The Secret Hook-Up

I am never drinking again.

Ever.

Ever.

“It cannot be that bad,” Francie, my oldest and longest-running sister-in-law, says to me over my car’s speaker system as I drive myself to work after letting Duncan help me get dressed.

Which happened before I looked at all of the text messages I sent to various people last night.

Including Francie.

Which is why we’re on the phone now. It’s not often she gets a random I love you, don’t let my stupid brother take you for granted, you deserve better than what my mom had text from me.

But she did last night.

And she’s not the only person I texted.

Which makes letting Duncan help me shower even worse.

“It’s that bad,” I tell her.

“Did you also text your first boss and tell him to lick your shoes?”

“Of course not.”

“Did you text your current boss and tell him you’re the only option he has for manager when Santiago retires?”

“No.”

“Did you text Steve Simpson and ask him if he’s still good enough with his tongue to temporarily make up for his personality?”

“No.”

“So…what did you do?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

She laughs. “You called me to talk about it and now you don’t want to talk about it.”Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

“I want to talk about how much I don’t want to talk about it.” I brake as I approach a line of cars behind a red light a couple blocks from Duggan Field. My hair is still damp.

So is my left armpit.

I wouldn’t let Duncan help me dry off as thoroughly as I needed to get dried off because I needed him to leave.

I needed space.

Now I need to not think about how he hugged me in the shower.

About how much I liked the feel of his erection against my ass.

How much more I liked the soft kiss he pressed to my good shoulder, then the way he pretended none of it happened at all after I’d soaped and rinsed the rest of my body and stepped out of the shower to let him help me dry me off.

Maybe subconsciously, I remembered what I texted him.

But dammit, I miss him.

The him I believed in before he got butthurt about me being independent.

I can understand being butthurt about me insisting on keeping our short-term fling turned longer-term-quasi-friends-with-benefits thing a secret. About me not wanting to get serious.

But half of it was my independence, and I need that almost as much as I need oxygen.

“Oh my god,” Francie yelps. “There’s a boy, and you like him.”

“I am completely uninterested in boys.”

“A man. There’s a man.”

The light turns green.

No one moves.

“C’mon, people,” I mutter. “I told my boss I’d be there in three minutes, and I cannot be late. Again.”

“Who is he?” Francie asks.

“My boss? The big boss. Tripp Wilson wants to talk.”

“Tell me you’re not crushing on your married boss.”

“Ew. No. He’s old.”

He’s about the same age as Sam. The oldest of my four brothers. Francie’s husband.

Same number of kids at roughly the same ages too.

“Okay, good,” Francie says. “Although, I thought his wife was the big boss and he was the next-big boss.”

“Also true, but she was scheduled to leave this morning for the All-Star festivities. So I have to talk to him.”

“About?”

“I don’t know. Some community outreach thing.”

“Ah. I see. So who’s your crush?”

I should’ve known she couldn’t be distracted.

The cars in front of me finally move, so I press on the gas too. “No one.”

“Addie.”

What the fuck?

The damn light’s turning yellow again.

Already.

I brake with a groan as the car in front of me hits the brakes too.

I’m late. I’m freaking late after getting trashed at a work function and missing three calls and four texts from my boss.

“Never drinking ever again,” I mutter.

“Oh, don’t say that. I love when we have spiked hot chocolate at the holidays. You’re hilarious when you put your guard down.”

Yeah.

I’m hilarious.

I’m so hilarious, I texted Duncan that we could’ve been forever if he’d never told me he cared about me.

Stupid stupid stupid.

And then he showed up and cleaned half my apartment and helped me shower and hugged me and kissed my shoulder and didn’t make a single joke about what we could do while I was naked and he was pretending his boxer briefs weren’t doing their best to restrain his thick, long, hard erection.

I miss his penis.

He’s very good with his penis.

But it comes with the rest of him, including his brain and his protector streak and his heart and our history, and that means his penis is off-limits.

