The Secret Hook-Up

My nerves are on fire.

It’s Thursday.

That Thursday.

Croaking Creatures date day.

What, exactly, does an athletic lady baseball coach wear to a date that’s supposed to be platonic per auction rules but definitely is not based on the text messages Duncan and I have been exchanging since our phone call when I was in LA?

You wear what makes you happy.

Is it weird that I hear Duncan’s voice telling me that?

Probably not.

He’s pro-do what makes you happy.

Should I order a burger or a salad from room service?

Do what makes you happy.

Should I get tickets for my family to come to the Fireballs’ next home game against Minnesota?

Do what makes you happy.

Should I tell this guy I’ve been talking to that he’s making me feel like an absolute queen?

Do what makes you happy.

What would make me happy right now is to have this date in my apartment instead of in public, where it’s likely everyone will be staring at us.

But also, if we don’t do this date in public, then people will question if I carried through with what I offered at the auction, and that will suck.

I delay deciding what to wear by doing my physical therapy exercises on my arm, and then I text Waverly.

What should I wear?

I don’t expect an immediate response, but I get one anyway. For the tea shop? Send pictures. What are you considering?

I lay out the four choices on my bed, snap a picture, and send it to her.

There’s zero chance she’ll tell me to wear the ripped jean shorts and Led Zeppelin T-shirt that I bought at a thrift store in college. Very little chance she’ll tell me to wear the jeans and Fireballs polo either.

So will she suggest the black or the tan slacks? And the peach or the green blouse?

My phone rings.

Why am I friends with people who think texts require phone call answers?

Or, in this case, video calls?

I answer, watching my own face wincing on my phone screen. “None of them?” I ask Waverly.

She’s makeup-free with her hair pulled up in a ponytail, moving up and down as she apparently jogs on a treadmill. “Do you have a sundress?”

I make a face.

She laughs. “I thought you secretly loved dresses.”

“I do, but this is a professional transaction between someone offering an experience and a man who paid over a hundred grand for that experience. There will be pictures.”

“Ignore the pictures. Ignore the auction. If you and I were going to tea, what would you wear?”

I mumble an answer.

There’s zero chance she understood what I said, but her grin says she knows what the answer was anyway. “So go pick a sundress.”NôvelDrama.Org owns this.

“My favorite one has spaghetti straps and it might be cold in the teahouse.”

“Do you have a light cardigan?”

“It’s pink.”

“You look fabulous in pink.”

“I know.”

“Do you feel good in pink?”

“Yes,” I grumble.

“Wear your hair down. Go light on the makeup. Pick your favorite sundress. Add the pink cardigan. And then sit in that teahouse with both of you on your devices, playing that game where you’ll both be shrieking about eyeballs getting poked out and sticks up each other’s butts, and have a great time.”

“My creature died yesterday when my boat ride to another island was attacked by sharks.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about. People will be so busy talking about how weird you are, they won’t even notice you and Duncan making eyes at each other all afternoon.”

She has such a good point that I do, in fact, pick my favorite sundress, strappy sandals, and the pink cardigan. I add tiny diamond stud earrings and the barest coat of makeup, and then I take her advice and leave my hair down.

And there she is.

Girly Addie, staring at me in the mirror.

I smile at her.

She smirks back.

My reflection is clearly not suffering from smoldering nerve endings.

There’s a knock at my apartment door as I’m hooking the clasp of my mom’s favorite jade necklace. My fingers tremble through finishing, and then I hustle to the door.

I haven’t seen Duncan in close to two weeks.

And he looks even better than I remember.

A soft “Wow” slips from his lips as he takes in my outfit.

My cheeks burn hotter than my nerves. “Hi. Are you ready? You look nice. I mean, you always look nice. You just look nicer. Is that the same suit you wear before games?”

He’s not wearing a coat, just the slacks and a white button-down shirt with the top button open. Casual fancy.

I’m glad I didn’t wear slacks.

Am I saying that out loud? I hope I’m not saying any of that out loud.

He quirks a half smile, popping a single dimple, then puts one hand to my hip while he brushes his lips to my cheek. “You’re gorgeous. I’m ready. You?”

