Josh wanted to hit something. Badly.
He paced his hotel room, then stood, looking out at the dome view. The lights were on; the maintenance crew still hard at work.
He’d watched them before from the rooms along the open side of the stadium, but tonight, it just made him restless instead of passing time.
He’d left the restaurant after he’d sparred with Sharla. He couldn’t be around friends right now and had feigned tiredness.
He got the usual ribbing about being an old man, but Timo, who had obviously been paying attention, asked him if it was about the blond. He hadn’t answered him, and Timo told him to call later, patting his shoulder knowingly.
When he saw Gretchen at the restaurant, it had shocked him, not trusting his own eyes. But when she had looked his way, the ache to reach out and pull her to him—to beg for forgiveness—was a gut punch. But Sharla was one protective friend, making that impossible. She had every right to be. Gretchen had looked, well, not her usual self, that was for sure.
What Sharla had said hit him hard. He’d hurt her. Badly. And now, he couldn’t make it up to her. The damage, based on how she had looked at him, was done. Fuck.
He kicked a pillow across the room, swiping another, sending it flying. He contemplated kicking the coffee table over, and stopped, Harv’s voice shouting at him in his head to calm down and think. He let out a big breath and sat on the couch, his head in his hands, unsure of himself and the anger he was trying hard to control.
He looked at his laptop and opened it, clicking around on it aimlessly. Noting he had three new media requests, he fired them off to Harv.
Josh kept looking over at his phone, anxious to talk to her, wanting to explain it all. But he held back because maybe it wasn’t a good idea, just like back in Vegas, when he’d caved to Harv’s pressure to let it go.
A text was not the right way to talk to her. It felt impersonal.
Or was it?
He picked up his phone and thumbed over to her last text. He stared at it, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. What would he say at this point? His doubts gave way and he tossed it down beside him, then picked it up again like an idiot, repeating the process. This pacing and hesitating was not going to help. He needed to get out of his own head for a bit or do something to at least calm down. He gathered up his key and his wallet and blew out of the hotel room, not really aiming for anywhere. Just 1not wanting to be cooped up. Walking was one of his anger-management tools anyway, right?
It was getting late, and the downtown core was teeming with people, the summer night beckoning them outdoors. He headed toward Dundas Square, where he could get lost in the sea of anonymous faces and it wouldn’t matter who the hell he was. A walk—maybe a drink and a sports game in a bar—could be what he needed.
The lights and people were background noise, distracting him only slightly as he threaded through the late-summer crowds.
Thoughts of what he should have done followed him. He should have been more insistent with Sharla. Or maybe he should’ve just walked away without trying to see her. Or maybe he should’ve said something to Gretchen at the game.
He arrived at the Imperial and stepped in, heading straight for the polished wood bar, the din of conversation washing over him.
He slumped into his seat and the moment he threw his phone on the counter, it vibrated.
Hi, it’s Gretchen. I hope I still have the right number.
Gretchen. His stomach flipped and he grabbed his phone like it would walk away from him if he didn’t. He quickly typed back Yes, you do. Hi back and held his breath.
I’m sorry about tonight. Sharla is overprotective.
That was an understatement. He stood up, nervous energy pinging through him. Maybe he could see her tonight and set all this shit straight. Even if it meant they parted with the damage meter at zero, he had to try.
Before he could reply to her, she added, We should talk. “Sir, do you want anything?” the bartender asked as he stood there, his heart beating in his ears.
“No, no, I have to go. Sorry,” he mumbled and strode out the door like a bull in a china shop. The night air hit him as he scanned for an empty cab, and he took some big, cleansing breaths. He could picture her wild blond hair around her face, the phone lighting up her skin, her teeth sunk into her lower lip. Finally an empty cab pulled up beside him. He needed to be where she was. Now.
“Where to?” the cabbie said as he ducked into the back.
“Shit. Don’t know. Hang on.”
I will come to you. Where are you? In a cab now, he typed, hit Send, and then held his breath again as he waited for her to respond.
“I don’t got all night buddy,” the cabbie said, irritated. “Tell me where or get out.”
His phone dinged, he let out another breath and looked up from his phone. “Yonge and Sheppard, please.”
. . .
Gretchen sat at her table, waiting for the call up that he had arrived, nervously drumming her fingers. The twenty-four-hour concierge downstairs was an excellent perk of her building, one she relied on when she was working. The guys usually got a first look at most of the cases she had delivered. Thankfully, the night guy was a wine drinker, and she often gave him a bottle or two to try to get his opinion.
This delivery was not wine. Far from it.
Her stomach fluttered. She had reached out, unsure of herself, but determined to make this right. It had been an emotional day, and with that scene in the restaurant, it was high time to put the 1misunderstanding to rest. Seeing him had been exhausting, but also a reminder of how she had felt about him, the emotions bubbling up like a geyser of need. Two days they’d had together, and it was as if the months after had been nothing.
