Yeah . . . I think I need someone to hose me down as well.

* * *

Myla: I’m freaking out. Players are starting to leave the hole thing.

Nichole: It’s called a locker room, and be cool, okay?

Myla: I don’t know what to say to him.

Nichole: We went over this. Just don’t say anything at all. Enjoy the moment, and when he asks you on a date, SAY YES!

Myla: Are you sure this is the right move? Am I really ready for this?

Nichole: If his ass in those baseball pants didn’t convince you, then I’m at a loss.

Myla: I stared at it anytime I had a chance.

Nichole: Shamelessly, I did too.

“Hey.” I hear his deep, sexy voice. When I look up from my phone, there he is, fresh from a shower, wearing a pair of dark jeans and a tight-fitted navy-blue T-shirt.

I brush my hair behind my ear, stick my phone in my purse, and on a deep breath, say, “Hey.”

He holds his hand out to me and asks, “You coming with me?”

I glance at his large hand and then back up at him. This is it. There is no turning back. If I take his hand, that means I’m trying this, and I can’t pull back from him again. If I don’t take it, I’m making a statement that I don’t think after everything I’ve been through with this man that I can make.

On a hope and a prayer that I can be normal for this man, I reach out and take his hand, which of course creates a breathtaking smile on his face.

“How have you been?” he asks as we walk down a long hallway.

“Um, pretty good. You? I mean that game, wow.”

“Do you even know if we won?”

I chuckle, and the tension building in my chest eases. “I gathered that you won at the end from the cheering fans. Up until then it was a real nail-biter.”

“We won ten to one.”

“See, truly won by the skin of your teeth.”

He chuckles. “Wow, I really need to spend some time educating you on my sport.” He lifts our hand connection and then spins me around. “But damn, girl, you sure look good in my jersey.”

Feeling even lighter, I tug on the fabric and say, “Oh, this old thing? I found it in a dumpster outside the stadium. Some girl tossed it, claiming her wild ways weren’t working on Bisley. I thought I’d give it a try. Seems like it works just fine.”

“It wasn’t the jersey; it was the girl.” He smirks and then pushes open the door to a gated-off parking lot. He guides me to a black SUV and unlocks it before pulling the passenger side door open. He helps me in because, if anything, the man is a gentleman. He then braces his hand on the door opening and dips his head so I can see him. “Do you want me to take you home?”