Page 9 of The Game Changer

“Did you set out to play most of your career with one team? That can’t be quite common, is it?” I ask.

“I didn’t, but I lucked out. I think every team ends up with a handful of players that all play well together. It also helps when some of them can negotiate in no-trade clauses into their contracts. That secures their place on the team. You can’t usually get that kind of a contract unless you’re a proven player. I considered it with my last contract but didn’t make it a deal-breaker. In the end, I got a little more money per season and an additional year tacked on.”

“So, had you stuck to that no-trade stipulation, your contract would have ended just a few weeks ago?” I ask, fascinated by all this information.

“Possibly, but teams will usually start negotiating with players whose contracts are nearing expiration months early if they want to lock them into another contract. So, say my current one ended this past season, they would have started talking to my agent in probably January. The earlier they can lock a player in, the less likely it is that they’d be talking to other organizations, well, that is if they’re unrestricted free agents. If they aren’t, then they have to wait until after July first when all contracts expire, and they can start talking to one another.”

“Wow. Sounds intricate.”

“It can be, that’s for sure,” he agrees with me as he pulls into my building’s parking lot.

“Thank you again for tonight. I had a great time,” I tell him as he parks and shuts his truck off.

“Let me walk you up, make sure you get in safe,” he offers as he slides out of his side. I open my door only to find him already standing next to it. He holds out a hand for me to grab while I step down from the tall truck.

He falls in step next to me just like we did when leaving the restaurant. His hand rests on my lower back, sending tingles up and down my spine. He keeps his hand in place until we’re standing outside my door, and I miss the feeling of it once he pulls it away.

“Thanks for being my sounding board, it felt good to have someone to talk with tonight about everything,” he says as he reaches out and tucks a few stray hairs behind my ear. His fingertips trail down my neck before he wraps them around it and pulls me into his personal space. His movements are calculated and slow, but also thorough. I can sense the second of hesitation in his actions before he pushes them away. His lips are a hair’s breadth away from my own. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want me to kiss you,” he practically growls, giving me a few heartbeats worth of time to push him away before his lips are on mine. The pillowy softness of his lips almost surprise me as he takes command of the kiss. I open for him almost immediately, stepping into his embrace as I bring my own hands up, raking my fingers through his hair. His tongue duels with mine, and he shifts slightly, tilting my head just so to give him better access to deepen the kiss and make it even hotter than it already is.

All sense of time evaporates. I have no idea if we’ve been lip-locked for ten seconds or ten hours by the time we break apart, both sucking in air like we’ve been without for longer than acceptable. Johnathan rests his forehead against mine as we both work on catching our breath. I can taste the hint of hops from the one beer he drank with dinner. He stands up taller, his forehead breaking the connection we’d just had, but then his lips are pressed against the same exact skin, and I melt all over again. What is it about forehead kisses from a guy you’ve been crushing on to melt you into a puddle of hormones? “I should go. Call me tomorrow?” he asks as he attempts to take a step back. Our limbs are still a little tangled, and I find myself not wanting to let him go.

“Yeah,” I finally agree, knowing that inviting him in isn’t the right thing to do tonight. “I’ll call you when I’m off work. I should be home around six or so,” I tell him as I start to ramble.

“I look forward to it. Maybe we can get dinner again together; only this time, you can come to my place, and I’ll cook for you,” he says, his lips brushing against my forehead once again.

“You cook?” I ask, rearing back to look him dead in the eyes.

“I do. I just don’t usually bust out all the fancy cooking skills when it’s just me I’m cooking for, but I’ve got a trick or two up my sleeve.”

“All right, it’s a date. I’m excited to see what you can whip up.”

“I’ll gladly show you tomorrow night. Any allergies I should be aware of?” he asks.

“Nope. I’m good with almost anything. I will tell you that I won’t touch mushrooms or liver, so please don’t tell me your specialty includes either of those things.”

“You’re in luck, not a mushroom or liver on site. I don’t care for either of those, so you won’t find me cooking them.”

“Good to know,” I tell him as he pulls me against his chest again, this time his arms are wrapped around my midsection. I mimic his stance and wrap my arms around his torso. He towers over me when we’re standing like this, the top of my head hits him right at his collar bone. I can feel the ridges of his muscles through the thin fabric of his shirt, and if I’m not mistaken, I can also feel his hard shaft pushing against my belly. Feeling what I do to him has my own arousal pulsing between my thighs. What I wouldn’t give to jump him tonight. It’s been awhile—who am I kidding, it’s been more than a year since I was last with someone, my BOB has been keeping me a lot of company the past year.

“I should go, you need to get off to bed, and if I walk through your door, I don’t think either of us would be getting any sleep anytime soon.”

“Right,” I agree with him, even if him coming in and the two of us not getting any sleep anytime soon does sound like a much better idea than him leaving right now. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Let me know if anything pops up and it doesn’t work for you once your day is going.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll make sure I’m ready and waiting for you,” he tells me before his lips land on my lips in a chaste kiss. He steps back, lightly squeezes my sides before dropping his hands. “Good night. Sweet dreams.”

I stand there and watch him walk down the hall of my condo building. He turns around once on the elevator. I watch as the door closes, waving just before it slides closed and whisks him down to the ground floor. The sound of someone’s door opening down the hall snaps me from my daze, I slip my key in the lock, turning it quickly before pushing into my entryway. I have no idea how everything transpired the way that it did tonight, but I can’t say that I’d change it in any way.

I practically float from room to room as I make my way around. I drop my purse and shoes in the entryway after locking up. I stop in the bathroom then go change into some sleep shorts and a tank top. I do want to get to bed early tonight. I’m exhausted and wasn’t lying to Johnathan when I told him I have a full schedule tomorrow. Once I’m changed, I make my way out to the kitchen.

I grab a glass of ice water, stop and refresh the water in my cat, Walter’s, water dish and top off the automatic feeder I have for him. I mosey into the living room, where I find him curled up on the couch, and I sit down next to him, the movement of the cushion waking him up. He looks around to see who or what interrupted his peaceful slumber. Once he spots me, he stretches, then comes over and starts to head-butt my hand until I give him some loving and scratch his head. He starts purring almost immediately, and I snuggle him closer. Walter is getting up there in age. I rescued him when I first bought my condo about three years ago. He makes himself comfortable on my lap while I flip through the channels looking for something interesting to watch for a little bit. I stop on some reruns of The Big Bang Theory while I wait for the evening news to start.

My eyes are heavy before the news is even half over, but I’ve heard enough. I set Walter down before I get up and make my way to my bedroom. He follows me, jumping up on the bed and finding his favorite sleeping spot in the entire condo—right smack dab in the middle of my pillow.

“I hope you know how lucky you are,” I tell my cat as I push him over to the other pillow on my bed. This is a nightly occurrence. If I get up in the middle of the night to pee, he’ll steal it then, as well. Pretty much anytime I get out of bed, he likes to take claim on my pillow.

I snuggle into the bed, thoughts of that hot as hell kiss running through my mind. My thoughts wander to Johnathan and what he’s doing right now. Is he thinking about the kiss? Is he wishing I was warming his bed as much as I wish he was warming mine?

I reach over, grabbing my phone, and ponder if I should send him a text. I don’t want to come across as needy or clingy, so I put my phone down, knowing that I’ll talk to him tomorrow.

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