I blow out a breath. Fuck it. I do want to talk about this. “What does it mean when a guy you had a casual thing with a long time ago shows back up in your life doing nice things for you but not hitting on you after you drunk-text him that if he hadn’t caught feelings, you would’ve kept having a casual thing with him forever?”

“It means I’m getting on a plane this afternoon because there is no way that’s the whole story and I am getting the entire story out of you.”

“That’s it. That’s the whole story.” I stare at the freaking red light. I’m absolutely running late. Not that Tripp told me I had to be at the office by ten. I told him myself I’d be there by ten. Freaking traffic.

Freaking shoulder.

I grab my phone while I wait for the light and type out a brief caught in traffic text to him.

“All three of your other brothers told me some variation of that it’s nothing, it doesn’t mean anything story within months of proposing to their it’s nothing flings,” Francie muses.

Some days I hate having older brothers who are all too similar to me in certain ways. “I’m too busy to have a relationship.”

“Mm-hmm,” my unfortunately still-favorite sister-in-law says.

I don’t dislike my other three sisters-in-law.

I just don’t like them as much.

Mostly because they haven’t been around as long. Francie has been in the family since I was in high school.

She’s seen things. She’s listened to me cry over shitty situations at work. She’s listened to me fume about the males of the species that I mistakenly let myself believe in. She’s listened to me rave about how much I like working for the Fireballs.

And I do.

But just because things have been good this far doesn’t mean I’ll ever let my guard down. I’ve been screwed too many times in the past to trust that good ever lasts.

And that’s my problem with Duncan too.

I grew up watching my mom fade into a shell of herself for all that she gave to the rest of us.

My first high school boyfriend dated me on a dare and told me he didn’t really like me when we broke up.

My most serious relationship ended because he didn’t like how much time I spent with male athletes.

I lost my virginity to a guy who was seeing two of my college softball teammates at the same time. That was bad on him—he didn’t expect us to stick together and confront him.

Hope he learned his lesson.

And then there was the guy who almost ruined my life for the pure joy of being able to do it.

But Duncan—Duncan broke up with me. He knows what I can and can’t offer. I’m in no position to help him professionally, and he’s in no position to want or need me to. He honestly doesn’t have any more reason to like me today than he did the day he left. He doesn’t have any reason to show up and help me this morning.

But he’s still here.

Implying that he wants to be part of my life.

After I told him I would’ve stayed with him forever if he’d just kept it casual.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel and glare at the red light. “He has a job that demands all of his time.”

“Just like you.”

“Just like me.”

“You have an offseason.”

“He’s busier during my offseason.”

“But you still had time to have a thing that led to him catching feelings.”

The light turns green, and I lay on my horn.

The driver in front of me flips me off.

Don’t care.

He needs to move so I can get to work.

“Does this guy you had a thing with know about your road rage?” Francie quips.

“It’s not road rage. It’s impatience today. Tomorrow I’ll let a dick merge without flipping him off. Today, this fucker needs to move.”

I get through the light and the next one too while Francie tries to talk more details out of me, and while I get increasingly more stressed about this meeting with Tripp.

By the time I let my sister-in-law go and park in the staff parking lot at the headquarters building across the street from Duggan Field, I’m sweating and convinced I’m getting fired.

Good thing I can be a token girl coach for any team.

And then I shake myself.

Tripp said community outreach opportunity. He didn’t say we need to talk about your behavior last night.

I’m ten minutes late when I finally get to the executive floor. Denise, the executive assistant, sees me straight into Tripp’s office, then settles onto the couch off to the side with a notebook in hand.

“Morning, boss,” I chirp with a desperate cheerfulness that’s absolutely not me.

And he notices too.

His brows go up. “Morning, Addie. You okay?” Tripp owns roughly half the club by virtue of marrying Lila, but every interview he’s ever done indicates that he loves the Fireballs almost as much as Cooper Rock does. The only reason Tripp’s loved them longer than Cooper is that he’s several years older. He runs things and does a good job. And I don’t say that just because he hired me.

“Peachy.”

“You left early last night.”

