In Her Own League — 12 Reese

12

REESE

I made a quick detour to my room, deciding I’d rather not sleep in my blazer tonight, swapping into a matching pajama set instead.

And no, the matching set has nothing to do with the fact that I’m going to be sleeping in Emmett’s bed tonight. I wear a pajama set every night, whether someone is going to see me in it or not.

The chill in my room hasn’t let up and the silk fabric on my sleepwear has only made it worse, so I grab the spare blanket off the bed and wrap it around me like a cape for the short walk down to Emmett’s room. But the blanket is also freezing just from being folded on the bed directly under the AC unit, so it does absolutely nothing to help the bone-chilling cold that I can’t seem to shake from my body.

“Cute slippers,” Emmett says from down the hallway, leaning a shoulder into his door to keep it slightly cracked.

“Get fucked.”

He bursts a laugh and it’s just about the only sound I don’t seem to hate at three in the morning.

I don’t do well without sleep. In fact, I’m kind of a terror without it. And yeah, maybe that makes me high maintenance, but I don’t see anything wrong with being high maintenance when I’m the one taking care of the maintaining.

I pay to get my nails done every two weeks. I pay to get my hair cut and colored every six. And yes, I require eight hours of sleep every night. If those things make me high maintenance, then fuck it. I love being high maintenance.

Emmett steps into his room as I approach, holding the door open for me to enter too.

Once I’m inside, the first thing I notice is the change in temperature from my own. It’s distinctively warmer, thank God.

Then I note the lack of light. His room is dim, with only the glow from a single lamp on the nightstand to illuminate a path toward the bed.

It gives off an . . . intimate vibe, but I really wish it wouldn’t.

His bed is unmade. His reading glasses are on the nightstand. His suitcase is propped up on a stand, unzipped and open, giving me a sneak peek of the clothes I might see him in this week.

But as his boss, I should never know what he packed in his suitcase. I should never see his unmade bed or know which side he prefers to sleep on.

I would catch so much heat from my grandfather, the advisory board, and the press if anyone found out that I slept in my employee’s hotel room.

In my employee’s bed.

“Do you want me to take the floor?” Emmett asks, startling me out of my

daze.

Yes. “Yes” is the only correct answer.

“No,” is what comes out instead. “Don’t you think you’re a little old to be sleeping on the floor?”

“Damn right, I am.” He ambles right over to his side of the bed.

Okay. We’re doing this. We’re really doing this.

I’m not sure what other response I was hoping for. Maybe I was looking for more of a fight. Maybe I assumed he’d insist he sleep anywhere else but next to me. Maybe I was hoping one of us would have just a bit of willpower.

I stay stuck in the entryway, still shivering from my cold pajamas, my cold blanket and being back in my cold room for only a few minutes. But then I feel the first warm flush to my skin I’ve experienced all night.

Because standing next to the bed, Emmett reaches over his head and pulls off his shirt in a single, fluid motion.

And fuck me, he’s delicious to look at. Tall and wide with bulky shoulders and inked arms. His chest is splattered with dark hair. His body narrows at the waist, but he’s not so cut that you can see the complete outline of each and every one of his ab muscles. Instead, he’s thick and muscular, including those thighs that are practically eating the athletic shorts stretched around them.

I’ve already seen him with his shirt off, already have the image ingrained in my memory, so this is nothing new. But I’ve never seen Emmett take his shirt off just before I’m about to crawl into bed with him.

“You could . . . keep that on,” I croak out.

He lifts an unimpressed brow in my direction. “I’m good, but thanks for the offer.”

Emmett makes a move to tug at the waistband of his shorts as if it were instinct for him to remove them before bed. Which means he probably sleeps naked or, at the very least, in only his underwear.

Which, again, I shouldn’t know.

It takes him less than a second to realize his mistake, before adjusting his waistband back low on his hips to keep his shorts on. Then he climbs into bed, pushing the sheets and comforter off his heated body, and with his long legs spread out and one arm folded behind his head, he finds me still stuck near the entryway.

“C’mon, princess.” He pats the mattress next to him. “I want to get some sleep.”

I don’t tend to get nervous, but this is making me nervous. He’s making me nervous. He shouldn’t look so good when he’s so tired, and I shouldn’t be crawling into bed next to him.

Removing my slippers and keeping my blanket-cape on, I climb onto the mattress and very quickly realize that this is a queen bed and not a king by the way I can feel his body heat as soon as I lie down.

It’s lovely, but he’s already too close.

Once my head hits the pillow, Emmett turns off the light, coating the room in darkness.

I can’t see anything. I can’t hear anything either, other than the slight chatter of my own teeth. Every muscle in my body is firing, doing its best to warm itself up. Lying on my side, facing away from him, I pull my knees to my chest, trying to find as much warmth as possible.

“You’re still cold?” he asks quietly from behind me.

“Freezing.”

“Take that blanket off. It’s only making you colder.”

“I just need some time to warm up and I’ll be fine.”

There’s a moment of silence. A moment where I think he’s let it go, but then he whispers something highly inappropriate into the otherwise silent

room.

“I can warm you up.”

