by Laura Simcox
So she stood, completely dry-eyed, and squeezed her hands together until the bones in her fingers ached. She was sure that what she’d shared with Brett was special. Different. She was so consumed with him that she hadn’t seen it coming when he’d treated her like just another jersey-chaser out to screw a ball player.
Maybe if she hadn’t walked away so fast, he wouldn’t have acted that way. She knew with certainty that he hadn’t been after only a conquest. The truth was written in every expression on his face as he’d made love to her.
Sure, a little part of her—a younger, more vulnerable part of her—had worried for a split second that she’d just repeated her past like a complete dummy, slept with an athlete who’d blown her off the minute they were finished, but she’d been the one to poke a giant hole in the intimacy with Brett. She’d been the one who’d caused that fearful look in his eyes. Why had she done that?
Georgia raised her hands to her forehead. She felt like utter shit for hurting him, but she’d been petrified about what might come next. Afraid of what would happen when he moved out of her life and up to the big leagues. Afraid of finishing her internship and moving into the unknown without him. So she’d bolted. It wasn’t like her at all, but really? She hadn’t been herself since the moment she met him. She’d never really opened herself up until she met him either.
She had to go back to him.
But just as she reached for her phone, it rang, lighting up the darkness in the room. Her heart leapt when she saw his face on the display.
She answered it. “Brett?”
“I’m at the elevator on your floor. Courtney stopped me. Can I—”
“Yes,” she said in a rush of breath. “Yes, tell her I said yes.”
“She said you have to tell her.”
“Oh, right. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Neither was I, sugar.” His tone was remorseful.
“Hang on just a sec, okay?” Georgia didn’t wait for his answer. She hung up, and a moment later, Courtney called.
“Brett Knox is requesting permission to—”
“Let him down the hall, Courtney, for the love of—”
“Okay, okay.” Courtney chuckled.
Georgia hung up on her, too, and threw the phone toward her purse. She ran to the door and unlocked it. There stood Brett, tall, handsome, and frowning.
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out.
“Not as sorry as I am,” he countered.
“I beg to differ,” she shot back.
“Beg?” He gave her a devastating smile. “I like the sound of that.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and walked into the room.
As the door shut behind him, he rested his hands on her shoulders and guided her, backward, toward the bed. When her knees hit the mattress, she sat on the edge.
“Do you want to talk?” he asked.
She nodded. “I think I freaked out back there. It just—I had no idea that being with you would make me feel that way. I’ve never felt that way before.”
“What way is that?” He sat next to her.
“I felt so . . . cherished. As a woman.” Though she said the words and meant them, they felt uncomfortable coming out of her mouth. “I think the last time I had sex, I was nowhere near a woman.”
“You definitely are now. And you are cherished, believe me.” He took her hand.
“It scares me, though.” Georgia leaned against his shoulder, sinking into his strength. “For all of my confidence about my intellect, Brett, the truth is . . . I don’t have a lot of real-life experience. What we did was very, very real. It meant everything to me.”
Brett’s shoulder rose and fell against her cheek as he took a deep breath and let it out. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear you say that. I thought I’d driven you away.”
“By pretending to be a dick?” She raised her head. “I knew that wasn’t real. We haven’t known each other for long, Brett, but . . . I know you.”
He grinned. “Yes, you do.”
“And I’m thrilled about it.”
“Me too, sugar. You have no idea. Well, maybe you do, since you’re well aware of my celebrity crush on you.”
“I actually hadn’t thought about that all day until you mentioned it just now.”
The smile fell away from his face. “And I’ve been thinking about it too much. I tend to do that, Georgia—let stuff stack up in my head, get all jumbled up in there, both good and bad. It’s pretty hard to concentrate sometimes. My mood changes. And my playing?” He shook his head. “I don’t know how to fix being afraid of not being in control.”
