“We can have them prep a new key for you when we get back, and there are flip-flops in the gift shop. You look like you might keel over, and I happen to know where they serve the best lobster rolls and fried soft-shell crab in the city.”
As if on cue, my stomach grumbles so hard that Hayes looks down at it with an approving smirk. I guess I can’t use the excuse that I’m not hungry, especially since just his words are making my mouth water. But the idea … well, it’s not particularly a good one.
“Hayes, someone could see us together.” My head shake is firm.
“We’re a player and a general manager, talking contract negotiations about my playing for Packton next year. Or at least that’s what we’ll tell them if they ask.” The finely tailored shoulders of his sleek navy suit shrug easily.
And because I’m tired, and hungry, and deep down just really do want to spend more time with this man …
This is how I end up wearing white rubber flip-flops with a three-hundred-dollar dress on my first date with Hayes Swindell.
22
Hayes
Half an hour and a gift shop purchase of flip-flops later, Colleen and I are seated at one of my favorite seafood joints in Baltimore.
I’ve played in the league for a long time, so my travels have always taken me to the city, and the inner harbor is one of my favorite places to explore when we’re not on the opposing team’s field. The orange brick walk by the water, the buildings overlooking the nautical port, the seafood that is incomparable, the aquarium. Last time I was in town, I rented a boat one afternoon and took some of my teammate’s out fishing.
Luckily, the hotel we’re staying at is pretty close to all the hot spots in the harbor, considering the ball park is located right here.
“I don’t think I’ve ever actually come down here,” Colleen mused on our way over as she looked around at all the lights and sounds.
The hostess at the small restaurant I’ve come to frequent on trips to Baltimore hands us drink and food menus and then promises our waiter will be over shortly.
“You’ve never been here?” I ask, waving my hand around.
She shakes her head across the table from me. “Most road trips, I usually stay in my room catching up on work. Or my father would take meetings with agents and I’d stay back, grab room service or something. Now that I think about it, that’s kind of pathetic. I’ve been in so many cities in this country, but never actually seen them.”
“I feel that way too, sometimes. Then about two seasons ago, I made a promise to myself that I’d actually enjoy the view since my job requires me to travel so much. My … well, I’m not sure what I call him. Do you know Bryant Templeman?”
Colleen’s brown eyes seem to search the air and then register. “Yes. Oh, of course, yes. I love his articles. Been reading them for years.”
“He and his wife are kind of my family, I guess. Anyway, he was always on me to enjoy the perks that came with traveling so often. When I first made it to the big leagues, he told me that I could let this career grind me down, or use it as a free ride to culture myself as well as play a sport I love. I didn’t take that advice seriously until recently, but I’m glad I did before this all comes to an end.”
She blinks. “That’s actually quite beautiful. It’s a good perspective to put things in, and I should take his advice, too. Lord knows, I never give myself a break. Your version of living this major league life sounds far more fun than mine does.”
I shrug, sending a look down at the wine list.
It feels nice to talk to someone about my life, especially someone I’m genuinely interested in. I don’t talk about Bryant often, or about what I’m trying to get out of life. But with Colleen, these types of conversations seem to come naturally. Actually, all types of conversations do with her.
Our waiter comes over, introduces himself, and then asks if we’d like anything to drink.
“I’m really not well-versed when it comes to wine,” I admit, because I’m not. “Do you see anything you’d like?”
Colleen scans the list. “Can we do a bottle of this Pinot Grigio?”
The waiter nods, tells her it’s a great choice, and then scurries off.
“Hope that’s okay. I only know about wine from client meetings I’ve been on, but I like to think I pick halfway decent ones.”
I smile. “Anything you pick will be better than my taste. I’m usually a whiskey or scotch man.”
“Most men wouldn’t admit to that, it’d be a complete embarrassment to the age-old, ridiculous chivalry of date etiquette.” Colleen inhales sharply. “Not that this is a date, I mean …”
Her wide eyes make me chuckle. “I hate that ritual, a man ordering for a woman. Half the time, I don’t even know what I want to eat. How am I supposed to guess, having never been out with you, what you want? It’s stupid and sexist if you ask me. As for the date part, I’d like to call it that if I knew it wouldn’t make you bolt for the door.”
I mean it. Ever since the supply closet, though it ended badly, I’ve wanted to take her out. Hell, I wanted to take her out long before that. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I was attracted. But my misplaced hatred of her family, who she is in the organization, and my own inability to juggle both playing and personal life held me back.
Now that I’ve kissed her … well, I can’t take my mind off of it. This was probably what other men talked about when they mentioned meeting the right woman and it all just clicking. I’m tired, like I told her, of bringing up why this is a bad idea. I’m tired of making excuses why we can’t at least explore an us as a possibility.
“Hayes, thank you for asking me here, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea.” Her amber-colored eyes are shifty, assessing the restaurant every second to make sure no one notices us.
Reaching across the table in what is a very risky move, I lay my hand over hers. “We don’t have to make this a big deal. We are two people, having dinner. If anyone recognizes us, we explain it away. There doesn’t have to be some big conversation tonight, even about the supply closet, though I do want to talk about it. Let’s just relax. Aren’t you tired of all the drama, the tension? Can’t we just be content for one night?”
Her face seems to soften a bit, and she smiles a sheepish, but slightly flirty grin. “Okay, you win. For this dinner, at least, we can be just …”
I have a feeling she’s about to say us and is saved by the waiter when he comes to take our dinner order. Studying her while she weighs her indecision between the soft shell crab or the Alaskan king crab stuffed shrimp, I can’t help the way my eyes roam over her face in the flickering candle at the center of our table.
Colleen is a beautiful woman, there is no doubt about that. Her features are gorgeous, the tiny ski slope of her nose and her round, high and typically flushed cheeks. Those big doe eyes, the color of a perfectly aged scotch. All of that whiskey-brown hair swirling around her petite frame. I want to get lost in her for hours, though I know I need to make her more comfortable before I propose something like that.