Page 19 of Framing the Pitch (Red Dirt Romance #1)

“So, his ex.” Erica ignores everything I’ve said about bringing more awareness to the team and the WFL, and her next words come more clearly, like the information I’ve divulged is important enough to fully interrupt her sleep. “Have you seen her since you went ‘official’?”

When I don’t say anything immediately, Erica gasps.

“Are you serious?”

“She was in San Antonio during the Renegades series. Trace and I bumped into her at the stadium.”

Bumped into makes it sound like we ran into Millie on the way to our cars or something, instead of in the facilities in a restricted area.

“And?”

“And what?”

I hear rustling from the other side of the room, and the lamp on the side table clicks on.

Erica’s hand props her head up as she stares at me with a deadpan expression.

“You wouldn’t come up with this elaborate plan to get her off Trace’s back if all she was doing was showing up in public places where you two had made it publicly known you were going to be. ”

I mirror Erica’s position. “And what if I told you she followed us to that little grocery store by my house on Wednesday?”

So much for keeping the details between me and Trace.

Erica’s tan face blanches, her eyes widening as her jaw hits the mattress.

“What? Are you serious? What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.” But my heart sinks. Normally, Erica is the sounding board to my stream of consciousness, but with Trace being around so much the last two weeks, I’ve barely spent any time with her outside of practice.

“It’s a start,” she says, laying her head back down on her pillow but leaving the light on. “Tell me everything.”

I continue by explaining Millie’s presence at Trace’s minicamp and fill in the holes I left when I told Erica about Duke’s suggestion.

Erica’s facial expressions tell a story of their own as she processes all the information I’m spewing at her.

The only details I leave out are the ones where I think I’m starting to like like my best friend.

“When she ran into us at the stadium—”

“Wait,” Erica interrupts, “I thought you said you bumped into her .”

I close my eyes and inhale. The truth comes out on my exhale. “When I said, ‘bumped into,’ it was more like she snuck into the facilities and almost made it to the locker room.”

Erica’s shocked expression makes me want to reach over and smoosh her face into her pillow just so I don’t have to feel guilty for not telling her sooner. I roll onto my back as an excuse to stop looking at her.

“She caught Trace unawares while he was waiting for me to get out of the locker room. I came out, told her we were together now, and politely asked her to scram.”

Erica laughs at my emphasis on the word politely . “So, what? You’re Trace’s bodyguard now?” The thought makes her laugh harder. Me too, and I’m relieved that the tension between us evaporates.

“Sort of?” Even though he’s the last person in the world who looks like he needs a bodyguard, let alone a six-foot, ginger woman.

Although, come to think of it, if I had to defend him, being handy with a bat could be useful.

“But not really. I’m his girlfriend.” Fake girlfriend , I remind myself… but I don’t correct my phrasing.

“And all of this is supposed to…make her go away? ”

“I guess so?” I shrug, rustling my sheets, but I don’t look at her.

Erica is quiet as she processes everything, and worry flares behind my sternum when she doesn’t say anything for a long time.

“You said something about Wednesday,” she finally says, breaking the silence. “What’s the deal with that?”

“We stopped at the store on our way home from Wednesday’s game to grab some things I needed for this trip, and she was there. There’s not much to the story beyond that. I didn’t even see her. But Trace did, and he got really spooked. We got out of there as fast as we could.”

“Creepy.”

I hum in agreement. “It was almost like she knew we were going to be there.” I glance over at Erica, whose eyes are closed again, but I know she’s listening. “Very stalker-ish.”

“I’d say,” she responds without opening her eyes. “And there’s nothing you can do about it? No legal something or other? A restraining order?”

I sigh. “No, not according to Duke. Something about not having enough evidence to take legal action. And you know him; he’d rather settle it out of court if possible.”

Erica’s mmmm fades into a deep, even breathing seconds later. I wait for her next question, but it never comes. When I’m sure she’s asleep, I lean over and turn off the light, dropping us back into darkness.

But I can’t sleep. Worry still churns in my chest as I lie in the darkness, running the events I divulged to Erica through my head. Minutes tick by, and despite knowing I need all the rest I can get to be ready for tomorrow’s afternoon game, sleep doesn’t find me.

I slip my phone off the side table where I left it charging, and I roll over, putting my back to Erica.

“Sugar?” Trace drawls, his voice rough with sleep .

“I can’t sleep,” I whisper.

Without any more explanation, Trace launches into a sleepy rendition of a play-by-play of the charity gala. I close my eyes, focusing on his voice, and let myself get lulled to sleep by his melodic accent.