When he looked away from her, Georgia laced her fingers through his. She wasn’t sure how to respond, but she knew telling him everything was going to be okay wasn’t the right thing to do. “I don’t know either.” She swallowed. “There are a few things I do know about you, though. You’re smart. You’re incredibly driven, and you’re fully aware of your capabilities. I think that those things, combined, will eventually kick your fear right to the curb.”
Brett was motionless for a moment, and then he gathered her into his arms. It was the best feeling in the world, being held by him. And when he kissed her—oh God—so sweet. It wasn’t a lusty kiss, but at the same time, she’d never felt sexier.
With a sweet smile, she sighed, looking up at him. “How do you feel?”
“Great,” he said.
“I meant, what kind of mood are you in?” she asked.
His grin told her everything she needed to know, and she lay back on the bed with complete confidence. “Take me again?”
“No.” Brett walked around her and laid his head on the pillows. “Take me.”
And so she did.
Chapter Ten
WHEN BRETT WALKED into the WHAP station the following afternoon wearing his Redbirds uniform, he had a swagger in his step. It was hot as balls outside, but that didn’t bother him. It felt good to be hot—in a lot of ways. Yeah, he wasn’t so naïve as to think that falling hard for Georgia was going to instantly fix his game, but knowing that she believed in him? It went a long way toward helping him maintain confidence.
Brett ambled down the hallway and peeked into Georgia’s office. Though most of her body was hidden behind her cubicle wall, her curvy backside poked out. She muttered to herself, and as she shifted from one foot to the other, her butt shifted too. He whistled. “That’s the best view I’ve had all day.”
A second later, she stepped into view, a sheepish smile on her face. “What view? Of me leaning on my desk trying to uncurse my computer?”
“Yeah. Come here.” He shut the door behind him, and a second later she was in his arms. “Mmm,” he said as he kissed her. “I haven’t see you in a long time.”
“It’s been four hours since we parted ways at the airport.” She nipped at his neck.
“That’s too long.”
Georgia sighed. “And you’re leaving again tomorrow morning for the All-Star Game.”
It was bad timing, he knew, given that they’d just taken their relationship to a wonderful new level—but if they were together for the long haul, there would probably be a lot more moments like this. “Sugar, I’ll be back.”
“I don’t doubt that.” She smiled up at him. “Not sure if you’ll want to return after I grill you today in the interview.”
“I trust you.” He did. “Are you ready?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
“Now who’s the cocky one?”
Georgia giggled and blatantly looked at the front of his uniform pants. When he shook his head, she gave him a wink and walked back to her cubicle. “Oh good! My WHAP e-mail finally decided to cooperate and send the interview questions to my iPad.”
Brett heard the sound of a desk drawer opening and slamming shut, and she reappeared with an iPad and . . . a makeup bag? He pointed at it. “What’s that for? You look great.” She did, too, in a tailored skirt and cute blouse, with her hair swept up in a twist.
&nbs
p; “Thanks, but the makeup’s for you.”
“The hell it is!” Brett’s eyes widened and he fumbled for the door knob.
Georgia burst out laughing. “Come on now, slugger. You can’t be all shiny on TV. I’m not going to put eyeliner on you or anything. Just a little powder.”
“Aren’t you the woman who smeared lipstick all over my face?” he said doubtfully.
“That was for a good cause. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He watched as she unzipped the makeup bag. “Yeah. Best first kiss I’ve ever had.” It occurred to him then—it was the last first kiss he’d ever have if he had his way about it.
“Come here,” she said. With a long-suffering sigh, Brett leaned down and let her brush powder onto his face. “The producer told me that since you’re so tan, there’s no need for full makeup, and I asked if I could handle it so you wouldn’t be embarrassed. That’s something, right?”
He grunted.
Laughing, she led him down the hallway to a smaller studio. There were two chairs set up and a table between them, on which someone had arranged a Redbirds display. Georgia sat opposite him and crossed her legs. Brett stared as she shifted in her seat and crossed them the other way. A smile tugged at his lips. God, how he loved those legs. So soft and smooth and—
“Eyes up here,” Georgia whispered. When he glanced up, she smiled. “Are you nervous, Brett?”
