No. That was definitely not going to happen again, and thinking about him in that way wasn't helping the situation at all.
"I think we have enough shots," she said to her camera guy.
Once the game started, the camera crew worked independently to take some game shots of Trevor, while she did some edits on her laptop up in the club suite. She'd look up on occasion to watch the game. The Rivers were down by three runs in the fifth when Trevor came up to bat.
He took the first pitch, high, barely even moving. He read pitches well. The second was low and in the dirt and Trevor didn't budge, refusing to be fooled into swinging.
He'd been out on a fly ball his first at bat, and had gotten on base with a single in his second, only to be left stranded.
On the third pitch-a decent one-he swung, blasting it foul into right field.
On the fourth pitch, he connected, sending it sailing.
Home run. Too bad no one else was on base because he'd rocketed that pitch into the bleachers. Haven swore she could see the grin on Trevor's face all the way up in the club suites where she was sitting. She cheered along with everyone else, and hoped her camera crew had gotten a decent shot of that home run. She texted down to Andy, her head camera guy, who texted her back that he'd definitely gotten the shot.
Awesome.
Unfortunately, Trevor's solo home run didn't help the Rivers, who ended up losing the game. They'd come back and scored three more runs in the sixth, but Los Angeles had scored two in the eighth, closing the door on the Rivers' attempt to win it, and since Atlanta had won their game tonight, it was looking more and more like the Rivers were not going to make it to the postseason.
But it wasn't over yet, and anything could happen.
She was disappointed for Trevor and for the team, but she still had her job to do.
She met with her camera crew after the game, and they submitted their work to the network in time for the broadcast that night. The crew was finished with the work they'd do for now, and they'd meet up again once Trevor started up in Tampa.
After the game, Trevor was quiet. She stepped up next to him as he walked to the car.
"Tough loss," she said.
"Yeah."
"Great home run, though."
"Thanks. Didn't help the team, though."
She wanted to console him, to put her arm around him and make him feel better, like he'd done for her last night. Her fingers itched to touch him.
Why couldn't she bridge that gap of inches and just lean into him to offer him comfort? What would it cost her to do that?
Nothing.
So why couldn't she make the move? What held her back? Did she think if she touched him, he'd read something into it and want more? More than she was willing to give?
In the end, she couldn't do it, just walked to the car and climbed into her seat, keeping her distance, which felt all kinds of shitty.
"There's still hope for the team, Trevor," she said as they drove back to his house.
"Yeah, there is. Until the last game. Unfortunately, we have a road trip to Atlanta up next, and if we lose even one game to them, we're out of the postseason."
"When does the road series against Atlanta start?"
"Friday."
"Then you'll have to kick ass against Los Angeles and make these games count."
"We'll do that. Believe me, we will."
She did believe him. She was impressed by how fast he shook off the loss, because they went out to eat, and he was his happy, animated self again, signing autographs for fans and joking with the waiter. After dinner, they went back to his house, where she was once again faced with being alone with him.
Maybe it was time she moved into a hotel, to give herself some distance. Instead, when they got inside, she turned to him.
"I have a lot of editing to do. If you don't mind, I'm going to close myself up in the office and work."
"That's fine. I'm going to go watch TV."
He seemed okay with her decision, which relieved her. "Great."
She grabbed her laptop and notes and headed into the office, closing the door behind her. She dove into work, going over her notes, uploading the photos she'd taken, and after several hours, she had made serious progress. She sent the file off to her producer.
She got up and stretched, gathered up her laptop and notes, and turned off the light in the office. She was about to head to bed, but decided to stop in the kitchen for a glass of water first.
It was late, so she didn't expect to find Trevor in there, fixing himself a sandwich.
"Oh. Hey. You're still up?"
He smiled at her. "Yeah. I was watching a movie and I got hungry after." He pointed to the sandwich on his plate. "Want one?"
"No, thanks. I was just going to grab a glass of water before I headed to bed."
"I'll get that for you." He dropped ice into a glass and filled it with water, then handed it to her.
"Thanks. Good night, Trevor." She turned.
"Haven?"
She stopped, her eyes closing for a fraction of a second before turning back to face him. "Yes?"
"What's wrong? Did I do something to upset you?"
Laying her stuff down on the counter, along with the glass, she went over to him, knowing she shouldn't get so close, but unable to help herself. She laid her hand on his forearm, feeling the instant connection, that sizzle of chemistry she couldn't deny, no matter how much she wanted to. "No. Not at all. I'm just . . . tired tonight. It's been a long day, and I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I just want to go to bed and crash."
He swept her hair away from her face, and before she could take a cautionary step away, he cupped her face between his hands and brushed his lips across hers. A burst of heat ignited inside her.
"Sleep well tonight. No bad dreams."
With that short kiss he'd awakened all the longing she'd tried to push away, but couldn't. She wanted to linger, to lean against him and soak up his strength. She wanted to get him naked and devour every inch of him right there in his kitchen, then take him to bed with her again so she didn't have to be alone. Instead, she nodded. "Right. No bad dreams. Thanks, Trevor."
She grabbed her stuff and walked down the long hallway toward her wing, feeling the loneliness of another long night wrap around her like a cold chill she wouldn't be able to shake.
It didn't have to be this way, but she had no one to blame but herself for being alone.
When she got to her room, she undressed and got ready for bed, then climbed in, pulling the sheet over herself. She'd already finished work for the day, so there was no appeal to her laptop, though she could surf the net.
She didn't want to, so she decided to read a book instead, settling back against the pillows, hoping getting lost in one of her favorite series would help her unwind and maybe she'd get tired.
An hour later she was still wide awake, and she kept reading the same page over and over again. Not the book's fault, because it was a great romance. The problem was, the characters in the story were hot for each other-and they were actually doing something about it. They were communicating, and having awesome hot sex.
She, on the other hand, kept doing her best to avoid her own feelings, and as a result, she was not having awesome hot sex with a man she should be having awesome hot sex with.
Even fictional characters faced their demons better than she did.
She glared at the book, right now hating those characters, and threw off the covers and got out of bed. She went to the window and stared outside, wishing she were at home.
She missed her mom.
She really missed her dad, missed their long talks. She could use a long talk with him right now.
Not that she could have had a conversation with her dad about Trevor. She and her father could talk about anything-except men and sex. Those conversations had always been reserved for her mom. Sports and television and books and anything else? Her dad. But whenever she'd had boy trouble, he'd grown decidedly uncomfortable and had suggested she talk to her mom.
She looked over at the bedside table. It was late-too late to call her mom, and really, what would she say? That she and Trevor had had sex, and then she'd pushed him away because-well, she didn't even have a valid reason.
That wasn't even the kind of conversation one had with her mother. It was a girlfriend kind of talk. Maybe she could discuss it when she went out with Alicia and Liz later this week. She definitely needed some advice.
Or maybe she should just go with how she felt. And right now she felt alone, and lonely, and felt like spending time with Trevor.
Who'd likely think she was out of her ever-loving mind if she searched him out in the middle of the night after basically ignoring the hell out of him, but she couldn't seem to help herself. She was an indecisive idiot. And maybe he'd tell her to get lost, but that was the risk she was willing to take.
Determined to finally get the hell over herself, she put on a pair of shorts and opened her door.
And nearly jumped out of her skin, because Trevor was right there, his hand raised as if he were about to knock.