Looking over my shoulder, my eyes shoot to his, and I’ve adjusted enough to the lack of light to find him lying on his side, facing me.

Emmett tentatively reaches out, tucking my hair behind my ear before brushing his knuckles across my cheek so I can feel exactly how warm he is.

I practically purr as I lean into his touch.

“Lose the blanket, Reese, and come here.”

“Emmett.”

“Don’t be weird about it. Just come here. I’m not going to get any sleep if you’re over there squirming all night, trying to warm yourself up.”

I can’t. I shouldn’t.

There’s too much on the line.

This baseball club.

His career.

My career.

My reputation.

The fact that I’m the first ever female team owner and now I’m lying in a bed with my field manager.

But he is right about this blanket being too cold, so I decide to shed it to the floor by the mattress, and instead of moving closer to him, I reach down to the end of the bed where his sheet and comforter are shoved and pull them over me, all the way up to my chin.

He doesn’t say anything about it and neither do I.

This will do just fine . . . eventually.

Minutes pass and I do my best to warm myself up. In fact, I’m practically praying that my body will stop involuntarily shivering. That my teeth will stop chattering. That I’ll stop squirming on the mattress next to him.

When I can’t seem to do it myself, Emmett slips his arm under the sheet, draping it over my waist and sliding his hand between me and the mattress.

Then he easily scoops me up, pulling me back to meet his chest.

And that swift and effortless movement just causes a whole lot of other inappropriate ideas to play in my imagination. Because just as I suspected, this man has no problem tossing me around when I’ve never had the privilege to be tossed around before.

The legs of my pants and the back of my top have ridden up, putting that small part of us skin to skin. The warmth of his body on mine is almost painful thanks to the quick and sharp shift from cold to hot. But that sting subsides when Emmett removes his arm and scoots back just an inch so that we’re no longer touching, but still close enough that I can steal his warmth.

Slowly, my muscles begin to uncoil themselves. My skin begins to calm.

“This okay?” he asks quietly, but his lips are so close to my ear that the rumble of his voice sends a shiver down my spine.

Which is not too helpful on the whole “getting warm” thing.

I swallow. “Probably not.”

“Why not? We’re basically . . . hugging. Hugging is totally fine.”

“Yeah, we’re just hugging. In your bed. With my ass against your

crotch.”

“Semantics.”

“Just . . . keep your dick away from me.”

I can hear the smile in his reply when he says, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Emmett’s arm is awkwardly resting above the pillow where my head is before he adjusts it lower. And as if on instinct, I lift my cheek for him to put it under my head before resting it back on the inside of his bicep.

He sucks a sharp inhale at the contact.

“I know I’m cold but suck it up. You asked for this.”

His silent laugh rumbles the bed. “I’m burning up, so trust me. You feel

good.”

You feel good.

All I can think about is how those words would sound coming from his lips in an entirely different setting. Does Emmett Montgomery praise women when he’s in bed, or does the grumbly bossy thing seep into that part of his life too?

Why am I hoping it’s a combination of both?

And what the actual fuck is wrong with me?

I haven’t been interested in anyone in years. In fact, I’ve practically sworn off men since my divorce, and suddenly the one man to snag my attention is one that’s currently on my payroll.

Real professional, Reese.

“Did you have a nice time with Miller?” I ask, because that’s a normal train of thought. Who goes from wondering how someone likes to fuck to asking whether that same someone enjoyed his time with his daughter?

I won’t be holding my breath for one of those World’s Greatest Boss mugs anytime soon.

“Yeah, it was nice,” he says softly. “I’m always stoked when I get the chance to see her while we’re on the road.”

“You two are close.”

Emmett hums this sleepy sound. “Of course we are. We practically grew up together.”

“Yeah, there’s not a big age gap, huh? You must have been young when you became a dad.”

He hesitates for a moment. “I was maybe nineteen or twenty when she

was born.”

“And where’s her mom?”

Though we’re not touching other than my cheek on his arm, I sense his

entire body go rigid behind me.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“What?” he asks, but it’s not confusion in his tone. It’s shock.

Shock that I felt as if I had any right to know the answer to that question, I’m sure. I guess I just assumed that since I drunkenly told him all about my divorce, he’d want to soberly tell me about his.

“I’m sorry,” I quickly blurt out. “That was inappropriate of me to ask.”

“We’re sharing a bed, Reese. I don’t know that either one of us is the best judge of what’s appropriate and what’s not these days.”

His honesty acts as a reality check for me. Because if he’s saying it like it is, I can no longer lie to myself by going with his original “we’re just hugging” theory.

I go to move away, to create some distance between us, when Emmett grabs my hip to stop me. He flexes his fingertips, curling them into the softness of my belly and keeping me exactly where I am.

“Stay.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

His head drops to mine, his beard tickling the skin at the back of my neck

when he breathes a laugh.

“Emmett, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Stay anyway.”

I don’t have a retort for him, but I also don’t have the willpower to move away.

Instead, Emmett scoots closer, curling his body around my own. His knee grazes the back of mine. His foot brushing against my ankle. And his hand . . . his hand is still firmly planted on my hip, calloused and warm and real fucking distracting.