“Shoulder.”

“That’s all?”

“Yep.”

He stares at me like he knows I don’t clearly remember much of last night after the third shot I took with Waverly following Duncan winning me.

Which is something else Duncan and I didn’t discuss this morning.

I only know Waverly and Cooper took me home last night because it was in a text from Waverly this morning. You said to text you that you got home safe since you’ve only been this drunk one other time in your life and you need assurances that you didn’t do anything stupid. You did not do anything stupid. I’ll fight anyone who says you did.

Fuck.

Did I do something stupid in front of my boss?

He was there too, but mostly I remember everyone being in a good mood.

“You sure you’re okay?” he says. “You seem more stressed than normal.”

“I’m good.”

“The guys are saying you’re not as easy to be around the past few weeks.”

I tense.

I know what he’s talking about. I know exactly what he’s talking about.

The minute I heard Santiago was retiring, I knew I wanted his job. And the minute I knew getting his job was a possibility, I also knew it was a possibility that someone would screw me over and I wouldn’t get it.

Why?

Because that was my first six years in baseball. Didn’t matter if it was farm teams or the highest level in the minors. I got stepped on and overlooked. And if I wasn’t cheated out of a position, I was accused of having inappropriate relationships with my players or fellow staff members.

But I’ve loved my time with the Fireballs.

My first couple seasons, I was all business on the field. No cracking smiles, not even when I wanted to. No joking with the guys. No possibility that anyone would accuse me of impropriety or of not pulling my weight.

Slowly, I’ve loosened up.

I don’t pull pranks in the locker rooms with them, but I do let myself smile in front of them over the good ones. I don’t plan birthday parties, but I donate to gifts and show up for the cake with the rest of the coaching staff. I joke around with my fellow coaches, though I’m still wary of joking in ways that could be interpreted wrong or used against me.

“I can’t help fix what’s wrong if I don’t know what it is,” Tripp says.

“I want Santiago’s job.” The truth is the easiest place to start.

He nods. “You’re on the interview list.”

“The last time I was on an internal interview list, one of my colleagues overheard me talking out my coaching philosophies with one of my team mentors, interviewed first, used them, and then when I said the same thing without knowing he’d already used my own words, I was accused of using him to get ahead.”

Dammit.

Now I sound like a paranoid asshole.

But I’m not done, even though I know I should be. “I was also fired from my first coaching job because I was accused of inappropriate behavior with one of the players. He’d just lost his mother. I’d just lost my mother. I told him we’d both get through it. He asked if he could have a hug, I hugged him, and two days later, I was canned for not knowing boundaries. I know I sound paranoid, but I have to be smarter, stronger, faster, and tougher than the rest of the coaching staff, or I’m called the token woman on the team.”

His lips part. “Addie, if we’ve made you feel that way⁠—”

“You haven’t.” I briefly squeeze my eyes shut and will myself not to say the next part, but my mouth has a mind of its own. “Yet.”

Maybe I’m testing him.

And why shouldn’t I?

I love working here, but if they turn on me too, then dammit, they don’t deserve me.

I want to work in the majors. I want to spend my springs and summers and falls helping lead a team every afternoon and evening on the ball field. But I have other options in places that will let me be more of myself, even if I wouldn’t get the same rush and feel the same sense of accomplishment that I do working at the highest level of baseball.

He leans back in his chair and tucks his hands behind his head. “I can’t say that I’ve ever been exactly in your shoes, but a lot of things about this season make more sense now.”

Dammit.

Am I fucking up my own chances by putting up more boundaries? “With the exception of my position here, every time I’ve had that next big dream within my grasp, something out of my control has taken it from me. I don’t want to stand in my own way, but lines aren’t as clear-cut for me as they are for other members of the coaching staff.”

“If you don’t get Santiago’s job, will you leave us?”

My heart sinks at the question like not getting the job is a foregone conclusion, but I make myself look him straight in the eye while I shake my head. “The Fireballs have been—this has been my favorite experience of my life. And I’m not just saying that because I like all of the bling.”

