But the universe wasn’t finished knocking his plans around.
The Mustangs won. And Trinity instantly became a good-luck charm. What was he going to do now, drag her to every game from now until the end of the season?
It was not cool how great that suddenly sounded.
* * *
Logan had not been kidding about the interminable rounds of interviews that happened after the game. Trinity lost count of the number of times she heard him repeat the same phrases to yet another reporter.
“Johnson can absolutely repeat that three ninety tomorrow,” Logan said easily, which was always followed by, “O’Hare is still on the DL, but we’re calling up a reliever from Round Rock who will knock your socks off.”
Three ninety—that might have been a reference to the mysterious stat called a batting average that Logan had mentioned earlier. But she wouldn’t put money on it at this point. DL meant nothing to her.
It was like a secret code that only the kids in the know could crack, and by the time dinner rolled around, she was jonesing for a glass of wine. Spending an hour on her stuffed-to-the-gills email inbox wouldn’t be out of line, either. Her face hurt from smiling as she stood by Logan’s side, but his arm never left her waist, and the photos would be brilliant, especially since she’d worn this green dress that would pop on camera.
Several of the reporters asked about her, and Logan eagerly introduced her without a label, but the adoring look he gave her told the story vividly and none of the eagle-eyed cameramen missed that shot.
“You’re a much better actor than I would have given you credit for,” she murmured as they held hands and dashed for the limo after Logan had finally deemed them both done. “Even I almost believed we were headed for the altar soon.”
She’d meant it as a joke, but it twisted at her heart painfully because it was frighteningly easy to pretend the adoring looks weren’t faked.
He laughed and kissed her cheek playfully. “Wasn’t an act. I’m very fond of you right now.”
“Um...really?” She glanced at him askance.
“Did you not see the scoreboard at the end?” He picked up her hand and kissed her fingers, a habit she could get very used to. “Mustangs put one up in the win column. Thanks to you.”
“Me?” Had she blown his brains out earlier? She wasn’t bad in the pleasure department, but no one had ever actually lost their mind afterward. “Pretty sure I never picked up a bat the whole game.”
“You didn’t have to. You’re good luck. Obviously.”
The stress he put on the word obviously was like a verbal eye roll, except she still didn’t get it. “What, like I’m your Blarney stone now?”
That piqued his interest, and he swept her with a once-over. “Yep, which means I have to kiss you in order to get my dose of luck.”
“Now that has possibilities.” She let him pull her into his lap to get started on that, which effectively dropped the subject. Fine by her.
By the time the limo reached the hotel, they were both breathless and she’d nearly hit a high C twice as he fingered her under her dress, dipping his talented fingers into the pool between her legs again and again.
“Have dinner with me,” he murmured as they hustled through the lobby, ignoring the coaches and players she vaguely recognized. Some of them called out to Logan, but his gaze was trained on her. Deliciously so.
“Think there will be more photographers here later?”
She glanced around, but the lobby was bare of the press. For once. Had they finally gotten tired of the story? Her spine stiffened and a cold chill crept along each vertebra. If there wasn’t a story, what did that mean for this fake relationship?
“Trinity.” He waited until she glanced at him to continue. “I’m asking you to eat with me. Not because it’s good for my ticket sales or to get people to buy more mascara. Because you have to eat, and why not do it with me?”
That was too much like a date. Which was a ridiculous thing to be wary of. They’d been on plenty of dates already. Seen each other naked and put their mouths on each other in places that would get them arrested if they’d done it in public.
All at once, she realized—it wasn’t like a date. She’d been conveniently standing there when he’d decided he was hungry, that was all. He wasn’t asking her to spend time with him because he liked her. What if he had? Would that make a difference? It didn’t matter. He wasn’t supposed to like her. She didn’t like him. This wasn’t real.
Maybe she’d blown her own brains out earlier. Furious with herself for turning into a waffling, idiotic crybaby, she shook her head, totally unable to fathom why she couldn’t get rid of the crawly feeling on the back of her neck.