Winning Streak (The Beasts of Baseball #4)

“So, you okay with Morris now?” Luke asked.

I glanced over to see Calvin lift a shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“I mean, I know he and Whitney were a thing,” Luke continued to push the topic Calvin obviously wanted to ignore.

“They weren’t a thing. She’s my wife, so watch yourself, Singleton,” Calvin snapped.

My mind raced with information, downloading all the images of the tabloids I’d read before arriving. Morris was in the papers, he was mentioned with the Beasts. Holy shit, how’d I overlook that? He was the one hooking up with Whitney while Calvin was on his self-destructive playboy path.

I gripped my bag after walking through the scanner, still trying to eavesdrop on the conversation between Calvin and Luke. They moved to the far end of the seating area where no other seats were available, so I slid my bag onto an open chair at the front and leaned down to slide my shoes back on. My bag fell to the ground, papers scattered in front of me. I worked quickly to pick them up, hiding them from any of the players' eyes since most of the notes were about them.

A strong, dark hand grazed mine as it scooped up a pile of the papers from the floor. I lifted my head, my eyes met Todd’s, and my body tensed with excitement and anxiety. Damn, he was dreamy. I could fall into those beautiful blue eyes, get lost, and never care to be found.

“Let me help you,” he offered. His voice was deep and tender in the same breath.

“I forgot to close my bag,” I said. Obviously, or your shit wouldn’t be all over the ground, dumbass. Ugh. He made me nervous. His eyes were penetrating into mine. I had to break free from their power. I looked away, focusing on the remaining papers, shoving them into my bag as Todd picked up my Christian Louboutin pump and slid it on my foot. His grip around my ankle was strong but delicate. His eyes gazed into mine, and even though I tried to escape them, they were too delicious to ignore.

His hand ran up my calf, squeezing just enough to make me squirm in my seat. The players are off-limits, Katrina. Even Todd Morris, probably the sexiest man I’d ever encountered. My insides twitched as his fingers separated on my leg, running slowly back down to my ankle. Rhett told me to keep a close eye on him, so maybe that meant… no, stop it, Katrina. You are here to do a job, one that you desperately need to survive.

“Thank you,” I said quickly, gripping my bag to my chest and covering up the tightened, hard nipples forming in my blouse. I pulled my leg back, stood, and offered up a professional smile. He was trouble, which was why Rhett wanted me to watch him so closely. My libido was feeling the ache of what he could cause. Those eyes were dangerous, those full lips delicious, and his passionate personality damn scary.

Todd stood, handed me the last paper from the floor, and smiled. I watched him walk away, frozen in my spot until a large man pushed into me rudely. “Keep things movin’,” he barked.

I walked toward my gate, stepped into the line for the plane as they began boarding, taking one more Snapchat photo before entering the metal death trap. Happy face for the camera.

I was in the window seat, not my first choice, but I didn’t want to complain. I reached over, slid the shade down, hoping the flight attendant wouldn’t make me open it while we took off, closed my eyes and leaned back into my seat to gather my composure. I felt the seat next to me move back as someone obviously had taken their seat. I dreaded opening my eyes at first, dreading the fact that the large man from security could be right next to me. I opened my eyes slowly, turned and found Todd sitting beside me.

“Guess we’re stuck with each other,” he said with a smile.

My insides gave another squeeze. “Looks like it.”

He leaned over me, reaching for the window shade. God, he smelled good. He pushed it up to expose the outside, the outside I knew would be way too high for me to stomach soon enough. I quickly pulled the shade back down, smiled nervously, and said, “I don’t really care for heights.”

His smile was deliciously dangerous, eyes steamy and seductive. This was going to be a long flight. Hell, this was going to be a long six weeks.

Todd reached over, laying his hand on my leg as the plane prepared for takeoff. I leaned back into my seat, closed my eyes, feeling only the heat from his hand. I couldn’t determine if the knot in my stomach was from the plane climbing into the air or from his touch.

“There, everything’s fine.” I turned to look into those amazingly bright blue eyes. I worked up a smile, still nervous, and reached for my bag between my feet. “May I?” Todd asked, picking up my iPad before I could protest.

I watched him type in my name and hit enter. He was seriously doing a search on me right now, right here, and right in front of me?

“You are all over the place,” he said, then clicked onto my Snapchat story.

His smile widened as he scrolled through my images. “Nice,” he said, pointing to the one I took before entering the place.

“No one would ever know you were terrified,” he said softly.

“That’s the point,” I stated quickly.

He raised an eyebrow. “So, you use social media to create something that isn’t real?”

“Not necessarily. It’s used to create positivity, an image.”

“So, an image… of something that isn’t real.”

I opened my mouth, but only “Um” came out.

“I mean your life looks super exciting,” Todd went on, scrolling through my hundreds of uploaded images.

“What about your real life?” he asked.

“This is my real life.”

“I don’t see anything about your dad on here.”

He looked at me and I could have sworn he was able to see deep inside my soul. “That’s my personal life,” I insisted, taking the iPad from his hands.

“There’s a difference?”

His eyes were serious, his lips playfully curled, and his tone so deep it vibrated between my legs, awakening my libido with a vengeance.

“Yes,” I said, not really convincing myself… or him, I presumed.

“Okay, you’re the expert,” he teased, leaning back into his seat.

“What about you?” I asked.

“What about me?”

“All this real?” I pointed to his social media page I’d pulled up.

He laughed, pointing to a picture of mountain peaks and blue skies. “I took that during a jump.”

“Why do you want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane?” I asked, keeping my tone playful and not accusatory.

“It makes me feel alive,” he said.

“And, without it, you don’t feel alive?”

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