Warning Track (Callahan Family #1) - Carrie Aarons Page 0,58

blushing, Swindell. Yep, definitely texting, if not sexting, a lady. Who is she? The hottie you had in the family suite that one game?”

My mind flashes to Marlena, and I want to crack out a laugh at how far from the truth he is. But maybe I should say yes, since it would be an all-out disaster if he knew who I was really messaging right now. I think Clark is a pretty trustworthy guy, but even he would take issue with me having sex with our general manager. He would also run right to Walker, they’re closer friends than I am to either of them, and her cousin would definitely sucker punch me in the jaw.

“No. None of your business.” I swat at him, and then realize he’s only got the modesty sock on. “Jesus, can you put on a robe? You’re not even having your picture taken right now!”

Clark shrugs. “I feel most comfortable in the nude. I do my best work like this.”

His words have me rolling my eyes. “You’re a peacock, you know that?”

“And proud of it. Just think of how many women are going to be checking me out in this.”

He flexes a bicep as he walks over to the craft services table, and I shake my head at his overt cockiness.

I couldn’t care less if a thousand women are checking me out in this magazine. I only care about one in particular, and will definitely have to hand deliver her copy.

26

Colleen

The rest of July and August pass in a rush of baseball games, stolen moments with Hayes, and the dreary work of both preparing for the post-season or resorting to our backup plan of the off-season.

It’s difficult to get to September as a team, at least in one piece. Injuries usually plague a squad, with some players who won’t be able to return until next season. Then there are the head cases, usually pitchers who flame out or hitters who get into a slump.

But this team, by some chance of fate, has made it to the post-season with a majority of players healthy and hitting their stride. They’re gelling as a group, and a lot of the animosity we started the season with has faded. Yesterday, I got to throw out my plan B binder, the one that was earmarked at the beginning of the season for what would happen if we didn’t make it to the playoffs.

However, it’s just as nerve-wracking, if not more, to make it to the post-season than it is to hang up our cleats and move onto next year. Now that the Pistons are here, we want to make it to the big dance. Kick our opponent’s asses. Sweep the series and crown ourselves the champions, with big fat victory rings adorning our hands.

There’s still a lot of work that comes with the post-season, and we aren’t even technically in it yet. Playoffs don’t start for another week and a half, but the coaching staff and I have already had numerous meetings on strategies, rest time for certain players, and our attack plan when our first round opponent was picked from the wild card winner.

But tonight, I get to push all of that to the back of my head. Hayes and I only allow ourselves to sleep at each other’s houses once a week. So, technically, we get to lie in bed twice every seven days, once at his place and once at mine. We park on side streets, tiptoeing across lawns after dark and then sneaking out in the wee hours of the morning so no one is the wiser. Even if our neighbors don’t care who is coming and going—which they definitely would at some point—there is always the chance of someone staking out one of our homes. We’re public figures, he more than I, and there is an element of secrecy that must be applied to this relationship.

Relationship. That seems crazy to say, but it’s what we’re in. About a week after July Fourth, Hayes all but told me we were exclusive, even if we can’t tell anyone about it. I made no argument, since it’s what I want too, and we’ve been boyfriend and girlfriend ever since? It sounds juvenile to call us that, but he is my boyfriend in every sense of the word.

We text all day, with phone calls or FaceTime on the nights we can’t be together. We sleep in each other’s beds, and honestly, there isn’t much sleeping going on. Before