Page 46 of Triple Play

“I like it this way.”

“It’s pretty wavy.”

“Shira”—I pull her to me, my arm curving around her lower back—“I’m not sure there’s a way you could look where I wouldn’t think you were beautiful.”

“I’ll remind you that you said that when you see me first thing tomorrow morning.”

“I can’t wait.” I kiss her. Her hair slips from its bun. This time, she doesn’t pull it back up.

Her body is flush with mine. Something about being held apart by the slim barrier of fabric feels more naked than if we were actually naked together. I stroke my thumbs at her neck, playing with the fragile bow that’s keeping her top in place.

“You could untie that,” she whispers.

I blink. Glance around. There’s no one else up here—and it’s late enough that there probably won’t be any time soon, except for room service bringing our drinks. Except for Felix. It’s possible he’s going to shave and shower and pass out on the foldout couch. We might be alone up here. We might not be. I don’t know which possibility is more thrilling.

It’s wilder than I’ve ever been—than I’ve ever let myself be, always worried that someone will snap a photo and I’ll end up splashed across social media. First, it was so I’d get drafted. Then it was to encourage Atlanta to call me up to the majors. Then it was six years of keeping my image clean in order to get a big contract in free agency.

Now…now I’m with Boston, guaranteed more money than I could spend in a lifetime. For the first time ever, I could do the big-league lifestyle. But I don’t want her to feel like she has to do this. “Out here?” I ask. “Other people could see.”

“I’m not that shy.” Shira laughs like it’s a joke I don’t quite get. She draws herself to me, takes my hands and places them on the narrow span of her rib cage. “Besides, I trust you to be a gentleman.”

I brush my fingers right below her top, against the soft undersides of her breasts. “I don’t feel real gentlemanly right now.”

She smiles at that, wicked. “Isn’t it good manners to give me what I want?”

And that’s the other problem: I’m not sure I know how.

CHAPTER NINE

Shira

For a few long seconds, Blake doesn’t answer my question. He studies me, hair mussed from the steam, fingers tracing absently over my ribs. Then he says, “What is it that you want?”

Finally.

Of course, that’s when the door leading to the hotel swings open. Fuck. I spring back, expecting room service. Instead, Felix pours through it, holding a Styrofoam cooler. “They were dropping this off when I got here. I told them I could get it.” He sets the cooler down on the table.

Now that he’s out here, I retreat to the opposite end of the hot tub. I pull my hair back up, tighten my bathing suit straps. Righting myself only draws attention to what we were doing. To what we were about to do.

“Thanks for bringing that out here,” I say just as Felix says, “You sure this isn’t a party of two?” He aims the question at Blake.

Party of two? What I told Veronica at the club to get her to leave. A phrase like a secret between us.

“That’s up to Shira,” Blake says.

Tell him to leave, some part of me says. It’ll be easier with him gone. I won’t have to watch the ripple of his shoulders. I won’t have to think about how things could have been all those months ago if I said yes. But I missed him in the months we were apart. If this trip is my only opportunity to spend time with him, I don’t want to waste that. “You could hang out a while. If you want.”

Felix swallows. Without his beard, it’s easy to see the bob of his Adam’s apple, the tension lining his throat. He scrubs a hand over his chin like he’s thinking. Like he knows there’s more to my offer than if he wants to drink a few beers in the steam.

“All right.” He pulls three items from the cooler, two beers and a can of soda, and places them by the rim of the hot tub. He didn’t bother with a shirt. His shoes get abandoned on the deck. He’s moving with a certain deliberation, like he’s giving me time to change my mind.

Finally, finally, he wades into the hot tub, sighing as water bubbles against his belly and chest.

“Feels good, right?” I ask.

Felix stretches, arching his back. A groan emerges like he’s been storing it up. “Fuck yes, it feels great.” He runs his hand over his chin again, as if seeking the disguise of his beard.

“Everything good with your face?” Blake asks. “I mean, shaving-wise.”

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