10. Willow

January

Willow

"Sources: Ronan Sinclair traded to Vancouver Tridents, details still pending."

My heart stops beating for several seconds as I stare at my newsfeed.

This isn't happening. How is this happening?

For the last several months, I've watched the trade headlines. I've kept my eyes and ears open for anything about my team. And at no point whatsoever did I hear even the faintest whiff of a rumour that we were looking for a starting first baseman.

Let alone the one I had sex with countless times over one night in Hawaii last fall.

Thankfully, my office door is closed, so no one bears witness to my freak-out as I drop my head into my hands and start to mutter. "No, no, no, no, no." My pulse is racing, and I feel sweaty. Is this a panic attack? I think it might be.

Maybe it's not true. I push away from my desk and stand up on shaky legs. Taking several deep breaths, I run my hands down the front of my cream-coloured sweater. I can't let Lydia see me like this, and she's the person to confirm whether or not my nightmare is true.

When I pull open my desk drawer to get out the small mirror I keep there, of course my gaze lands on a folded piece of paper that I tucked way in the back after I returned from Hawaii. It might not have been the smartest move, bringing a note with Ronan's phone number on it in to work, but I told myself it was to serve as a reminder to never give into temptation like that again. Because it never ends well.

Little did I know…

Ignoring the note, I grab the mirror and check to make sure I don't look as freaked-out as I feel. Exhaling once more, I put away the mirror, close the drawer, and stand up, brushing invisible lint off my pants.

I can do this. Everything's fine. Nobody is going to know I slept with our new player… Or that it was the best sex of my freaking life. No big deal. No. Big. Deal.

I let out a silent scream, then take a few calming breaths before going to get the confirmation I really don't want to hear.

Opening my office door, I walk the short distance down the hall to Lydia's office, knock twice, and wait for her response.

"Come in." Her nasally voice reaches me, and I open her door. "Oh good, it's you," she says, her gaze returning to her computer screen. Guaranteed she's playing solitaire on there, not working. I'm no idiot, I know Lydia's checked out and perfectly content to let me do her job.

"Hi, Lydia." I clear my throat. "I, um, just saw a news headline I wanted to check with you, something about a player from Toronto being traded here?" My voice squeaks a little, but Lydia doesn't seem to notice.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. That one. I saw the leak."

I nod slowly, willing my heart to stop pounding out of my chest. "Right. So is it true?"

"It's just sources. Nothing's finalized."

I blink slowly at that non-answer. "But are the sources telling the truth?"

Finally, Lydia glances up. "Well, yeah. Of course, they are. That's why I wanted to see you, because I need you to get everything set up for when the player arrives next week to sign contracts. We'll need the usual. Local media, socials, all of it. You can handle that, right?"

Can I handle the job? Yes. Can I handle the fact that Ronan Sinclair is going to be here in a week?

Not so sure about that.

"Of course. That will be fine." I force the words out, even though, no, everything will not be fine. She waves her hand at me and I know I've been dismissed.

Good thing, because if I don't get somewhere private before I lose it, this could get messy. Thankfully, I make it back to my office undisturbed. Closing the door behind me, I lean against the wood and sink down to the ground.

"Holy shit," I whisper.

For all that Ronan and I joked about fate, this feels more like karma coming to bite me in the ass. Fine, we didn't date. But we did do a hell of a lot of other things that night. I thought I could justify it, knowing he would be on the other side of the country, far away from me when it was over.

And now? Now he's going to be much, much closer.

I manage to make it through the rest of my day, fortunately without needing to interact with too many people. I might have one hell of a poker face normally, but today, that skill has abandoned me. Possibly due to the number of times I clicked over to my news feed to see that damn leak and then over to the Wolverines roster to stare at his photo.

I drive home that evening on autopilot. And the second I enter my apartment, I start stripping out of my clothes, leaving them in a messy trail that leads to my bedroom, where I flop down face-first onto my bed in nothing but my underwear. Then, I scream.

After a few seconds, I roll over, lifting my phone up over my head and making a video call. Within seconds, the screen fills with the face of my best friend. When she moved to Vancouver Island last year, I was devastated, more than I ever let her know. She's more than my best friend, she's like a sister. No one knows me better than she does; the good, the bad, and the ugly.

"Are Coop or Sawyer around?" I blurt out as soon as I see her. This isn't a conversation I need her kid or her boyfriend overhearing. Not to mention I'm not dressed…although I do keep the phone angled so Tori doesn't see too much.

"No, they're out at the movies." Tori's face fills with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Um," I start. "Maybe not. Guess who's getting traded to the Tridents?"

Tori's eyes widen. "No way."

I nod. "Yes way. I have to set up everything for the press conference when he comes to sign contracts next week."

"Holy shit," Tori whispers, the rare curse word slipping out of her, proving she gets how monumental this is.