That gets me a smile.

“I know coaching a single team for an entire career isn’t likely. I love working here. I’d like to stay as long as possible. But when we’re not a good match anymore, then—then I’ll find my next position, and I’ll wish this team the best. I don’t want that day to be today though.”

“We don’t want that day to be today either,” he says.

That’s a relief. And it reminds me— “I don’t normally drink as much as I did last night. It won’t happen again.”

“I don’t imagine you generally have men bidding six figures for the opportunity to spend a few hours with you either.”

I open my mouth, then close it as I slide a look at Denise, who’s managing both her cell phone and the notebook now. I wonder if Lila’s getting a line-by-line update of this meeting.

Honestly? I hope so. I think she gets it. Probably even more than I do. She made some decisions that weren’t popular when she inherited the team and got a lot of shit for it. Firing the entire coaching staff. Retiring the mascot. Being involved when she didn’t know much at all about baseball.

Wonder how many people have apologized to her now that the team has won multiple championships and fills the ballpark to capacity nearly every game.

I’m guessing not many.

They likely give Tripp all of the credit.

“Sadie will be up in fifteen, Mr. Wilson,” Denise says.

“Thank you.” He rocks in his office chair and looks at me. “Speaking of last night, Addie, is there something about Duncan Lavoie that you’d tell a friend but don’t want to tell your boss?”

“That’s a very specific question.”

“I’d only ask it under specific circumstances.”

I straighten in my seat and push aside the confessions I’ve just made to my boss to focus on a much easier line of questioning. These, I can handle in my sleep. “There’s nothing you need to be concerned with that will impact my performance on the baseball diamond.”

“That wasn’t my concern.”

“There’s nothing between me and Duncan Lavoie.”

He folds his arms and frowns at me.

It feels like being stared down by my oldest brother.

“Duncan’s not one of our athletes,” Tripp says. “No lines crossed here as far as I’m concerned if you two have any kind of history. What you do on your own time is your business. But last night was outside the realm of expected and normal. It wasn’t a problem, but it wasn’t normal. So let me reword my question—do you feel safe around him, or is there something you need help with on a personal level?”

“There’s nothing in my personal history with Duncan to cause concern.”

He lifts his brows again.

I realize I probably look ridiculous.

Hard not to be when we’re all willing to acknowledge that if I’d gone on that stage last night as a man to offer an afternoon of playing my favorite video game over tea, I would’ve gone for a couple hundred dollars as a pity bid.

Instead, my ex-fling who helped me not die of suffocation in a dress last week got into a bidding war over me with an apparent local real estate mogul.

Those are the details my boss is sniffing for, but no matter how much I’m starting to feel relief at telling him I have to hold myself to a higher standard, I don’t want to go there with my personal life.

“It’s not boss-worthy. Very boring and inconsequential.”

“Addie…”

“We hung out for a while, and we don’t anymore. Nothing bad happened. Just no time. Both too busy. Obvious reasons.”

I don’t supply details of what constitutes hanging out in my head.

He doesn’t ask.

But he does go somewhere else unexpected. “I heard a story last night about a dress and what happened to your shoulder.”

“From who?”

“Cooper.”

The bastard. “He was never my favorite.”

Tripp cracks another smile. “I look forward to being in the vicinity when you tell him that.”

“I’d prefer no witnesses. Except maybe Waverly. She’s a good friend. I’d hate to lose her because she has bad taste in men.”

Denise coughs. I glance at her, unsurprised to find her stifling a smile.

She’s one of my favorites in the office. Honestly, I like her as much as I truly like Cooper, despite what I’m telling Tripp.

And she’s being unusually quiet today.

“Why am I here?” I ask her.

“Community involvement opportunity,” she replies.

I look back at Tripp. “And this relates to the Thrusters?” I guess.

“It does. Which is why I’d like to know if you have a serious problem with Duncan Lavoie,” Tripp says.

“I do not.”

“You’re certain?”