And then he has his hands back to himself, straightening like he didn’t just send a jolt of lightning from my cheek to my clit via my nipples merely by brushing a kiss to my cheek.

I have it bad.

I have it so bad.

“Yeah. Yeah, just let me grab my keys and phone.”

We take the stairs. My heart is pounding like I’m running away from a charging wildebeest rather than casually making the same trip down the same stairs that I regularly do.

“Am I driving or are we walking?” I ask as we reach the main floor. The tea house isn’t far.

“I got us a car.”

I blink at him.

His cheeks go the barest shade of ruddy.

“Are we going to argue about who’s paying for what after you already paid over a hundred grand to go on this date today?” I ask.

He hits me with a full-force smile. “Yep.”

It’s impossible to not smile back.

His gaze dips to my lips.

My stomach dips to put all of the pressure on my ovaries and vagina.

I missed you.

I don’t let the sentiment slip out of my mouth, but I do hook my hand around his elbow and lean in to him while we walk to the door.

A suited driver is waiting beside a shiny black SUV. He greets me with a smile and a nod as he holds the rear passenger door.

I climb in and slide across the smooth leather seat.

Fascinating.

I would’ve expected two bucket seats.

Instead, we’re set up for sitting right next to each other.

Duncan joins me, and soon, we’re on our way. Thighs touching. Shoulders touching. Auras touching.

“Good road trip?” he asks me.

“Won more than we lost.”

“Always a bonus.”

“It’s been a harder year.”

“Losing the heart of a team will do that.”

He’s not wrong, and it’s nothing we’re not aware of on the coaching staff. Especially when we’re asked questions constantly during our media availability times about how missing Cooper is affecting the team. “It’s a team sport but it’s so critical to have the right blend of personalities and skillsets. Missing just one…”

“It’s a big one.”

“We have a new heart.”

He lifts his brows.

“He doesn’t know he’s our new heart, but I think everyone around him is starting to recognize it.”

Duncan shifts closer. “Think that was intentional?”

“A good leader trains their replacement.”

It’s supposed to be a hint for Mr. Captain, but if he picks up on it, he doesn’t let on.

Instead, he hits me with a hard question right back. “You being trained?”

I shake my head.

It’s better for me to stay where I am and work on improving my relationship with the team itself than it is for my ego to lead me into fucking up the head coach position for the team. Especially in a year when we’ve just lost one of our biggest and most consistent stars.

“You’re sure,” he says quietly.

“More sure by the day.” The more I’ve thought about it, the more I know it’s not my time yet. Yet. “I make a difference where I am. And I still have some work to do on me.”

He holds my gaze.

I want to kiss him.

I want to slide into his lap and kiss him until I can’t breathe. I want to feel his arms around me, feel his erection poking me, taste his mouth, feel his freshly shaved face, and lose myself in letting go.

In trusting him with my body.

The way I used to.

But if I kiss him—if we do this—I’m committed.

We won’t be secret this time.

It won’t be casual.

It will be very, very real, with the intention of finding out if we’re truly compatible as a couple.

I glance at the driver, who’s staring studiously ahead as we make our way through traffic. Then back at Duncan.

He doesn’t say a word. Just smiles at me like he has so many things he wants to say, but doesn’t want to push it.

I grip his hand. “I do not want to hurt you again,” I whisper. “It’s not just me I’m afraid for. It’s you too.”

He blinks quickly, then squeezes my hand back. “I trust you.”

Other men I’ve known would’ve smirked. I can take it.

Not Duncan.

There’s no ego. No honey, you’ll want me so badly, you’ll never think of leaving me. Or psh, you can’t hurt me, I’m made of lead.

With Duncan, it’s I acknowledge your fear and I’m here to tell you I believe in you.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “I don’t think you’ll be saying that after I kick your ass in Croaking Creatures this afternoon.”

His answering smile is all tenderness and light. “You know the fun thing about a Croaking Creatures date with me?”

“How easy it will be to kick your ass?”

“How much I’m willing to pay the creators to give me an advantage with new ways to croak that you don’t know about yet.”

I gasp.

He wiggles his eyebrows.

I know I told my boss that a bid as high as Duncan’s didn’t come with blowjobs.

Duncan might’ve just convinced me otherwise without even trying.