the space between us.

“Yeah?”

“Can you at least tell me why you’re doing it?” Erica’s voice is half-muddled with sleep, but her words are clear enough that I know she’s not sleep talking.

I roll onto my side to face her, and now that my eyes have adjusted to the dark, I can see the faint silhouette of her in the same position on her bed. “Doing what?”

“This thing with Trace.”

I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see them. “For the team. You know that.”

Erica snorts. “Come on, there’s got to be something more to it than that.

” She patiently waits for me to respond, the silence pressing in on my chest with an uncomfortable weight.

Aside from Trace, Erica is the one who knows me better than anyone else.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that she picked up on my half-truth, even in the dark.

“Trace has been having trouble with his ex,” I finally admit to end the uncomfortable silence, and the pressure in my chest instantly vanishes.

“You’re dating him because his ex wants to get back together with him?”

“I’m fake dating him,” I correct her, “because she’s gotten a little stalker-y, and Trace—well, Duke—thinks that Trace having a girlfriend will make her back off.

Aaand”—I draw out the word, trying to put emphasis on this over the weirdness with Millie—“for the team. We’ve already seen a spike in the team’s socials.

When he shares the team’s posts, we reach an obscene number of people.

And you can’t deny the stadiums have been fuller than in past years. ”