Page 46 of Run Home

She smiles self-deprecatingly in response but returns to her thoughtful expression. “Samantha, you know it’s okay for you to want this with Adrian. To want it a lot. You can want good things really badly without it being selfish.” Her smile turns mischievous when she says, “Besides—judging by the photo Griffin sent me, it seems pretty evident that Adrian wants you really badly too.”

I squeal, covering my face. “He showed you the photo? Wait! I haven’t even seen this photo we’re talking about.”

Danae leaps to her feet to retrieve her phone. She’s tapping away at the screen as she saunters back over to the couch, then holds the phone out to me.

Clapping a hand to my mouth, I stare at the picture. Stare at Adrian staring at me. The photo is shot from behind me, so you can see the way his hands possessively grip my waist. I remember the sensation of his fingers against the bare skin of my back. I remember the intensity in his eyes when he complimented me on the dress. But seeing it again in picture form—the barely there smile tugging one side of his lips, his eyes locked on my face that’s tilted up to him—it’s overwhelming.

He wants me.

It’s all I can think as I stare at the photo, as the seconds tick by in silence, as Danae sits on the couch allowing me to soak in the look of Adrian gazing at me.

“I’m just gonna text this photo to myself,” I say, tapping her phone screen.

Danae laughs, and I wholeheartedly laugh along with her.

It feels good.

I feel . . . hopeful.

Chapter nineteen

Adrian

The chorus of “Jugando Chapita” blares from my phone, my chosen alarm tone when I’m away from the clock on my nightstand at home. Despite the early hour, the song brings a smile to my face.

I still groan as I sit up and rub my eyes, tempted to fall back asleep.

It was way too late to call Sam last night by the time we got to our hotel. But that didn’t stop me from thinking about her. I settled for replaying our conversation at her apartment since we couldn’t talk. Knowing it will wake up my brain, I open the photo she texted of her with the flowers I sent to the school.

I’m serious about my promise to tell her constantly how I feel about her, even when I can’t physically be there. I know I don’t fully understand the history behind some of her insecurities, but I do know she’s never going to doubt that I care.

When I visited a local florist’s website to arrange the delivery, there were brief descriptions of each flower’s symbolism to choose a bouquet with specific meaning. I knew stargazer lilies would be the only type of flower I ever buy for Sam the second I saw the symbolism.

Heaven on earth.

Sam’s soft smile in the photo makes me want to lean through the picture and whisper something to make her laugh, something to prompt her full crinkled-nose smile.

As much as I’m dying to talk with her again, I’m an hour ahead in DC, and it’s an ungodly hour here to be waking up, much less in KC. I only set my alarm this early because I’m taking Griffin’s stupid old-man advice.

I’m trying to be the wiser player meeting Carson where he’s at. If Griff could do it for me, then maybe I can do it for Carson. I don’t think I’ll ever find the same chemistry that Griff and I had playing together, but I’m determined to get as close as I can.

And if I know anything about Carson Hendricks, it’s that he’s going to be hitting the gym before our mandatory workout, batting practice, and warm-ups today. After chugging a glass of water, brushing my teeth, and changing into workout gear, I take the elevator to the second floor where the hotel gym is located.

When I walk in, Carson is running on one of the treadmills at the back of the room. Stepping onto the treadmill next to his, I notice the automated sprints program on his screen set at a pretty high speed. He must be in one of the short rest intervals.

His expression is wary as he glances at me. “What . . . are . . . you doing . . . here?” he huffs between breaths.

Shrugging my shoulders, I select a cross training program and say, “Just getting in a little extra workout to start the day.”

“Since when?”

“Since when? Since whenever I want. I have a full gym in my house. Maybe I do extra workouts every day and you don’t know about it,” I say as the pace of the treadmill starts to pick up.

Carson’s treadmill also increases to a higher sprint speed, and he pumps his arms to keep up. “Why . . . right next . . . to me?”

“Felt like it would be rude to come work out and ignore my closest teammate,” I reply, grinning at him.

Both of the treadmills come to a halt as Carson pulls the emergency stop cords. He pivots to face me, breathing heavily. “What are you doing, Ortiz? We all know I’m not your closest teammate and never will be.”