Caught Looking: Dallas Longhorns

by Tara Wyatt

  She’d just spit her mouthwash into the sink when there was a soft knock at the door. “Abby?”

  “Come in.”

  Jake opened the door and grinned, wolfish and sexy when he spotted her. “I was hoping you’d still be here.” He slid his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the countertop. She let out a little shriek, the hard surface freezing against her ass. But she quickly forgot all about the cold when his big hands landed on her bare knees, gently moving them farther apart.

  “Morning,” she said, biting her lip and smiling at him. She loved seeing him like this, with his hair all mussed and a pillow crease lining one of his cheeks. Like this was when he felt most like hers. Her chest felt almost unbearably heavy at the thought.

  His hands began to creep up her thighs, his touch hot and electric on her bare skin. She leaned back a little, bracing herself with her hands behind her on the counter.

  “Wish you didn’t have to go,” he said, his voice low and rough with emotion. His hands took another inch and warmth pulsed through her. She clenched, already anticipating his touch, clinging to the physical so she wouldn’t get swept under by the sadness threatening to crash through her like waves against a shore.

  “Me too,” she said. Two syllables that carried so much. They were all she could manage.

  The pads of his thumbs skimmed over her outer lips, teasing her. And then he parted her and slid two thick fingers inside her, curling them up.

  “Fuck, you’re wet,” he ground out, pumping his hand once, twice, making every single muscle in her core tremble. She let her head fall back and moaned quietly when a knock at Jake’s hotel room door had her eyes flying open. He slipped his hand out from between her legs, leaving her feeling empty and wanting even as her heart pounded in her chest. Jake pressed his index finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet. She made a face back at him that clearly said “duh.” Moving quickly, he gathered up her things, tossed them artlessly into the bathroom and then closed the door. Still sitting on the counter, she flicked off the lights, holding completely still. She listened as Jake moved away from the bathroom—probably retrieving his own clothes—and then slid the deadbolt on the door.

  Whoever was on the other side of the door couldn’t know she was here. It would ruin her. She’d be a punchline. A joke. That coach who fucks players. She’d worked so hard to get the guys to accept her as one of them—if it came out that she and Jake were a thing, it would undo all of that in a heartbeat.

  She strained to hear, but the conversation was nothing but muffled male voices. She only caught words or snippets of sentences—something about breakfast, BP, Javi, seen Beau? After a minute that felt like an eternity, the door closed and Jake opened the bathroom door, then flicked the lights back on, practically blinding her. The panic that had originally surged through her veins had subsided, leaving her feeling foolish and a little depleted.

  “I shouldn’t have stayed last night,” she said, hopping down and starting to scramble back into her clothes. “I don’t regret last night, but that was a close call, and I was stupid to stay.”

  Jake stilled her movements with his hands on her shoulders. She’d shimmied into her pants and slipped on her bra and blouse, but the buttons down the front were still undone. One by one, with sure fingers, he started doing them up. “But I’m glad you did.”

  An ache blossomed in her chest as he did up her buttons, sealing her away from him with a scrap of fabric. When he was finished, he cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead. “I hate this. For the record.” He traced his thumb over her cheekbone. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. How I’m supposed to pretend that everything is normal when…” He swallowed thickly and she could hear the strain in his voice. “I’m gonna fucking fall apart without you. Without us.”

  She opened and closed her mouth several times, but each time, only a shuddering breath came out. She couldn’t talk around the lump in her throat. Couldn’t see through the tears blurring her vision. So she pressed her face to his chest and held on tight, one last time. Finally, after a moment, she found her voice.

  “I’m gonna fucking fall apart, too. This…” She forced herself to look up at him and smile. “This was a nice goodbye.”

  She could see the pain in his eyes, in the lines etched around them. The tension in his jaw and neck. His face was a mask of anguish. He ducked his head and kissed her, once, a brief, gentle kiss that tasted like the end.

  “Goodbye, Abby.”

