The Game Changer(7)

“That was only the night I left. Then what happened? We have six months of CliffsNotes to get through here, Carter.”

“I thought I was going to get kicked off the team the next day,” he admitted.

I propped myself up immediately. “Shut the hell up. What happened?”




Tired and bleary-eyed, I flung the strap of my bag over my shoulder and pressed the Down button on the elevator. I fidgeted with my tie, straightening my jacket as the doors dinged before opening, and I stepped inside the empty compartment.

The lobby filled quickly with chatter as the rest of my team filtered in, dragging duffle bags, and some even dragging their kids behind them.

I checked out, tugged on my hat, and walked out toward the waiting charter bus.

“Carter, come here.” Coach’s voice startled me, and I dropped the bag at my side.

I walked over to him, and he tossed his arm around my shoulder. “Let’s walk,” he said.

Shit. Is he sending me back down to the minor leagues already?

Coach leaned in and locked his gaze with mine. “You’re a good kid, Carter. I like you. But don’t ever bolt out of my clubhouse again before I tell you that you can go. You understand me?” His voice was kind, but there was steel underneath it he wanted me to hear.

“Yes, sir. I’m really sorry about that—”

“Don’t apologize, kid. Just don’t let it happen again or I’ll send your ass down to the minors so quick your head’ll spin,” he threatened, making sure I understood my position on the team totem pole. Message received, loud and clear.

“Yes, Coach,” I answered respectfully, thankful that no one else was close enough to hear our conversation.

“Go get on the bus.” He patted my shoulder with a slight shove.




“I would have cried,” I told him with a grimace.

“No, you wouldn’t have. But I was scared shitless,” he admitted with an uncomfortable laugh.

“I bet. OK, so you flew back to Arizona for the game. We both know how that went.” I paused, referring to the game they lost that ended his postseason for the year. “Then what did you do?”

“I think you’re enjoying this a little too much.” He pulled the pillow out from under me, and my head crashed against the mattress.

“Hey!” I yelled, stretching for the pillow he held just out of reach. “Jack, really. I need to know.”

He threw my pillow across the room and then patted the top of his invitingly. Forcing me to share his pillow, he pressed his forehead against mine.

“You want to hear how I starting stalking you as soon as I got back to Arizona?”

“Uh, absolutely,” I practically squealed, and he laughed.

“I’ll tell you over breakfast. I’m starving.” He winked and planted a kiss on my forehead before hopping out of bed. Then he stretched his arms above him and his muscles flexed and bulged. My gaze locked onto his defined, tanned abs. “Like what you see?”

“Eh, I’ve seen better,” I said playfully, refusing to feed the beast that is Jack Carter’s ego.

“I highly doubt it.” He ran a hand down the length of his well-chiseled stomach. “This is Grade-A certified goods right here. You’re lucky I don’t charge admission.”

“To what? The gun show?” I pointed at his arms, my lips curling up in amusement.

“Exactly! The gun show,” he teased, before jumping on the bed and pinning me beneath him. He held me tight as I squirmed, trying to wriggle out of his hold. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I thought we were eating,” I said with attitude, cocking my head to one side.

He released a hard breath, pushing himself off the bed. “Let’s go, then. You’re the one who can’t stop looking at me like I’m a piece of meat.”

“You called yourself Grade-A! That’s a meat label!” I shouted, my voice animated as I picked up a pillow and tossed it at him.

He snagged it effortlessly from the air. “Are you done playing? I thought you wanted to hear the rest of the story.” He smirked before walking out of the bedroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.





Stalker


Jack

When she finally walked into the kitchen wearing nothing but my T-shirt, I almost turned her ass around and marched her right back into the bedroom. Ignoring the throbbing in my shorts, I stared into her nearly empty refrigerator. “You have no food,” I complained, closing the door.

“I eat out a lot.” She shrugged. “But I have cereal. And bread.”

She put four slices of bread in the toaster, and I led her by the hand to the kitchen table, pulling her chair out for her. I placed an empty bowl and spoon in front of her, followed by the milk and a box of cereal. Then I sat next to her, filling my bowl to the top with the crunchy shit.