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Ginny startled awake, her tablet sliding off her chest.
Knocking. Someone was knocking on her door. She blinked and wiped her eyes, peering at the clock on the bedside table. 11:34 p.m.
Stupid Valentine’s Day. It just wouldn’t end.
“Hold on,” she called, stumbling over discarded shoes as she climbed out of bed and made her way through the darkened room to the door. This better not be another one of Sonny’s pranks. Twice last season he’d ordered her late-night room service. She put her eye to the peephole.
Mike was standing in the hall, a pillow tucked under his arm. His jaw was clenched tight, and he kept darting glances down the hall. So much for avoiding him outside of practice until Blip arrived in three days. They’d done very well the past few months, with a few memorable exceptions, only seeing each other with Blip and Evelyn around to keep on their best behavior.
Ginny threw the deadbolt and opened the door, blinking hard as the bright hallway lights flooded her room. “What do you want, Lawson?”
His eyes skimmed over her, from messy bedhead to faded Tarboro High School baseball t-shirt, Wonder Woman boxers and bare feet. “Can I come in?”
“I was trying to sleep,” she pointed out, gesturing at the dark room behind her.
Mike’s gaze stayed firmly on the floor. Under the shadow of his beard, she could swear his cheeks were flushed. “I, uh, can’t sleep in my room. Can I crash on your couch?”
The executive hotel the club had put them up in had foldout couches along with a king-sized bed. The room was half the size of her old suite at the Omni, but Ginny didn’t care. It was just a place to sleep and to hide from the broad-shouldered bear of a man looming in her doorway.
“What’s wrong with your room?” she grumbled, holding firm at the door. The last thing she needed was Mike sleeping here, ten feet from her bed. She’d hear him moving around all night, and even worse she would just know he was there.
“Livan’s next to me,” Mike said sourly, finally raising his eyes to meet hers. “He’s not alone. And they’re fucking loud. Literally.”
Ah. That did sound like Livan, especially since Mike had been kind of a dick in their pitchers and catchers opening meeting that afternoon. Pointed references to all of Livan’s missteps last season had left the younger catcher prickly. He’d ditched them all early on in the evening, determined to find better entertainment than the bar Mike had picked offered.
“Lawson, I’m tired. Go bother Sonny.” She made a shooing motion and started to close the door.
Mike’s hand shot out and stopped the door. “He’s on the other side of Livan.” His head cocked to his left.
Oh. So Mike, Livan, Sonny, then Ginny. “Where’s Javanes?” She knew Nguyen and most of the bullpen were still down in the hotel bar playing poker. They’d passed them when they came back earlier.
“Not answering his door.” Mike scrubbed a hand through his hair, making it stand up in haphazard little spikes. It was oddly endearing. “C’mon, Baker, you know I wouldn’t ask if I had another choice.”
Ginny flinched. They were terrible about not talking about that night at Boardner’s, or Butch’s Halloween party, or the mistletoe at the Sanders' Christmas party, or New Year’s Eve. Mostly they were terrible at being in the same room without one of them falling into the other’s gravity. Friends didn’t have to actively avoid being alone together. And friends wouldn’t have a problem bunking in the same room for one night. Hell, it wasn’t like they’d have to share a bed.
She sucked in a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. Crap. That worked on the field, but it was worse than useless here. Her heart was still pounding like a jackhammer in her chest.
He shifted nervously, the bulging muscles in his arms flexing as he held the door open. A 2005 All-Star game T-shirt stretched across a chest that had broadened in the last 12 years. She looked down, toward his bare feet. That was a mistake. Heat flushed her face as she deliberately tore her eyes away from his thick, powerful thighs. She was used to seeing Mike in nothing but compression shorts and KT tape when they went over hitters in the physical therapy room, but that was different. There, one of the PTs was always nearby, fluorescent lights humming overhead, players and staff wandering past the open door. Here, this was inviting a guy she’d had some seriously dirty dreams about into her room late at night.
“Just ask Livan to keep it down.” Ginny winced at the double entendre, but Mike didn’t even seem to notice.
He glanced back down the hall again. “I did. It didn’t go well.”
