Page 29 of Under Pressure

We need to talk about what happened earlier.

It’s Beck, by the way. Make sure to save my contact under something sexy. MaybeKing Of My Heart.

Quinny

*attached photo*

It was a screenshot of my newly added contact.That Guy.

I’ll take it.

Quinny

Desperation has a scent, you know?

You didn’t seem to mind it when you all but forced me to touch you earlier.

Quinny

Forced? Be for real.

Don’t deny it, baby. I like a bossy woman.

Quinny

I’m going to block you.

Don’t. We need to talk about why you needed my hands on you.

There was a fifteen-minute break between texts that had me pacing the clubhouse, hoping to fuck she’d answer before I had to head to the field.

Quinny

What if we just forgot about it?

Not an option.

She never replied after that, which led to me going into my game with not only a massive erection in the tight material of my baseball pants, but also a sour attitude. I’ve yet to see a picture online of me rocking a hard-on in the bullpen, so at least I avoided that nightmare.

Quinn can ignore my texts and pretend what happened earlier wasn’t a big deal, but I’m not planning on accepting that. There’s something going on, and I want to know what it is.Now.

Yanking open the door, I ignore the familiar chime and stalk inside. It’s silent, and for the very first time, I look around and see all of the tables empty. Apprehension nips at me as I wander to the counter and scratch the side of my throat, waiting for someone to greet me.

I glance at my watch twice, then shuffle from side to side. The drinks in the open cooler are already refilled and straightened, and the coffee machines are distinctly quiet. It’s eerily silent.

“Hello?” I call, getting antsy.

The sound of scuffling feet makes my heart skip. I straighten, expecting Quinn to push through the kitchen door, but it’sCallie’s face I see. Hiding my disappointment, I pull my lips up into a smile.

Quinn’s younger sister hastily pushes her messy hair back and adjusts her wrinkled apron. There’s a pink tint to her neck and cheeks, in addition to a slight swelling of her bottom lip. Intrigued, I suddenly wish the door had a window so I could see if Eli’s hiding somewhere under a counter.

“Quinn isn’t here,” Callie says, a bit out of breath.

“I’m piecing that together.”

She flushes deeper, so similar to the pink that floods Quinn’s face when I say something that I know will annoy her. Only this look is because of something very different.

“I, uh, we’re about to close. But if there’s anything you want from the cooler, I can ring you up. Quinn’s already given the leftover baked goods to the shelter.”