Chance scowls at me. “Dude. Don’t be a buzzkill.”
Crosby seconds the indignation. “It’s our version of basketball, and it’s awesome.”
I laugh. “Fair enough.”
“Young guys. What do they know?” Rodriguez quips.
I’m glad that the guy I’m vying against seems cool with me. He’s a good catcher and an even better person—he’s an advocate for both foster kids and adoption, since he was adopted and I respect the hell out of how he puts his heart back into the world.
But no matter how cool he is, I want him to be my backup.
I zone in on the game, spiking a ball over the net. Crosby jumps, slams it back to me, and I serve it right back. We’ve been playing for a few minutes when Declan strides out to the pool.
I don’t pay him any mind. No more than anyone else. Clearly his answer to my offer is no, and that makes him just another one of the guys.
I’ll survive. All baseball all the time—that’s how I should be. How he said I should be.
We all goof off, and as the clock ticks closer to nine-thirty, Chance calls it a night. “Don’t know about you all, but I need my R and R,” the pitcher says as he clambers up the ladder.
“Because you’re old,” taunts Crosby, who’s maybe twenty-two or twenty-three, at the most.
Chance arches a brow. “If memory serves, it wasn’t too long ago when it was you covered in ketchup and baby powder.”
Crosby grins evilly. “And since then, I’ve belted thirty homers a season.”
Declan clears his throat. “Thirty-five for me.”
“I’m twenty-six years old, just like our shortstop,” Chance puts in. “If that makes me old for hitting the sack at nine-thirty, fine. You can have an old all-star closer or a tired and drag-ass closer.”
Crosby straightens in a snap. “Go! And say hi to Natasha from all of us. Sleep well. You’re our secret weapon.”
Chance nods sagely. “I thought so. I’ll pass on your regards to the wife.”
“Hell, I guess I should have hit the hay at seven since I’m the old fogey,” Rodriguez remarks.
“Six-thirty for you, old man,” Crosby teases, and Rodriguez flips him the bird.
I take this as my cue to get out too. Some of the other guys stay, but Declan heads up the steps, water droplets sliding down his muscular back.
I jerk my gaze away, say goodbye to the others, drying my hair and tossing the towel in the bin on my way into the hotel.
A minute later, I’m waiting for the elevator when footsteps grow louder behind me. I step in, Declan right behind me.
The doors close, and it’s just us. He stares at me, his brown eyes intense. “You didn’t answer my text.”
His text? I knit my brow, confused, and shake my head. “I didn’t see it.”
He drags a hand through his wet hair and sighs heavily. “Rookie, you’re killing me.”
That nickname sends a buzz of electricity down my chest, straight to my balls. But I won’t make any assumptions. Won’t rub up against him like a cat in heat. “I took a nap. I crashed. I left my phone in my room. But why am I killing you?”
“Why?” He glances at the buttons on the elevator panel. We’re near the third floor. “Because I want to see you tonight.”
It’s embarrassing how much my stomach flips. “Yeah?”
“Read my message when you get to your room.”
Like I’d do anything but pounce on my cell. “Give me the SparkNotes.”
Declan looks like he wants to drag me into his room right this second, slam me against the wall, and punish my mouth for that request. “It says I have no regrets. But I want to make sure you don’t either?”
Scoffing, I stare at him. “Do you seriously think anything changed for me?”
He lets out a breath. It sounds like the biggest relief in the world. “No. Were you waiting for me to say the word?”
No point pretending otherwise now. “Honestly?”
“Yes. Honestly.”
“I kinda felt the ball was in your court, Deck,” I admit. The truth has gotten me this far, and it sounds like we’re going farther. I keep my foot on the pedal. “You know I’m all in. So now the question is—your room or mine?”
A sexy rumble falls from his lips. “I’ll come to you.”
And on me, I hope.
As the elevator doors open, I give him my room number. “I want to rinse the chlorine off me. Give me ten.”
“Leave your door ajar so I can get in quickly.”
“Will do.”
I head down the hall. The second my door shuts, I dive onto my phone, turn the notifications on, and read his message.
I feel like I’ve won the sex lottery.
I punch the air, strip out of my board shorts, and hit the shower.
Ten minutes later, dressed only in a pair of basketball shorts, I open the door a crack, using the lock to leave it open.