“He’s a good guy who’s been put in some awkward positions anytime I’ve been around him through no fault of his own. There are no hard feelings.” Not like his erection this morning, which was very hard.

Which I need to stop thinking about immediately.

“We’re partnering with the Thrusters for a new community outreach program aiming to get more adults involved with sports for fun,” Tripp says.

I blink. “Adults?”

“Adults. Sports are for all ages, and we’d like to promote that more.”

“That sounds…sweet, actually.”

“Glad you think so. I’ve been on the phone with Thrusters management off and on all morning. They want you and Duncan to be the primary spokespeople for the program.”

My brain is mostly operational, but there’s some sludgy goop left slowing things down.

Which is why I stare stupidly at my boss while I process what he said.

“Daddie,” I whisper.

Fuck.

Duncan had talked to the Thrusters PR team already.

He knew.

He knew before he ever showed up at my apartment this morning.

Tripp clears his throat. “We would make all official announcements using both of your names individually and separated by enough lines to not imply anything.”

“You don’t want a player?” I ask. “From our team, I mean.”

“We were leaning toward Diego, but it’s impossible to deny the extra press boost that you’d bring instead.”

“Because Duncan bid over a hundred grand for me and it’s making people lose their minds.”

“That was…a very large bid.”

“There was no fine print. Just because he bid that high doesn’t mean it comes with a blow job.”

Mother. Fucker.

I just said that to my boss.

Thank the baseball gods, he snorts in amusement, though he’s clearly trying to stifle it.

“We won’t put that in any official or unofficial announcements unless we have to,” Denise says dryly.

“Thank you, Denise,” I reply. “Let’s make sure we don’t have to.”

“Agreed.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Tripp says to me. “You already do more community outreach than anyone else on the coaching staff. Officially and unofficially. No one will hold it against you if you’d rather sit this out. And it won’t impact your evaluations as we go forward with interviews for Santiago’s job.”

This is a terrible idea.

I don’t know if Duncan was nice to me this morning because he knew about the community outreach program and how the auction last night would affect who he was partnered with from the Fireballs, or if he truly just wanted to check on me.

I know he wasn’t happy to see me last week.

Or last night.

But something changed since we ran into each other at the start of the auction.

Question is, is this change permanent, or is it temporary so that he can get through working with me in public?

Until last week, I would’ve told you the same thing I told Tripp—he’s a nice guy.

And I would’ve meant it.

I still mean it.

I can acknowledge he’s a nice guy—and that there’s a part of me that likes him—and also acknowledge that our lives don’t mesh.

Even if they did, I’m not interested in long-term relationships.

Despite my frustrations with being unable to completely care for myself while my arm’s tied up in a sling, I like my life. I like my freedom. I like not feeling responsible for anyone’s happiness beyond my own.

That’s a massive burden.

You can’t control other people’s happiness.

Look what trying did to my mother.

But the bigger picture for me right now—my boss wants me to do something.

I’m on the interview list for a promotion.

He could tell me they wanted me to partner with a garbage can and I’d do it, no matter what he says about how this will or won’t impact my chances at a promotion.

I could ping Duncan. Verify that he knew when he came over to see me this morning.

Or I can do what I need to do for my team and for myself.

I nod to Tripp because there’s really not another option. “When do we start?”

“You’re sure?”

I nod again.

He studies me for a minute, then looks at Denise. “Let the PR department know they should get going on rewriting the PSA script.”

“On it.”

He looks back at me. “Tomorrow. We start first thing tomorrow.”

“Great. I’ll be here.”

“You’re absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Baseball is my favorite part of my job. Game days in the sun. Developing players. The thrill of victory and the heartache of defeat.

I love every bit of this game.

But I enjoy the community outreach almost as much. On the days when I wonder if I’m here because I’m a woman, I fall back on knowing I’m setting an awesome example for all of the people who never thought they could fit into this kind of professional sports world.

So yes, I’m in.

And if it means seeing Duncan more often, then I’ll figure out how to deal with that too.

The good parts and the bad parts.