"What am I gonna do, T? The only reason I let myself go there with him was because I thought the chances of ever seeing him again were slim to none. And if I did, it would be from a distance, or brief, like a quick sound bite on the field, at best. Now he's going to be here, in my city, in my stadium, on my team." I'm starting to spiral, but Tori's right there to stop it, thank God.

"Listen to me, Wills. If you're going to let what happened in Hawaii affect your ability to do your job, then we have a problem. You're Willow Lawson. You're a badass, you don't take crap from anyone, and you have more courage and confidence in your pinky finger than most women do in their entire bodies. You're better than this. So what if he's being traded to your team? You had some hot sex with the man, that's all. It was enjoyable and consensual. You're both adults. This. Is. Different. From. Before."

"What if he says something?" I whisper, voicing my biggest fear. "He's more important to the team than I am. If Lydia finds out we have a history, I could lose my shot at the promotion, or worse. Have you ever heard of Vicki Daws?" My voice starts to rise, in volume and in pitch, as my panic grows. "She was the head of HR for the Arizona Flyers. Was. Until the player she was dating from the team broke up with her, and she not only lost her job but also had to move away from the city. The players always come first, Tori. If Ronan decides me being here is too messy given our Hawaii hookup, he could seriously ruin my life."

"Okay, but you're the one who said he was a good guy. Do you really think he's going to do that?"

"No," I reply, and even though most of me believes it, the kernel of doubt remains.

"Trust your gut, Wills. It's not often wrong." Tori's face softens. "And I know you hate the idea of nepotism, but the one benefit you don't like to admit about your uncle owning the team is the fact it would take something huge for him to let you go."

She's right, I do hate the idea of getting special treatment just because of my relationship to Uncle Mike. I've worked my ass off to prove I got to where I am without his help. But she's also right. He's got my back when it matters.

I exhale loudly. "It's going to be so weird seeing him all the time."

"Seeing him and not having him, you mean?" Tori's eyebrows waggle suggestively as she smirks, earning a short burst of laughter from me.

"Stop being the romance author and go back to being my best friend."

"I am being your best friend. I'm reminding you that he was nothing more than some good dick. That's what you told me when you got back, and that's what you have to remember right now."

"Nothing more than some good dick," I repeat. "Sure. I can compartmentalize. Easy." Yeah, I don't believe me, either.

"And if he's half as decent as he was in Hawaii, I don't think he'll say a thing," Tori soothes. "You said he seemed like a good guy. Not one to kiss and tell. So don't worry about it. Do your job, let him do his, and that's all."

"Okay. You're right. I'm a badass, he's just a player, and there is absolutely no reason why anyone needs to know any different."

"That's my girl."

A week later, dressed to kill in my favourite black pencil skirt, eggplant-coloured blouse, and low-heeled booties, I close my eyes just outside the conference room. "I'm a badass, he's just a player," I whisper to myself once more before turning the handle and entering the room for our preliminary meeting before the media conference that will formally announce Ronan as a Vancouver Trident.

The second I enter the room, my eyes zero in on him. His back is turned to me, his dark blond hair trimmed from when I last saw it curling out from under a hat. The light blue dress shirt he's wearing tapers perfectly into the tailored pants that cup his butt. A butt I'm intimately familiar with. A butt that probably looks even better in baseball pants.

Nope, not going there, Willow.I shake my head and plaster a professional smile on my face as I walk confidently over to where Ronan and his agent stand with my uncle Mike and the head coach.

"Gentlemen, if we're ready, I have everyone waiting for our exciting announcement."

Heads turn, but the only one I care about is his. I hold my breath. This is it, the moment when I find out if he'll keep our secret just that — or if he'll ruin everything. The shock on his face when he registers my presence makes it evident he wasn't expecting to see me here.

Guess that's my fault for not telling him exactly where I worked in media relations, but too little, too late now. His mouth is open, like he's seen a ghost. Widening my eyes slightly, I try to mentally tell him to get it together before someone sees him looking at me like that. Thank goodness, he gets the message. I watch him give his head a little shake before a mask of indifference falls over his face.

And I hate the fact that seeing that mask directed toward me stings.

"Ah, Willow. Thank you." Uncle Mike walks over and drapes his arm over my shoulder, guiding me closer to the others. "Ronan, Gage, this is my niece Willow, from our media relations team. You'll get to know her quite well, as she's very hands on."

Oh God, shut up, Uncle Mike. I manage a polite laugh, shaking hands with Ronan's agent before finally turning to him. Here we go. "Ronan, welcome to Vancouver." I put out my hand, and the second his much larger one engulfs mine, I know I'm in trouble.

Deep blue eyes, eyes that have seen all of me, in every possible way, sweep up and down my body. His tongue darts out and licks his lips. Lips that I still remember feeling whisper across my skin. And when he speaks, the voice that growled out the dirtiest of dirty talk reverberates through me with one simple statement.

"Thank you, Willow. Happy to be here."