So, after she was alone in her own apartment, she realized she had to see him. If she wanted to move on from him at all, she had to try. He’d already tried, hadn’t he?
She’d fended off Sharla staying with her for the night, and the moment she was alone, she’d picked up her phone, stared at it for ten minutes, and then texted Josh before she wimped out and went to bed. It was late, and she half-expected him to already be asleep.
But he was on his way here. Now. She had changed into fresh jeans and a tank top since the clothes she’d been wearing felt rumpled and disorganized, much like her emotions. She straightened her bedroom, fussed with her hair, then simply let it be, the layers cascading around her face, uncontrol able.
This wasn’t anything other than perhaps a chance to set the record straight with him, send him on his way, and close the door.
Nothing more, right? But her stomach fluttered with nervous energy, and she passed a hand over her lips. To kiss him again, to hold him. It was a memory that was branded on her skin. His touch, his caress.
Her phone buzzed and she jumped, surprised.
“Hello?”
“Gretchen, my dear, your guest has arrived. Shall I send him up?” George’s kind, deep voice echoed in her ear. He was also chuckling.
“Yes, please, George.”
“I must say, you can pick them. My, my. Can I get his autograph, do you think, as the price of entry?” he added.
“You can ask, George, but he’s likely not in the best frame of mind for fans right now.”
“I should say not. Land sake’s, he looks ready to eat something alive. You sure, honey?”
“Yes please, George. I’ll be fine.”
With that, the call ended and Gretchen stood, smoothing her palms down her thighs, feeling as nervous as she had the first time she’d seen Josh in the airport. Only this time the stakes were higher. He finally knocked and she blew out a big breath, shook her hair back, and went to answer the door.
“Two cream, no sugar,” she whispered to herself. No backing out now.
She opened the door and he was there, his hands in his back pockets. He was still dressed in his after-game dress clothes. His shorter hair was still a new sight, but she didn’t mind it at all. It showed off his cut jaw and high cheekbones, giving him a honed and tough presence. But no matter what, he looked as he always did.
Gorgeous and dangerous to her heart.
“Hi,” he said, clearly unsure of himself, his shoulders raised, his eyes asking if this was okay.
She gestured inside and he stepped through. His soap-and-aftershave scent caught her and she stumbled slightly, her knees weak as she closed the door behind them, setting the lock.
“Can I get you a drink?” she asked and walked past him toward the kitchen area, not trusting herself to look at him, her head down. A hand came out and caught her arm before she could get far, and she turned back.
“Gretchen,” he rasped out. The regret was plain on his face, and the heat from his hand drove all other thoughts out of her 1head. The tension from today, seeing him, the worry—all of it melted away the moment their eyes met.
“Josh,” she breathed and stepped to him, meeting him halfway, their arms around one another. The shock of him against her made her quake and she held him tighter, soaking him in, his strong arms holding her up in the face of emotion she was desperately trying to shove back inside.
“You feel good,” he whispered to her. “I’m sorry. So damned sorry.”
“Me too,” was all she got out before he lifted her, his lips claiming her hard, his hands on her, big and strong just like she remembered. She held on to him as he backed her up against the edge of the kitchen island and pulled back to look at her.
Just like that, she forgave him and let the hurt go. Where it went from here, she had no idea, but that morning in Vegas was turned to dust with his kiss.
He was intoxicating and every fiber in her was screaming out to absorb him, their closeness not nearly enough. One of his hands slipped under her, cupping her bottom, and Gretchen wrapped her legs around his waist, making him groan softly and push his hardness in between her legs, showing her how aroused he was. It was like they’d thrown gasoline on a fire, the way they had jumped one another.
“We need to—” Josh started, but she shook her head. He let out a groan of defeat and set her gently on the floor, letting her go. Taking his hand, she led him toward the couch in her living room. The lights were off, but the cityscape was sparkling and her curtains were open, the room dimly lit enough they didn’t need lamps right now.
“Gretch,” he started, but then stopped as she pushed his chest 1and he flopped to the couch, his eyes questioning her hungrily, hit by the awareness of what she was doing.
Gretchen straddled him, her hands on his shoulders, her knees digging into the leather cushions underneath them. She looked down into his eyes, making the decision to just go with it and damn the consequences.
“We can talk later,” she whispered and ran her palm over his jaw, thumbing his cheekbone, the skin feeling rough from where his glare patches had been this afternoon. She leaned forward and kissed each of the spots, then sat back and stripped off her tank.
. . .
Gretchen was warm and soft and smelled so goddamned good Josh nearly lost his mind right there on her couch as she straddled him, her hair tickling his cheeks, her hand on his jaw.
When she stripped off her shirt and challenged him with those stunning eyes, all the blood in his head went south. He wrapped his hands up around her waist, then onto her back, caressing, touching, remembering her as the months they had been apart melted in a moment.
