Clutch Hit, Faith O'Shea [read along books TXT] 📗

Shifting her focus back to Casey, she said, “If I had to choose between Greg or Mac, I’d pick Mac every time.”

“Of course, you would, but he’s my father, not my future. I gotta go. I’ll see you later.”

Casey kissed her cheek and strode across the gym and across down the hall and into the administrative wing.

Mateo had just placed what looked like a thousand-pound bar back on the stand and was wiping his neck with a towel. When Allie placed a hand on his shoulder, he almost jumped out of his skin.

He ripped the earbuds out and glared before scanning the area for Casey. She was nowhere in sight. He showed his concern by asking, “She good?”

Allie gave him a shrug of her shoulders, suddenly wishing she could talk to him about Case’s dilemma. She had a feeling he’d keep it to himself, but Casey was right. How many Greenie secrets could she expect him to honor?

“Why don’t you shower and change. We’ve got some things to do before I drop you at Mac’s.”

She glued her hands to her hips, where they were safe. Sweat glistened on Mateo’s shoulders and she wanted to slide her hands over them. Her body had instantly surged at the sight of the moist skin, and the abs created a kind of inner tension she wasn’t used to. She’d dated but had never been attracted to anyone the way she was attracted to him. She’d been ready to crawl all over him at the bar, the Etta James song, “I Just Want to Make Love to You” a deep growl in her chest. She hadn’t wanted to bake him bread, she wanted him to toast her. There was something about him that touched her to the core of her being. And the brief kiss at the altar had felled her. She’d never tasted lips as sweet or savored a mouth the way she’d savored his. He’d done some damage to her armor and she had to keep her distance or things could go south very quickly.

He seemed to be looking around. “Can you point me in the right direction?”

“The men’s shower room is through that door. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

She couldn’t keep her eyes off him as he walked away. He had the type of build that could hit four-hundred-and-fifty-foot bombs out into the harbor. There was power in the breadth of his shoulders and yet a fluid grace to his gait. She felt a shiver of need shoot through her as she caught herself staring and bolted toward the women’s locker room before she made the mistake of going after him.

She pushed through the door, and when it closed, leaned against it, her heart beating like thundering horse hooves. What the hell was it about him that made her want to throw caution to the wind and jump his bones? Sure, he had a great build, but so did a lot of the guys she’d interacted with. She worked with athletes of all shapes and sizes, all ages, all nationalities, all temperaments, but he seemed to be the ideal, his package just part of the allure. He was unlike anything she’d expected. He wasn’t cocky, and he certainly had the talent to warrant it. He wasn’t in over his head with all the new trappings of wealth at his disposal, acting no different than the man she’d met in Mexico. He spoke almost perfect English, if you didn’t consider his accent. She had a feeling he’d handle all the expected accolades with humility and grace, and she could almost believe he wouldn’t disrespect her if their secret came out. That was where the danger lay. If she thought, she could trust him…

Her mind was in turmoil and her heart was in an uproar as she stepped into the shower. She took more time than was necessary dressing, applying a couple of extra touches to her make-up that she might have skipped had she been alone.

He was sitting on the bench that ran the length of the entrance when she came out, his hair still wet, brushed back with one curl hanging limp against his forehead. She wanted to slide her finger into it, feel the texture, see if it was as soft as it looked. Instead, she shoved her hands in her pants pockets.

“You ready?”

He rose and faced her. “I am.”

She felt the heat of his gaze as he visually inspected her. She’d worn a pair of skinny black pants with a crisp white blouse and cardigan. It was Sunday, and she could get away with a more relaxed look. She didn’t expect a compliment, but when he said, “You look very nice,” she felt a flush creep up her neck. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him did as well but she kept it lodged in her throat. Flustered, unwilling to say anything that might egg him on, she hefted her bag over her shoulder and said, “We better get going.”

They spent the next hour in her office, where he sat patiently waiting for her to finish her calls and review a new print-out of stats she needed to memorize before her scouting trip. Jill, one of her roommates and a member of the marketing department must have heard Mateo was here and scouted them out. They not only lived together but interfaced at times when planning community events or themes for game nights and were known to hit one of the city bars for a nightcap before going home. It had to be simple curiosity that had prompted the visit. Jill knew she’d moved in with the Cuban and probably wanted to see one of the team’s new attractions. Her roomie wasn’t the only one. She couldn’t believe how much traffic moved through her office while Mateo was there. Dan had come in to ask him how he was doing, and Krasnick dropped by to tell him