Page 17 of Stepping Up to the Plate

“I think I’ve settled into the season. We’ve only been at it for a few weeks, but have only lost twice. I can’t complain.”

“That's, um, good.”

“Yeah, it is,” he says, smiling as he takes a sip of his drink. “Your friend went back to his buddies.”

“My friend?” I glance around to see who he’s talking about and spy Mike pointing over at us. Really? He ditched me to brag about meeting Miller to his friends? Not that he was going to get anywhere, but rude. “Mike? He’s not my friend. He bought me a drink to make up for running into me.”

“Then shall we go back and join your actual friends?” he asks, tilting his head to where Tiffany, Carina, and his teammates are gathered. Having his sole focus does something to me. Unable to respond with words from the weight of his attention, I nod.

His hand grazes my back as he escorts me to our group. I hate that I lean into it a little, but I do. The touch is oddly comforting. He may be behind me, but there is no question he’s leading the way. I love it. Phil used to always walk fast and would end up half a block ahead of me before he realized I wasn’t there. Then he’d be annoyed he had to wait for me to catch up. God, he was a prick. It’s nice to have someone walkingwithme. Geez, am I this touch and affection starved that I’m getting goosebumps from the simple gesture ofnotleaving me to walk on my own?

The rest of the night is spent orbiting our group and blushing every time Miller catches my eye, which is a lot. His presence is a beacon that draws me in. It happens every time we hang out. The man probably thinks I’m some crazy stalker with how much he catches me staring and the way I ramble every time we talk.

To be fair, he’s the one who approaches me. Plus, he has to be looking at me, too, in order to catch me. Maybe it isn’t only me that feels this pull between us. Not that I’d do anything about it. I’m still married for Chrissake and Miller is way out of my league.

A few hours into the night, I excuse myself to the bathroom. While I’m in there, I overhear some chasers talking about the guys.

“I can’t believe Becker is off the market,” one of them whines.

“I know, but it’s okay. I’ve got my sights set on Dela Cruz tonight. I heard he’s a great time. No girl leaves his bed without at least two orgasms and a limp,” the other responds. “You should go for Miller.”

“God, I wish. He never takes home girls he meets at bars. The man owns a sex club – why would he need to meet girls at a bar? I bet he’s a beast in bed. He gives off total Christian Grey vibes with his whole silent, aloof thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s into some super kinky shit.”

I don’t hear the rest of their conversation as I put the pieces together that cause me to panic. Oh my God. Miller owns a sex club. Is that how Tiffany knew about Hedone? Does he go there often? The more I think about it, the more he resembles my masked man. There is no way it was him. If he’s an owner, he wouldn’t be slumming it with newbies. He could get any woman he wanted.

I quickly wash my hands and run out of the bathroom. As I do, I run right into the man in question. I bounce off his chest, and he grabs my arms to steady me.

“You okay, doll? You’re running into a lot of people tonight,” he laughs. When I study him, it’s glaringly obvious. His size, the deep voice. But, it’s the eyes that seal it for me. No wonder they were familiar.

“I have to go,” I blurt as I pull out of his grasp.

“Do you have a ride home? I’m not sure the others are ready to go yet.”

“I-I’m fine. I just, I have to go. Right now.”

With that, I leave him standing in the back of the bar and run out onto Broadway. I text my girls that I went home before burying myself under my covers and contemplating every choice that led me to a place where Brady Miller has called me his ‘pathetic little whore.’

ChapterTen

• BRADY •

I’m intrigued by my new neighbor. I’ve seen Lola a few times when our group gets together and caught her sneaking peeks at me almost as much as I have at her. I haven’t gotten to speak to her much, but I think I make her nervous. She tends to ramble whenever we chat, which I find almost as adorable as the blush she gets every time I catch her staring.

My initial attraction to her has only grown as I’ve spoken to her and learned more about her. From what I’ve gathered, she moved here after being cheated on. How any man could not cherish that goddess is beyond me. She’s precious.

I’m perplexed by my reaction to her. I don’t usually get hung up on women like this. When I got to Holler's the other night and saw that preppy prick hitting on her, I couldn’t stop myself from crashing their conversation. Luckily for me, he scurried away quickly when he saw the glare I was giving him over Lola’s shoulder. Glad he got the message because no way in hell was I going to let some sleazy finance bro take her home.

Something about Lola calls to my protective instinct more than any woman I’ve ever met. Something about her that makes me want to wholly possess her, but also, I help her shine and show the world how strong she is.

The evening was going great until I ran into her outside the bathroom and she fled like her ass was on fire. I still have no idea what that was about. She gaped at me as if she was face-to-face with the villain in an eighties slasher film.

Ever since that night, she has avoided me at all costs. Instead of cute rambles, I get clipped answers and rushed responses. Instead of a pretty blush on her cheeks when I meet her eyes, they are almost never glancing my way. And when they are, she casts them down quickly. It’s as if she’s afraid to make eye contact with me.

I find myself missing the way things used to be and I don’t know what changed. I would say it is all in my head, but she only appears to be this way with me. With everyone else, she is her happy, sweet self. It’s me she can barely stand to be around.

“What’d you do to Lola, man? Shut her down?” Kent asks, saddling up to me at a party at his place down the hall.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

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