The Locker Room(89)

I’ve missed this. How could I not when I never stopped loving him? He wasn’t a college fling, or a steppingstone to the next man in life, because Knox will always be the man.

His mouth slows, his tongue gradually dragging over mine before he pulls out and takes a step away, leaving me pinned against the wall, chest heaving, nipples aching for his touch.

In disbelief of what he did, he takes one more step back, as if he doesn’t trust himself.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath while turning around. “Fuck,” he says a little louder.

“Knox—”

“I swear to God, Em, if the next words out of your mouth are we shouldn’t have done that, I’m going to lose my motherfucking shit.” His back is tense, his shoulders practically kissing his ears from the tension in them.

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Then what were you going to say?” He turns to face me, stress written all over his gorgeous face.

He’s struggling. He doesn’t want to want me, but he does. I can see the indecision in his eyes with a small hint of need.

I have a decision to make, another big one. I can either walk away from this man, and try to set him free from this hold we have on each other, or I can put my heart on the line and try to make something of this serendipitous moment.

I take a deep breath and say, “I was going to say . . . will you go on a date with me tonight?”





Chapter Thirty-Four





KNOX





Deep breath.

I stare at my bat and tune out the crowd, the beat of the music trying to pump up the fans in the ninth inning. We’re down by one, and I have shit to show for today’s game.

Letting out a deep breath, I step into the batter’s box and get into position.

Pederson, Toronto’s closer, has been lights out all season, and being that I’m two deep in the count, he might just have another K under his belt soon.

He looks over to first where Dunn is leading off, cautious not to get picked, because we’re in the bottom of the ninth and getting picked off at first with no outs while down by one is a cardinal sin.

Pederson winds up then delivers his side-arm throw right into the zone. I swing and hit air, the sound of the ball clapping against the catcher’s mitt ringing through my ear.

Motherfucker.

I rip off my helmet and yell into it as I make my way into the dugout. When I reach the stairs, I trot down them quickly, ignoring the glare of my coach, tossing my bat, helmet, and gloves near the helmet cubbies, and make my way toward the end of the dugout where I grab a drink.

What a fucking shit game. I can’t remember the last time I played this shitty. And it’s all because my past came back to haunt me.

I still can’t fucking believe Emory has lived in Chicago this whole time.

This whole fucking time.

I’d like to say I wasn’t still pining for a small moment with the girl of my dreams, but that would be a lie.

“Dude, what the fuck is going on with you today?” Carson asks, coming up to me. “You’re acting like this is your first time hitting in the big leagues.”

I drag a towel over my face, keeping my voice low around the cameras. “My head’s not in the game.”

“No shit.”

The crowd erupts, and we look to the field where Flores just hit a single, advancing the runner. At least someone’s contributing to the team today.

“What’s going on?” he asks, looking gravely concerned.

He should know. He knows the only thing that has ever thrown off my game, the one thing that can pull me out of my game mindset: Emory.

“At that check ceremony today, I ran into Emory.”

“Em—” He shakes his head. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah, she’s a fucking librarian at one of the elementary schools we donated to.”

“She lives in Chicago?”

“Yeah, she never fucking left.”

Carson lifts his hat and scratches the top of his head. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Yeah. Let’s just say, everything around me turned red when I saw her, and before I knew it, I charged into her office where I found her sobbing. I went from angry to furious. She drove the stake between us.”

“Shit.” The crowd cheers again and Kennedy takes first, drawing a walk from Pederson. Hell, one out, bases loaded; we might actually win this game. “What did you do?”

“What every other heartbroken fool would have done. I yelled at her, blamed her for everything, and then pressed her against the wall and fucked her mouth with my tongue.”

“Oh fuck.” He chuckles. “Dude, you made out with her?”

“Yes, and I’m not kidding when I say it was the best fucking kiss of my life, better than our first. It was like I’d been holding my breath for eight years, and I finally let it out. I was so caught off guard by how much she shook me, that I pulled away and swore up a storm.”

“Sounds about right.”

“What happened after that?”

Like two gossiping hens in the corner, I take a sip of my drink and say, “She asked me out on a date.”

“What? Are you fucking kidding me? She asked you out? After everything you two have been through?”