“My firecracker,” he murmured and pulled her hands to thread his fingers with hers. Could she really be here, with him, right now? The need to talk, to get her to hear him evaporated as they touched and reconnected.
A small, impatient mewling noise from her made him press into her, kissing her gently. Then with more force, her tongue dancing with his as she moved on him, tightening into him. He was pulsing with the need to be inside her, the feeling of her all around him almost unbearable. She gasped as he moved to her 1neck, biting, and gently kissing the spots he bit as he moved down her collarbone. As he sucked a nipple into his mouth, she arched into him, her gasp of breath filling her ribs out under his hands.
She felt so fucking perfect in his arms he forgot about why he was there and what had happened. It was just her, half naked, on his lap.
He nuzzled her some more, then came back up to her lips while her hands pulled open his jeans and shoved them off to land on the floor. As they lowered to the couch, a flurry of their hands stripped her bare as well. His shirt went flying next; he wanted to be close to her, to feel her skin on his. As she ran her hands up over his shoulders, her lips connected with his neck, like completing an electric circuit.
Heaven.
“Josh,” she murmured when skin met skin. Her eyes opened, languid and hot, her hips moving out and up, asking him to be inside her. She didn’t need to speak . . . he knew that look. He’d memorized it and had dreamed about it.
He groaned and slid inside her, the tightness and warmth sparking his nerves immediately, her eyes popping, biting her lip as she spread her hips wider to let him in. She uttered out an earth-cracking moan and clung to him when he thrust forward, pulling him over onto her, her fingers digging into his back, raking. More of that, he thought. He’d missed how that felt.
Burying his head into her shoulder, he rolled his hips, slowly at first, feeling her out. His hand threaded into her hair, the other holding her thigh as he moved, her muscles bunching around him with each thrust, having her writhe under him while he held her fast. Then, she bucked under and found his thumb close to her mouth, sucking it in, her eyes sharpening to 1that piercing, wicked quality that always forced him to open the valve, forgetting restraint and control.
“Josh. I want—” she whispered and moaned as he stroked in again, her wetness velvet against him.
He abandoned the thought of control and let her have it, her gasps in time with his deep thrusts. They rolled, and he lifted her to sit on him as he balanced on his knees in the soft couch cushions. It had been too damn long. It hadn’t been enough, and he wanted to see her, feel her, plaster himself to her. Holding her, one hand on her lower spine as she undulated over him, he shook with the effort not to explode, her erotic movements more intense than he could have imagined.
“Josh,” she breathed again, and he groaned, dragging his mouth to hers and muffling her moans as she came, shaking like a leaf around him. He thrust one more time, cried out into her mouth, and came, shooting into her, joining her orgasm with his, the sheer pleasure of it obliterating the world around him.
They collapsed on the couch, both out of breath, and he looked into Gretchen’s eyes, now heavy-lidded and soft. How could he have been so stupid? She was it; she was the one. He kissed her, smoothing her hair back off her face.
“You want that drink now?” she asked when they both returned to normal breathing, and he wheezed with laughter, propping his forehead on the couch beside her.
. . .
He leaned on the counter as they each sipped a quickly made coffee, his dress shirt the only thing she was wearing. Gretchen couldn’t help but notice how his jeans rode low on his hips, the 1ridge of muscle through his pelvis on either side like a big, shiny arrow pointing down.
They hadn’t said much as she’d made coffee, him watching her with a feral, possessive look, his hair a mess, his chest bare, the marks from their lovemaking clear across his skin. Perhaps the sex had been words enough, or they were still getting their bearings, but she was nervous again.
He put an arm out to her and she stepped into it, snuggling herself against his side. She looked up, and he looked down, thinning his lips.
“I really am sorry, Gretch. I was wrong to think what I did about all that stuff Sharla said,” he started, and then let out a big breath, looking up and away from her, clearing his throat.
She took another sip of coffee, and then set it down behind her on the counter, her hand automatically going to his chest, gently smoothing over his neck to feel his Adam’s apple bobbing. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to touch him, but it was compulsive, and she had been giving into that particular feeling since the moment they had met.
“I’m sorry too. I felt terrible, and that whole list thing was so embarrassing. I don’t handle conflict well, and I panicked,”
Gretchen offered, lowering her hand again. “I’m glad we can put this behind us. Sharla was right. I did know you way back from Boston, and you have been my favorite player, but I totally forgot about that—”
“List, shmist. I should have trusted you like I did the day we met at the airport,” Josh interrupted, kissing the top of her head and squeezing her. “I also think we both got spooked by Harv.
He told me to let you go and that I had to nut up and focus on baseball.”
“He was very kind. He didn’t scare me,” she replied.
“I didn’t ask him to talk to you, I hope you know that.”