  “Bye, Jake.” Her voice cracked, and she hastily picked up her laptop bag and stepped into her shoes. She didn’t let herself glance back at him as she cautiously opened the door and peered down the hall, making sure the coast was clear.

  The door closed almost soundlessly behind her, and she took the stairs down the three flights to her room, minimizing the chance of running in to anyone on her walk of shame.

  Once she was back in her room, she flopped down onto her untouched bed and stared at the ceiling until it blurred with tears.

  The air was warm and sweet with a light breeze as music filled the ballpark between the innings. Jake pulled on his gear—his chest protector, his shin guards, his helmet—as he got ready to head out. He’d warmed up with Connor in the bullpen, and he knew they were on the same page about today’s game plan. And it was a good thing that Connor had it straight, because all Jake could think about was Abby.

  How incredible last night had been, tempered by the sheer panic he’d seen in those pretty brown eyes when Connor had knocked on his door this morning, checking to see if he was coming down for team breakfast. The unshed tears shining at him as they’d said goodbye. It had felt so much more final than the goodbye they’d said the night he’d arrived in Dallas. It felt so much more real.

  He glanced around the dugout, finding Abby in deep conversation with Dylan, showing him something on her tablet. As though she could feel his eyes on her, she looked over at him, her thick brown ponytail swishing behind her. She shot him a small smile, tinged with sadness and pain. He sent one back—or at least he tried to, but it might’ve been more of a grimace—and then jogged out onto the field. It was time to get his head in the game, because if he couldn’t be with Abby, then he was going to win some damn baseball games.

  Six

  Los Angeles - 8 months ago

  Abby smoothed her hands down the front of her navy blue Roland Mouret dress, brushing away imaginary wrinkles and savoring the feeling of the luxurious fabric beneath her fingertips. Given that she spent most of her time in leggings and ball gear, it was fun to dress up, even if the dress was borrowed. She glanced around the restaurant, booked out to host the reception for the recipients of that year’s California Athletic Association awards. She’d received the Trailblazer Award for being the first female coach to work for an MLB team, and while the award was nice—more than nice—she was just getting started. She’d just completed her first season with the Longhorns, and while it was only January, she was already looking forward to spring training and getting back on the field.

  But tonight, she’d enjoy wearing a dress and heels and makeup, and savoring her achievement.

  She glanced around the restaurant again, but she knew it was no use. Her dad hadn’t shown. Probably because nothing was ever good enough for him. It didn’t matter what she accomplished, how hard she worked, there was always something more, something bigger and better she should be working toward. Deep down, she knew he was disappointed she hadn’t been born a boy. He’d wanted a son to play ball with, to follow in his footsteps—he’d played college ball, but had never been drafted to the big leagues— and to live vicariously through. And so, when she’d shown athletic promise as a young girl, he’d pushed her and pushed her, never giving out praise, because everything she did was good “for a girl.” Even now, as the first female coach in the MLB, she hadn’t accomplished anything a man couldn’t do, and so it wasn’t enough to impress him. The fact that he hadn’t bothered to come tonight, even though he live
d in the area and she’d sent him a ticket spoke volumes.

  She’d never been particularly close with her family. Her relationship with her dad had been one of constantly seeking approval, and her relationship with her mom had been…secondary. Abby’s sister Madison had been pretty and feminine and loved all the things their mother loved—clothes and makeup and yoga and baking—and so there hadn’t really been a place for Abby. Instead, the baseball world had become her family. It was one she’d both earned and chosen for herself. Baseball was where she belonged.

  She carried her pointy glass trophy and made her way through the restaurant, chatting with other guests, accepting congratulations and posing for pictures, until she reached the bar at the back, and ordered a glass of much deserved champagne.

  When it was placed on the bar in front of her, she set her trophy down beside it and took a picture, capturing the moment.

  “I can take one with you in it, if you want,” came a male voice from somewhere behind her. She turned and saw a face she immediately recognized, but not because she’d ever met him. It was her job to know the players in the league, even the ones the Longhorns didn’t face very often.