“Honestly, no. Are you?”
She shrugged. “A little. This is my big project, after all.”
“You’ll be great, sugar.” Brett leaned forward and clasped her knee. He looked into her eyes and had just opened his mouth to reassure her further when bright studio lights lit up the space. A few seconds later, several people walked into the room—most of them carrying clipboards. A man began positioning a camera. Another man approached Brett with a body microphone and showed him how to run the cord and clip it to his jersey. Brett had expected Joan to be in charge of it all, but she was nowhere to be seen. He looked at Georgia, who was talking with one of the clipboard people. When she glanced at him, he whispered, “Where’s your boss?”
“In her office, gnashing her teeth because she’s not in here. But I have to do this all on my own. It’s part of the internship requirement to receive course credit.” She clutched her iPad and let out a short breath. “We’re ready, everyone.”
The man who had fixed Brett’s microphone put on a headset and silently counted down from five with his fingers. He pointed at Georgia.
Brett watched as her expression went from still to a bit too animated. When she spoke, her tone was clipped and she pronounced every word carefully. Almost too carefully.
“Today I have the pleasure of bringing Memphis an exclusive, in-depth interview with an extraordinary person,” she said. “Brett Knox is one of Memphis’s own, and, as a catcher for the Redbirds, he’s brought dedication, talent, and excitement to the team.”
Brett waited as she finished introducing him, and then he gave her a brilliant smile. Maybe it would help her to relax. “I’m happy to be here, and on behalf of the Redbirds, I appreciate WHAP’s continuing support of our team.”
She sat up very straight and gave him a strained smile in return. “Thank you. Let’s begin with a question I’m sure viewers will be interested in. Why do you play baseball, Brett?”
Why did he play? Oh shit. The answer to that was so complicated, it would take the entire thirty minutes of the interview to explain. Not that he’d be doing that because prefacing the answer with “To get the hell out of Memphis” was a terrible idea. Was this what it had been like for Joe? Probably not. Joe didn’t hide anything from anyone.
Brett glanced at Georgia—her lips were trembling around the edges of her smile. He had to say something. Slouching in his chair, he rubbed his jaw to buy himself some time. Finally, he grinned again. “I’m pretty sure I’ve loved the game of baseball since the moment I was born, Georgia. Every year for Halloween, when the other kids were dressed up as monsters, I trick-or-treated as Stan Musial, if that tells you anything.”
“How fun,” she responded, but her voice didn’t sound as if she were having any fun. She sounded tense as hell.
Brett waited, holding his breath as she asked the next question, but it was a no-brainer about Little League. He answered that easily and then another. And another. There were five questions in all about his childhood baseball career, and then, methodically, she transitioned to his high school career.
About halfway through the interview, after watching her pained expression, it occurred to him that she wasn’t nervous as much as she was . . . unhappy. She just didn’t enjoy doing this, did she? Though he was well aware that initially, she’d been unhappy with the baseball assignment, he’d never heard her talk about any part of her internship at WHAP with enthusiasm. Yet last night—when they’d been lying on a hotel bed—her eyes had lit up as she’d told him all about the research she’d done for a college class. On the history of chemical-manufacturing safety violations. To him, that was mind-numbingly boring, but she’d obviously loved digging up the information.
She didn’t belong in front of a news camera but would probably be happy as a clam compiling stacks of information and writing massive nonfiction books. Yet here she was—determined to succeed, whether or not she enjoyed herself along the way. And right this minute . . . she was calling his name.
“Brett?”
He focused on her. “Yeah, sugar?”
Oh shit.
Georgia’s eyes closed for a fraction of a second, and then she looked at the guy with the headset. “We’ll cut the last thirty seconds in editing.” The man nodded, and Georgia turned back to Brett, her cheeks pink. “Let’s move on to your college days.”