Ginny sighed and leaned against the door. Mike’s fingers brushed her shoulder. “What did you do?” Oh, God, she sounded like Evelyn, but her catchers acted no better than the Sanders twins sometimes. She’d heard the story of Mike flashing Livan when they met, and they still butted heads constantly.
“I punched him.”
“Because he was having loud sex?” Given Mike’s reputation that seemed kind of hypocritical, but she didn’t say that. Despite the rumors and the stories the other guys told, she’d seen little of that side of Mike. Oh, there were definitely groupies around, but she’d never seen him even flirting with them.
“Yes and no,” Mike hedged. His hazel eyes were pleading. “C’mon, rookie, just let me in.”
“Fine,” she conceded. “But if you snore, you go back to your room.” She stepped out of the way and let Mike shuffle into her room. She closed the door, bolted it, and flipped on a light.
Mike dropped his pillow on a chair and started pulling the cushions off the couch. Ginny found sheets in the closet and they had the thin mattress made up and ready in a couple of minutes. The frame creaked ominously when Mike crawled into the bed.
“You good?” Ginny asked, crossing the room to turn off the light.
He turned onto his side, pulling the pillow he’d brought more firmly under his head. “Yeah, thanks, Baker.”
Ginny flipped the switch and waited for her eyes to adjust before crossing the unfamiliar room. She climbed back into bed and tried to relax. 11:42. She had to be up in seven hours for PT before a bullpen session. She closed her eyes and willed herself to fall back asleep.
Mike Lawson was in her room. And judging from the rustling covers and squeaky springs, he wasn’t asleep either. Not surprising, since that pullout couch looked horribly uncomfortable. He should have just gone down to the bar for awhile, or asked the front desk for earplugs. Come to think of it, he usually traveled with noise-canceling headphones.
“Lawson?” In the dark, it was almost like being on the phone with him. That was one of the few indulgences they'd allowed themselves since it became clear that time spent together was far too tempting.
“Yeah?” He sounded resigned, like he knew what she was about to say. Maybe he did.
“You can’t let him get to you. Then he wins. He can’t stand playing behind you.” It went deeper than that. Livan had been the star of every team he’d ever been on. He’d never played backup for anyone, ever, and he hated it. So he and Mike clashed, because Lawson wasn’t ready to go. Ginny didn’t blame him, but it meant Mike had walked around half the time last season looking like a bull about to charge. Still, she’d never seen him lose his temper enough to throw a punch. “Hey, what’d he do to make you hit him?”
Mike’s breathing was uneven, agitated. She wasn’t sure he would answer at all, but she had to ask anyway. He held so much close, didn’t open up easily. Sometimes she wasn’t sure she knew him well at all, no matter how many times Butch and the other guys insisted Ginny and Mike were close.
“He called her mami.” The words floated out of the dark. Ginny wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined them until he sighed and shifted on the couch.
“Why would that… oh.” Her voice faltered. For a split second, Ginny saw herself tangled up in bed with Livan, hands clutching his back while he drove into her.
“Yeah.” Mike sounded almost relieved to admit it.
“And you punched him?”
“Split his lip. Don’t worry about him. The girl seemed to get off on it.” The springs creaked and groaned as he sat up. How upset would the skipper be if the couch gave out and snapped shut on Lawson like a Venus flytrap with a bug? “Baker, I can’t sleep on this thing. I’m gonna fold it back up and sleep on that.”
He started stripping the bed, dumping sheets and blankets on the floor, while Ginny’s mind kept tripping over the idea of Mike punching Livan over her. She should be angry at Mike. She wasn’t a toy for them for fight over, and Livan wasn't stupid. He must have some idea why Mike was so upset.
The metal frame popped and squeaked as Mike folded it up and threw the cushions back on. He was a lighter smudge against the dark, constantly in motion. He whipped the blanket up off the floor, wrapped himself up in it, and dropped down onto the couch. It wasn’t long enough for him to stretch out. He let out a long, loud breath and shifted to get more comfortable.
His back would be a mess by morning. And his knees. Assuming Mike lasted that long. Ginny gave it maybe an hour before he trudged back to his room, hoping Livan had less stamina in bed than he did on the field.