Silence lingers for a long while and it acts as a test to see if one of us will move away, to see if one of us stops this and reestablishes some

professional boundaries.

Neither of us does.

“Do you really not know about Miller’s mom?” he finally asks.

I shake my head against his bicep, and I feel it flex under my cheek, which would account for the way his fingers are curling into a fist before

eventually relaxing.

“Miller’s mom died.”

Oh, shit.

“And I have a feeling that if you didn’t already know that, then you probably don’t know that Miller isn’t biologically mine.”

What?

There’s so much important information coming at me at once, and I can’t seem to organize it quickly enough to give him a thoughtful response.

“Miller’s mom’s name was Claire,” he continues. “Claire and I started dating shortly after I was called up to the majors. Miller was four years old when I first met her, and just after she turned five, her mom died from cancer.”

Any words that might possibly convey how sorry I am stick in my throat.

“I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“You adopted Miller,” I realize.

“I did.”

“Did her mom ask you to do that?”

Emmett exhales behind me. “She did. She was a single mom without any extended family, and she knew that when she passed, Miller wouldn’t have

anyone.”

“But she had you.”

“Yeah, she did. And she ended up becoming my entire world. I quit playing that year and settled down in a small town in Colorado to raise her.

She was so young at the time and had just lost the only parent she’d ever known, so she needed some stability, you know? I couldn’t travel the way I was.”

I could not be more thankful I’m turned away from him right now as I screw my eyes shut and let my heart ache for this man who I’ve always

believed cares just a little too much.

But thank God he does.

“Were you scared?”

“Terrified.” He breathes out a laugh. “I was suddenly raising this kid, but I was still a kid myself. I was twenty-four or twenty-five at the time and just winging the whole fatherhood thing because I had no idea what the hell I was doing. So that’s what I mean when I say Miller and I grew up together.

We both were just trying to figure it out.”

It’s no wonder Emmett is all about family. He fought hard for his.

“And Miller,” I begin. “Is she okay? I can’t imagine losing my only parent.”

“She is now. She was so young when Claire passed that she doesn’t remember a whole lot about her, but she carried a lot of guilt for a lot of years. Mostly about me quitting baseball when I did. And that I stayed to coach at our local college instead of taking one of the MLB coaching positions I was offered over the years because I didn’t want to uproot her.

But I think meeting Max gave her a whole new perspective on how I felt

when I met her.”

“Oh my God,” I exhale in realization.

Miller is Max’s parent in the same way Emmett is hers.

Emmett smiles and I feel the curve of it against the back of my neck.

“Kind of a fun little parallel.”

“So, you really are a grandpa. Maybe not biologically, but still.”

He laughs, his entire body rumbling against mine. “You really know how to humble a man, Reese. And yes, I guess technically I am. There’s no blood relation between me, Miller, and Max, but yeah. They’re my family.

So whatever title that puts on me, I’m good with it.”

The smile on my lips feels good. The sound of his laughter feels warm.

It’s nice to be able to bounce from serious to unserious with him without either of us missing a beat.

“Well, just so you know, you don’t look like a grandfather.”

“Hmm,” he hums, pulling me closer. “No?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“What about the bit of gray I got in my beard?”

“It works for you.”

“Does it now?”

“Unfortunately.”

His head dips lower, falling into the crook of my shoulder as he gets comfortable, and I can sense he’s getting close to finding sleep.

But I’m not ready yet.

“Emmett,” I whisper.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Is that why you’re so close with the guys on the team?”

He inhales a breath as he thinks it over. “Yeah, I suppose so. Sometimes you’re just needed. Whether that’s as a coach, a mentor, or a friend. And I like being able to be whatever is needed for them. I like taking care of people too, I guess. Or maybe it’s just that I really love my job.”

A smile pulls at my lips. “I remember when my grandfather got you to come on board. I wasn’t involved with the team yet, but I knew he’d been trying for years to get you to join the coaching staff.”

Emmett hums this sleepy sound, and it’s confirmation that this conversation is going to be over sooner than I’d like. “I didn’t let myself take a job in the majors until Miller was old enough and off doing her own thing. It was the right decision to stop playing when I did, but I won’t lie and say it hasn’t been my dream to come back. Coaching feels like my

second chance in a way.”

Well . . . shit.

He’s making it awfully hard to keep my emotions out of the business side of things. Yeah, Emmett Montgomery is going to be expensive next season, but I’m starting to believe he might also be worth the investment.

His breathing grows slow and steady against my back, but I’m desperate to know more. I may never get this chance again, just him and me in a quiet room being honest and vulnerable.

Knowing I’ll most likely only be able to get one more answer out of him, I pick the question I’m most eager to know.

“Did you ever meet someone else after you lost Claire?”

He’s quiet for a long moment and it’s then I realize I’ve lost him to sleep.

Probably for the best, I suppose. I doubt there’s an answer to that question I’d love to hear.

With the room silent and his body behind mine, keeping me warm, I close my eyes and look for sleep too. I’ve just about found it when Emmett finally speaks up and gives me his answer.

“No,” he says, and it’s hardly a whisper. “I didn’t have it in me to move on.”