Page 34 of Truth or Tequila (Grand Slam 1)

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“One of those women who support the patriarchy because they let you have a seat at the table.”

“I’m definitely not one of those.” I’m trying to make my face look normal, but I can tell that my “fuck you” smile has spread across it.

“We’ll see.” She steps closer to me and lowers her voice. “Woman to woman, watch out for Seb Miller.”

I take a step back. “Why’s that?”

“I see the way he looks at you. Don’t feel bad, though. It’s not your fault. Let’s just say, we’ve all had that target on our backs.”

“Good to know.” Despite the disappointment surging through my body, I somehow manage to keep smiling.

“You know if you want to grab a drink or something sometime, I’d love that,” she says, slipping her phone back in her pocket. “There aren’t a lot of women to pal up with around here. Completely off-the-record. No professional talk at all.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I separate my personal life from my professional life. It’s the only way I can function.”

She laughs. “Believe me, I understand. Just make sure that applies to Seb. He’s a sneaky one.”

My mind’s spinning as she walks away. Seb’s the last person I expected to be a part of this mess. He doesn’t seem like the type at all, but she did say he was sneaky.

* * *

Seb’s making a beeline over to me as I head to the clubhouse after the game. He just came off the field. He’s already taken off his jersey. I’m guessing some kid got it after the last pitch. Ken told me he does that most nights.

His white undershirt’s soaked with sweat. It’s clinging to his chest—outlining every glorious muscle. His hair’s drenched, too, and jutting out in all directions. He’s dirty and messy and just sexy as hell. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, letting Liza’s warning fill up my body.

“You trying to work up enough courage to come into the clubhouse?” Seb’s laughing as I open my eyes.

“What? No, I’m good.” I try to walk around him, but he grabs my shoulder.

“Have you ever been in a clubhouse after a game?” he whispers. “Guys are in various states of dress—”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” I shrug his hand off my shoulder.

His eyebrows shoot up. “All right,” he laughs. “I didn’t realize you were that, uh, experienced.”

“What? No, I mean, I’ve seen them in limited q-quantities,” I stutter. “Like I haven’t seen a lot—of them. I mean enough, but—”

“Soph,” he says, patting my back. “You’re good.”

He’s trying to hold in a laugh. When he does that his eyes sparkle. It was endearing until my conversation with Liza. Now, it’s annoying.

“Do you not want women in the clubhouse or something?” I cross my arms and stare at him.

“What? Where did that come from?” He has that hurt, puppy-dog look again. Unfortunately, that’s still very endearing. “I was just giving you a heads up. Uh, no pun intended.”

I scowl as I walk around him. “You better not have intended that pun.”

“I didn’t!” He runs around me to open the door. “I swear. I’m sorry if it offended you.”

“It only offended me because it’s a pun. I hate puns.” He’s smiling again when I look back at him. “Seriously, Seb. They’re the worst.”

“Okay, okay. Noted. No puns ever again—intended or unintended.” He follows me in. “Did something happen? Your sass-level is off the charts right now.”

“Mysass-level,” I say, not looking back, “is right where it needs to be.”

* * *

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