The Trade(105)

While life happens below me, I keep trying to remind myself that this is a good idea. Seeing Cory is a good idea. Being with him will only help us, not hurt us.

With that mindset, I lean back in my chair and wait to be called to my gate.

The entire flight, I listen to King Princess, loving the smooth tone of her voice. The flight is flawless, besides some turbulence headed into Fort Myers. I enjoyed a can of apple juice, some pretzels, and some word search puzzles, because I’m old-fashioned like that.

Once we land, I turn my phone off airplane mode only to be flooded by texts from Dottie and Monica. My heart sinks as I see the headline copy and pasted into the message thread from Monica, followed by her text.

Monica: This is not good.

Shit.

I open it quickly, but of course it takes forever to load thanks to the metal tube I’m sitting in, but when it finally does open, my heart sinks from the headline and the pictures of me and Cory, kissing, my Bobbies shirt clear as day.

Potter Shows Zero Loyalty.

It feels like my lungs just exploded and landed on the floor, making it impossible to breathe despite my throat gasping for air.

Even though I know it will only make the situation worse, I scroll to the article and read it to myself while the flight attendant welcomes the plane to Fort Myers.

This just in from the latest Potter Watch. Rebels starting first baseman, with a nine-figure contract, was spotted with his girlfriend outside of Top Golf in Chicago. A close source to the couple says they’ve been dating for a few weeks. But what really has Rebels fans in a rebellion is the clear statement he’s making by dating a Bobbies fan who has no problem displaying her loyalty. Sources are also saying Potter is having a hard time finding his groove and meshing with the guys at spring training. Maybe we’re being presumptuous, but it might be because he’s parading around with a Bobbies fan and showing the city of Chicago exactly where he stands . . . on the side of red and blue.

“Shit,” I mutter, taking in the pictures again. It’s actually a beautiful shot of us. Cory is looking at me as if I own his world, and I’m smiling up at him, clearly the happiest girl out there. The only problem with the picture is the shirt I’m wearing. So stupid. So, so stupid.

I type Monica back.

Natalie: I feel like I’m going to throw up. This is bad.

Monica: That’s not even the worst article of them all. Did you read the fan comments?

My stomach churns and I shake my head.

Natalie: I don’t think I can do that. I already feel like the pretzels I ate are going to make a reappearance. I just need to get to him. Do you think he’s seen it?

Monica: If he hasn’t already, he sure as hell will when he gets off the field.

There’s no doubt in my mind he will. I just hope I can beat him to his hotel room.





“Fuck.” The door to the hotel slams and Cory’s angry voice sails through the hotel suite. It’s a nice room with a small kitchenette, living space and a giant bed, and I know from being Jason’s sister, not everyone gets these rooms, and the rookies have to share rooms sometimes. Cory has earned this suite.

It has to be that nine-figure contract the news keeps talking about.

Thankfully he hadn’t cancelled my room keycard last week when he told me not to come, so at least I could be waiting for him in his room and not in the lobby.

He hasn’t spotted me yet, but I can see him, leaning against his door, one hand pushing through his hair, the other holding his phone as he scrolls through it.

“Jesus. Fuck,” he mutters again. This time, he tosses his phone at the couch and then brings both his hands to his hair and looks up, and that’s when he spots me standing in the middle of the room. He startles back for a second, then blinks, then his entire face calms as he charges toward me.

His hand sinks to the back of my neck as he pulls me into his chest and brings his mouth down to mine.

Relief floods through my every limb. I reach up and grip the back of his neck as he devours my mouth. Frantic, he parts my lips with his tongue, then dives and glides it along mine as his mouth works mine with such a frenzied passion that it almost makes me cry. He told me not to come, but in a matter of seconds, I know I made the right decision. He needs me here more than anything. He needs this release, this embrace, someone to lean on even if he tries to tell me he’s okay. He’s kissing me, as if he couldn’t be more grateful that I’m here.

“I need to be inside you,” he says between kisses, moving me back to the bed.

He tears my shirt over my head and unlatches my bra at the same time as his mouth presses across my jaw and down my neck. For a brief moment, he pushes away to pull his shirt over his head by gripping the back and dragging it over his freshly showered hair, the only way guys know how to. He chucks it to the side and then lowers me on the bed where he removes my leggings and thong, not even bothering to take in the new lace I bought for the trip. Staring down at me, he gets rid of his jeans and briefs as well along with his socks and shoes and then pushes us both up on the bed. His mouth falls to my breasts while his hand trails down my stomach, to my pubic bone, and then slips between my thighs where he presses two fingers inside me. When he feels that I’m already wet, he groans against my breast, nips at it with his teeth, and then pulls away.

He lifts onto his knees, grips his cock, and then closes his eyes in distress. “Fuck, I don’t have any condoms.”