Brett sat through the rest of the interview, politely answering, but he struggled to stay animated in the face of her wooden delivery. He felt so bad for her. After she wrapped up with a final question about his current stats with the Redbirds, he let out a sigh of relief.
Quietly, the news crew left the room, the door closing behind them. When Brett was sure they were all gone, he turned to Georgia with a gentle smile. He caught her hands. “You satisfied with how that went?”
She hesitated. “I think so.”
“Sorry about saying sugar. I got lost in thought there for a minute.”
“Yeah, I could see that. What . . . what were you thinking about?”
For a second, he thought about not telling her, but she deserved his honesty. “Well, I was noticing that you didn’t seem to be having any fun. Do you like TV news?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly. “I chose this internship. Why wouldn’t I like it?”
Brett tugged on her hands and pulled her onto his lap. “Maybe you thought you would, but you’ve discovered that you don’t,” he explained.
“Are you trying to put words in my mouth?” She sat stiffly on his knees, just as she had in the chair during the interview.
“No, sugar. I’m trying to put thoughts in your head. Is this type of work what you want to be doing next year? Or five years from now?” He gazed at her.
“Yes.” She glanced away. “For now. I have to have something predictable to hold onto, Brett.”
“You can hold onto me,” he whispered and wrapped his arm around her waist.
She sat still on his lap for a moment. “For how long? What if you move to St. Louis?”
“I know we can figure it out.” He paused. “I don’t know what else to say.”
Georgia turned and took his face in her hands. “Then don’t say anything else, okay?” She bent her head and kissed him.
THE NEXT DAY, Georgia nestled under the covers. It was early morning—too early, but she’d gotten used to waking up at four to go to the station. Even though she had Fridays off, she’d been wide awake before sunrise.
She’d stayed there for about an hour, trying to go back to sleep, but she hadn’t been particularly comfortable. Last night when Brett had been lying beside her
right here, she’d barely noticed the quality of the bed, but he wasn’t here now and hadn’t spent the night, since he was due to leave this morning to play in the Minor League All-Star Game in Durham, North Carolina. She missed him.
She missed his body, but she also missed his deep, slow voice and his joking manner. She missed the way he listened—so carefully—and the way he was opening up to her.
Groaning, she turned over and kicked at the quilt. She was hot, and it really was a terrible bed. In fact, it was a piece of shit. But it was only for a few more weeks, and then she’d be moving on. She didn’t want to think about that.
Instead, she conjured up the funny look of disgust on Brett’s face last night as he’d turned, restless, beside her. He’d muttered something, and she’d asked him to repeat it. “Buddy fucking Mambo furniture,” he’d said, and she’d giggled. She’d asked him to sing the TV jingle again, but a weird look had passed over his face and he’d merely shaken his head.
She sighed. She wouldn’t see him until Tuesday. Four days. And until then, she’d be busy doing the morning broadcast, and even busier preparing to air her interview with him on Wednesday. It wasn’t that long, but she hated it, anyway. Was this what it would be like if they were together for the long run? They hadn’t talked about what would happen if he got called up.
She hadn’t begun applying for jobs, either, which she should do. There were only five weeks left in her internship. What did she expect she was going to do—move in with her parents at the age of twenty-two? And then what? Roller-skate through the White House like a precocious First Daughter and hang out in the Oval Office munching popcorn while her dad worked?
She needed to work too. She needed to face reality, which at the moment included her face plastered all over Twitter and Facebook. So far she hadn’t rated TMZ or Star magazine, and she was grateful for that, but the YouTube clip of her phone-throwing incident had gone viral. It was true she hadn’t asked for any of the publicity, but now that she had it, what would it mean for her future career? What could she say to a prospective employer: “Hi, I am the news, but I’d like a job in the news. Oh, and please don’t exploit my First Daughter status, K? Thanks.”
