Charleston Hurricanes—one of the hottest MLB teams in the nation. She shook her head. “No, absolutely not.” She sighed. “Because it’s an effort to get wives inserted into contracts benefits. I will not draft a loophole where your flavor of the week are allowed to travel on the team bus with you.”
I covered my laugh with my hand.
“The answer is no,” she said again. “You’ll thank me later.” She ended the call, and I raised my brows at her.
“Trouble at work?” I teased.
She set down her phone. “Pro-athlete life,” she said. “Maddox Porter lives to make my life harder.”
“Hudson’s brother?” I asked, recognizing the name from one of my players on the Reapers. He was making this season his last before he retired.
“Yes,” she said. “I thought Hendrix was a playboy,” she said, and I smiled at the way her eyes lit up saying her boyfriend’s name. “But Maddox makes Hendrix’s history look like a Hallmark movie.” She shook her head. “He had the audacity to ask for his contract to include dates on the bus.” She rolled her eyes. “Last week, it was for unlimited box seat tickets for home games for anyone he chooses.”
I laughed, sipping the tea she’d made when I’d come over. “Sounds like he’s bored,” I said, and she nodded.
“He’s something,” she said. “The other players I’ve drafted contracts for haven’t given me nearly as much trouble.”
“What a life we live,” I said, but there was a smile on my lips. One of the things I loved about our lives were the challenges. The constant go-go mentality, the fast-paced, high stakes that came with working with professional athletes.
“Truth,” she said, clinking her mug against mine.
Her phone rang again, but this time her smile was wide and genuine, and it didn’t take me a second to figure out who was on the other end.
“Hey, handsome,” she answered the phone, and I tried to hide behind my mug. They’d had some rough patches recently, but had finally leapt over every hurdle that had been thrown their way. The love that radiated from her now was so bright it was nearly blinding. “I miss you,” she said.
Hendrix was at an away game for the Cougars, but they somehow made it all work—away games, paparazzi, her dad being his ex-coach, all of it.
I guess when it comes to real love, nothing seemed impossible.
“I’m glad you checked in,” she said, then set the phone on the table between us. I tilted my head at her when she pushed the speaker button.
“Of course, you are,” Hendrix said, his tone anything but speakerphone-approved. “You’re desperate to hear all the ways I’m going to worship you when I get home.”
“Babe,” she said, her eyes flying wide.
“First, I’m going to start with that dirty mouth of yours,” he continued without a hitch, and I flushed. “Second, I’m going to pin your arms above your head so you can’t move. Then I’m going to slide my huge—”
“You’re on speaker, Hollywood!” I shouted because the mortification of it was too much for me to bear. Savannah was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
Hendrix cleared his throat on the other end of the line. “Butterfly,” he said to Savannah, his tone teasing. “I know you like to play, but I didn’t realize we’d upgraded to a three-way phone situation.”
Savannah reeled in her laughter, sucking in a sharp breath. “I tried to tell you London was here,” she said. “You were too wrapped up in your fantasy to listen.”
“Can you blame me?” He laughed. “Hi, London.”
“Hi,” I said awkwardly.
“Why am I on speaker, Butterfly?” he asked.
“Right,” she said. “I wanted to ask you about Jansen Sterling.”
“You wanted to ask me about Sterling?”
“Yes,” she said. “Is he a good guy? I know you met him a while back. Or is he one of those we should be wary of?”
“We?”
Savannah rolled her eyes at his tone. “Hendrix Malone, you aren’t seriously jealous, are you?”
I rolled my eyes. The idea that Savannah would be thinking of anyone other than her lovestruck fiancé was downright comical.
“Never,” he said. “But a man has to clarify.”
“She’s asking for me,” I said, my tone shaky. “I have to work with Jansen on a more personal level for my position.”
“And you want to know if he’s an asshole.”
“I suppose I do,” I said, flashing a glare at Savannah. She shrugged, returning the look with a silent “oh, come on, you wanted to know” in response.
“I haven’t known him as long as Roman or Nixon,” he