  “You’re Jake Landon.”

  He smiled. “Yeah. And you’re Abby Gossman.”

  She smiled back. “Yeah.”

  “You want me to take your picture?” He gestured at her phone and a tiny little wisp of heat unfurled in her belly at the sight of his hands. They were huge, strong and masculine. She’d always had a thing for a nice pair of hands.

  But she felt suddenly self-conscious, so she tucked her phone back into her bag with a little shake of her head. “No, that’s okay. Thanks, though.”

  “Sure.” He moved toward the bar, and she let her eyes take a slow walk up and down his athletic frame. Jake Landon was…well, damn, he was hot. Dark brown hair with a wave to it, long enough to run her fingers through. Neatly groomed salt and pepper scruff on his jaw. Warm brown eyes with smile lines fanning out around them. Broad shoulders, thick arms roped with muscle, a flat stomach, strong legs. Yeah. Jake Landon was hot.

  He ordered a beer and then leaned against the bar, studying her. There was a simmering heat in his eyes that made her blush. Feminine satisfaction rippled through her at the thought that he was checking her out, too. “You must be from California, originally,” he said, gesturing toward her award.

  She nodded. “Yeah, I grew up not far from here.”

  “Me too. I have a house here. It’s a nice place to spend the off season.”

  “Especially if you love traffic jams, earthquakes and vegan food.”

  He gave her a look of mock surprise. “Oh my God, those are three of my favorite things.”

  She laughed. Jake Landon was funny too, apparently. “Oh, California.”

  “Yep. Anyway, congrats on your award.” He took a sip of his beer and his expression became a bit more serious. “That can’t be easy.” Even though his sentence felt incomplete, she knew what he meant.

  She blew out a breath. “It’s not. But it’s worth it.”

  “Most hard things are.”

  Jake had heard of Abby Gossman. Everyone had heard of the MLB’s first female coach. What he hadn’t known was that Abby Gossman was fucking gorgeous. And funny. And determined. And interesting.

  And gorgeous. Had he mentioned gorgeous already? Didn’t matter. It was going on the list twice. Thick brown hair tumbling around her shoulders, huge brown eyes, a smile that lit up the room, an athletic body that promised all kinds of fun.

  But while she was gorgeous—on-the-list-twice-gorgeous—he really liked talking to her. She was smart and driven and totally fascinating. And he had to admit, it was refreshing to be able to talk shop with a woman. All of his previous girlfriends had only been interested in baseball in a superficial way. But Abby clearly loved the game and understood it, in and out. They talked about the Reds’ and Longhorns’ prospects this year, and how she’d been working with some of her team’s bright young stars to get them to the next level.

  “Coaching isn’t just about mechanics and bringing out the athletic abilities of the players. It’s part—a big part—psychology,” she said, animated. Glowing. Alive and bright and beautiful. “It’s figuring out what they need, even if they don’t know. A boost of confidence, a renewed focus. It’s part of my job to figure that out.”

  “So how do you do that?” He asked, taking a sip of his second beer, moving a bit closer to her. The reception around them was winding down, but he didn’t want the evening to be over. Not yet. “If I wasn’t feeling confident, what would you say to me?” He arched an eyebrow, deliberately flirting with her, and she blushed a little. She chewed on her bottom lip, drawing his attention to her mouth, and she thought for a moment before answering. She moved a little closer still and laid her hand on his forearm. He could feel the warmth of her fingers through his dress shirt.

  “I’d focus on strengths, not weaknesses. I’d encourage what you’re good at, whatever that is—seeing the ball, being patient at the plate, slugging—and gently show you how you can parlay those same skills into whatever you’re struggling with. I’d tell you that only .5% of high school ball players make it to the show, so if you’re here, there’s a damn good reason. I’d tell you to trust yourself and your instincts.” Her eyes held his and warmth pooled in his stomach. Right now, his instincts were telling him that this woman was special.