“Mike, you know I would never—” She stopped, trying to find the right words. This wasn’t about her rule, and she didn’t want him to think it was. “Come here.”
He didn’t move for a moment, then he sat up. “You didn’t want to talk about this.”
“Who’s talking? Come here.” Ginny was not at all sure about this, but it was the only play she could see.
Mike stood and took a tentative step toward the bed. Then another when she scooted over to make room for him. Finally he slid under the covers, his weight making the mattress dip slightly in the middle.
“Baker—”
“No talking.” She rolled onto her side, facing him but not touching.
Mike was looking at her, closer than they’d been in more than a month. The contrast between dark beard and pale skin made it easier for her to read his wary expression in the dimness. But while she watched, he studied her too, and slowly his brow smoothed and his shoulders relaxed.
Faster than she expected, Ginny found her eyes were too heavy to stay open.
When they opened again, a thin sliver of light cut across the room through the gap in the curtains. Birds chirped happily in the trees outside. At some point in the night Ginny had curled up against Mike, and she had no interest in moving right now. He didn’t seem to mind, his heavy arm wrapped around her back.
Warmth surrounded her, Mike’s steady heartbeat under her ear and the slow rise and fall of his chest under her cheek. She breathed in his scent, a musky, woodsy blend far more subtle than the hyper-masculine colognes that permeated the clubhouse. The shirt she was wearing would smell like Mike tonight if she didn’t wash it, and she wouldn’t.
Ginny had gone to bed with men, but most were forgettable, and at least one she wished she could forget. Even the few she’d genuinely enjoyed had been gone by morning. She’d never woken up feeling this connected to a man, and they weren’t even naked.
Lips brushed her forehead, and Ginny tilted her head to look at him. Soft, sleepy hazel eyes looked back. “Mike—”
“Hush,” he admonished, his voice rough and his hand coming up to stroke her hair. “No talking.”
Ginny almost hoped she was dreaming. Outside her door, this was a very bad idea. But he pulled her closer, and the rest of the world disappeared. All that remained was Mike’s big, solid body around her, his beard tickling her face where it brushed against her nose and cheek. She couldn’t stifle a laugh, and Mike pulled back to look at her, a question in his eyes.
She opened her mouth to tell him, but instead let her hand move slowly up his chest to tug gently on his beard. A small smile curved his lips. The beard wasn’t that bad, though she’d never admit it. The severity of it against his skin made his eyes stand out. Hazel eyes that changed with the light. They were dark now, intent on her as her fingers played with his beard. It was softer than she’d expected, and underneath she could trace his strong jaw, the face that graced her wall for four years, until the Padres drafted her and it started to feel like tempting fate to keep Mike Lawson on her wall.
This man wasn’t the catcher she used to study when the Padres came to play the Braves and the Nationals. She traced the crow’s feet settling around his eyes from too much time in the sun, the furrows in his forehead from worrying about his teammates. He might joke about being her poster boy, but Ginny wouldn’t trade this man for the younger version.
“Ginny.” The sound of it made her shiver, but Ginny covered his mouth with her fingertips. Soft, full lips. She’d felt them on her forehead, her cheek, once where her shoulder met her neck, but she hadn’t touched them before.
She stretched up and replaced her fingers with her lips, and Mike dragged her impossibly closer to him. That alone sent a bolt of desire through her, but neither moved to deepen the kiss. His hands stayed on her back and in her hair, and hers curled around his nape and his bicep. Soft, slow kisses, quiet sighs, a nip of teeth and a hint of tongue the furthest either of them dared go. If they went any further, it would be impossible to stop.
If they went any further, she would want to undress him every time she walked past him buttoning up one of his endless supply of flannel shirts in the clubhouse. She would wait, every night on the road, for his knock on her door.
If they went any further, their clothes would be strewn in the sheets and Mike would need to press his hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming his name. Just the thought left her shuddering in his arms.
He sighed and drew away, dropping one more kiss on her lips. His bearded cheek settled against hers. “I should go.”
“Soon.” But not now. She tucked her head against his shoulder, her lips grazing his neck just below the beard. It was tickling her face again, but she wouldn’t move. She would just rest here and inhale him and feel this for as long as she could.
He nodded, just the once, and kept holding her until her alarm went off.