She was fully aware that Harvey would say and do what was needed to get results out of his players that he needed, and the more she had thought about it in the days after, the more she realized that Josh didn’t operate that way.
“I do. I feel terrible about how we parted. I mean, it was only supposed to be the weekend, but I felt like I tainted it by—”
“I wanted you to stay,” Josh blurted out, interrupting her again.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he repeated and set his own coffee down to hold her with both arms. “I wanted to . . . hell, I didn’t know, but I wanted it to be more.”
“Me too,” she said quietly, thinking of the reality of what he’d just said. Her chest constricted, and she moved away from him, needing the space to think clearly. Doubt and fear crept up her spine. Fast. They’d combusted when they touched, and part of her was regretting her abandon of restraint, because it was making this harder.
“It still can be, Gretchen,” he said quickly. Her breath hitched.
She was not emotionally ready for this, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep it together.
“Texas, though,” she replied as casually as possible, picking up her cup, pacing toward the couch, where their clothes were strewn. The cushions were completely dented and sideways. She set one up properly and sat, pulling her legs up defensively.
Josh had stayed put, leaning against the countertop. He was deadly silent. After a beat of them just looking at each other, he pushed off, stalking toward her with intent. The stress was pulling across his face, but his walk was sexy and her abdomen loosened 1as he leaned over her, hands balled into the couch, sinking her into the leather.
“I want you, Gretch. For more than tonight,” he gritted through his teeth. “I know it isn’t perfect, I know we’re far apart but—”
“It isn’t so easy,” she replied, not meeting his gaze. He took the coffee cup from her hands and forced her chin up, looking into her eyes. It’s time for honesty, she thought, studying him, knowing full well he was about to smash her objections to bits. She wanted to let him, the tears pricking at the backs of her eyes.
“It’s as easy as we want it to be. I’m not going to force an answer from you tonight. It’s a lot. But I want you to know—” he ground out, and swallowed, levering off her, turning.
“Josh?” she asked quietly. He was facing away from her now, looking out the window, his shoulders bunched. “You want me to know what?”
“The past two months have been shitty for me too,” he replied, his voice rough. “I should have answered your text or picked up the fucking phone or just figured out how to get to you somehow.
We barely know each other—”
“You had to focus on your career. I get it.”
“I was scared because of how I felt for you. It was the first time in my life a woman made me second-guess my priorities. So I tucked my damned tail and ran,” he said.
Whoa. She understood that. She’d run as well, sort of. “Me too,” she replied quietly.
“Then let’s stop running,” he said and turned to her.
“I need time, Josh,” Gretchen murmured. “I don’t know if I can.”
It was silent as they looked at each other. Disappointment crossed over his face, his sharp intake of breath at her words slicing through her.
She burst into tears that tracked down her face. She wanted to leap into his arms and tell him the fairy tale could be real. But she wasn’t ready to do that. Thinking clearly, balancing her life here and now with the way it would change was her priority. Her practical side told her more heartache would be coming if they tried to be together, a country apart—he was playing in Texas, and she was here, in Toronto. How would that work? How often would he truly get time to see her with the way they played year-round—in spring training, then regular season, likely postseason. It was a huge commitment on top of their already ridiculously busy lives.
Gretchen had already endured two months of up-and-down emotions that were affecting her life in ways she didn’t want.
He sat down beside her, his hand on her leg, and she put her hand on his. “What we have is special,” he murmured. “I need to know that what just happened here isn’t goodbye. Not yet.”
Goodbye. The word cut into her. It couldn’t be that black and white. They’d found each other again, and she had hoped to make it through tonight without getting messy. Well, it was messy, and she was confusing herself as much as she was likely confusing him. She had to steel herself and let him go, and the idea of that was ripping her in two.
Her lack of response to his open question spurred him off the couch with a frustrated growl in his throat. He picked up his T-shirt, stuffed himself into it, then found his socks, pulling them on with a jerk. She watched him, brushing her wet cheeks, wishing she could just let herself have this.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” she sniffled. “I don’t want it to be goodbye either. I—”
Josh knelt down in front of her, his thumb tracing a tear, his touch making her ache to just let him hold her all night and throw 1away the reasons holding her back. He looked right into her eyes, the intensity searing her, begging her to listen to him.
“You have my damned heart. You have to know that.”
“Josh. I want to answer. I need to think,” she said through her tears. She needed to process the emotions currently flinging themselves at her faster than she could process them. He stood, backing away from her.
“I have a game tomorrow, and we fly out right after. But you know where I am. You have my number if—”
Before she could ask him to stop, or tell him to stay, he picked up his shoes and strode out, the front door clicking quietly in the expanse of the condo.
Gretchen let out a sob, covering her eyes, and flopped over on the couch, the emotions too much.
He’d all but told her he loved her, she’d pushed him away, and now he was gone.