  “You wanna go on a date?” he asked.

  Her eyes widened and she took her hand back. Cool air washed over his arm where her hand had been. “I don’t date ballplayers.” She let out a sigh and then smiled at him wistfully. “But believe me, right now, I wish I did.”

  “Why don’t you?” he asked, not giving up.

  “Because I know how precarious my position is, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize it. If I earned a reputation for sleeping with players, no one would take me seriously. I’d be a joke.”

  He nodded slowly, taking all of that in. “I’m not looking for a hookup. I want to date you. I want to keep talking to you and keep getting to know you.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve been standing here talking for almost two hours.”

  “What?” She grabbed his arm and looked at his watch as though she didn’t believe him. Before she could move away, he curled his fingers around her forearm.

  “We just lost two hours like it was nothing. And that’s something.”

  “Are you asking me to break my rule for you?”

  “I’m asking you to have dinner with me. One dinner. Tomorrow night. I won’t tell a soul.” He held his hand over his heart, willing her to say yes, not wanting to let her go.

  A smile pulled up her lips. “Okay, Jake Landon. I’ll have dinner with you. One dinner.”

  He grinned. “Great. Hope you like McDonald’s.”

  She gave him a skeptical look. “We’re having dinner at McDonald’s?”

  He leaned in, letting his lips brush against the delicate shell of her ear. “No. If the date goes well—and we both know it will—we’ll be having breakfast there.” He pulled back, loving the heat swirling in her eyes.

  “You’re cocky.”

  “And you’re intrigued.”

  She bit back a smile and picked up her discarded clutch, opening it and pulling her phone out. “You better give me your number.”

  He did.

  And the next night they had dinner.

  Followed by breakfast.

  Dallas - Now

  The road trip had been nothing short of disastrous, and not only because Abby had nearly been caught naked in Jake’s room with his fingers buried inside her. They’d only won one of the three games against Toronto, and then had won two of three against the White Sox, but had struggled at the plate, big time. As though with each inning, they’d become more panicked, more desperate to stop the backslide, the wild card seeming to slip through their fingers like sand. So they’d started swinging at air, hitting nothing but ghosts. The few runs they’
d managed to score had come mostly from walks and misplays on the opposing team’s part.

  This morning, now that they were back in Dallas, the first thing on Abby’s agenda was to put a stop to it. Now. This was her team, with her postseason hopes at stake too.

  Javi fell into step beside her as she moved through the clubhouse. She caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of Jake in nothing but boxer briefs, but she kept going, despite the warm tug she felt right between her legs and the melancholy ache in her chest.

  “You got this this morning?” Javi asked as they headed for his office. He hung back and ushered her inside with a hand hovering over the small of her back.

  “Yep.”

  He sat down and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Good.”

  She frowned, leaning forward. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just more garbage with Cara. Lawyers. Shit I don’t need right now when I’m trying to keep this ship from sinking. I got the president and the GM breathing down my neck. I got the owner sending me text messages. I got an ex-wife who won’t talk to me and daughters she won’t let me see.” He shook his head. “Thank God the clubhouse drama seems to have died down.”

  Abby swallowed, glad Javi had no idea how close she’d come to starting some clubhouse drama of her own, almost getting caught with Jake. She stood up and circled around the desk, leaning on it and facing Javi. Her friend was clearly hurting, and under a lot of pressure. She laid a hand on his shoulder, wishing there were something she could say to make him feel less overwhelmed.

  “Don’t worry about BP or what’s going on at the plate. I’ll get them all sorted out. What happened on this road trip had nothing to do with mechanics or skill and everything to do with the mental aspect of the game. The postseason is close enough that we can taste it and it’s getting in everyone’s head.”

  Javi laid a hand over hers and gave it a little squeeze. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Abby. You’re the best.” He smiled up at her, and she was glad she was able to assuage his worries just a little bit.