“That, Haven, was incredible.”
She smiled. “Thanks for the coaching.”
“And now if I don’t get into my room and jack off, I’m going to burst out here in the hall.”
“Think of me when your hand is wrapped around your cock, okay?”
“Honey, you’re all I’m going to think about. And I’ll probably bite my tongue clean off trying not to shout when I shoot my load.”
She grinned. “Good. But don’t bite your tongue. I’ll see you tomorrow, Trevor.”
“’Night, Haven.”
She hung up, and spent the next few minutes just lying there, imagining Trevor stroking his cock and getting off while thinking about her. They were some very fun, very hot thoughts.
She finally got up, cleaned up, then climbed back into bed, a lot more relaxed and ready to go to sleep.
She couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
TWENTY
TREVOR—HELL, THE ENTIRE TEAM—HAD NEVER PLAYED three worse games.
The three games they needed to be at their very best, and they’d sucked. They couldn’t manufacture runs when they needed them the most, they’d made stupid mental errors on defense that had cost them runs, and they’d lost close games they shouldn’t have lost.
They won only one game in Atlanta, and that one by only one run, which meant they’d been eliminated from postseason play. And they had no one to blame but themselves.
Trevor’s own production had been shit. It was like his bat had taken a vacation. He’d left runners on base, couldn’t get on base when it had been most critical, and he’d struck out with the fucking bases loaded.
God, he’d been terrible. Hell, the whole goddamned team had played badly.
He’d never felt shittier, even though Manny had given them a pep talk after tonight’s game in Atlanta, telling them sometimes tough losses came at the worst possible time, and this year, the worst possible time had come now, at the end of the season when they’d needed to win.
Trevor had planned to play in the postseason, had already made plans to talk to Tampa about delaying his start with them.
Now, his baseball season was over, and he wasn’t sure he was prepared to deal with that.
Even worse, Haven hovered in the locker room with her camera crew. And while he was happy to see her, the last goddamned thing he wanted right now was another fucking camera stuck in his face.
He saw the sympathy on her face, and he knew she wanted to hug him, but she had her job to do, just like he’d had his to do.
Though he’d royally blown his.
And still, she hovered, as if this were the last place she wanted to be right now, too. Well, he wasn’t going to invite her over to talk to him. He wasn’t feeling particularly generous at the moment. She was going to have to either grow some balls, stick the camera in his face, and do her job, or hide in the corner all night long. Either way, in about five minutes he was headed to the shower, and her opportunity to do the interview would be lost.
He unlaced his shoes and bent over, but couldn’t resist taking a peek at her from the corner of his eye.
She was still there, avoiding everyone.
Sink or swim, sweetheart. Come on, Haven, where’s your courage? Finally, she pushed off the wall and came toward him, the cameraman directly behind her.
“Trevor.”
He lifted his gaze to hers. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry about the loss, and I can’t even imagine how shitty you must feel right now, but I’d like to get a few minutes of you on camera.”
“Sure.”
With an audible sigh, she motioned to the cameraman, who started filming. Haven sat next to him.
“This was the last game of the season for you and for the Rivers tonight, Trevor. How do you feel about the loss?”
“How do I feel? Right now I feel like—” He was about to say shit, but he knew that wouldn’t fly. “I feel bad. I feel bad for the team. Like I let them down.”
“It wasn’t just you out there playing, though. Why do you feel personally responsible?”
“I didn’t do my part. I played like shit.” She could edit that out later. Or maybe she wouldn’t. At this point he didn’t care.
“You take the game seriously.”
He shot her a look. “Hell, yes, I do. This is my career. I love this game. Every guy on the team does. We hate losing, especially when getting into the postseason was within our grasp.”
“There were some tough calls out there, and every game was close.”
“And we made a lot of mistakes. I made a lot of mistakes. I struck out with the bases loaded. That right there was the potential to turn that game around.”
“So you take personal responsibility for losing tonight’s game.”