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“Yeah?” I ask, frowning as my gaze lights on a familiar-looking petite, slim brunette. Recognition flares a second later. Right. One of the front-office people. Can’t remember the exact department, though. “I’m sorry, I don’t ...” I trail off, silently inviting her to supply her name. Especially if she wants me to call her by it.
“Natasha Mowry.” She inclines her head. “Sorry to hold you up, Mr. Young, but if I could have a moment?”
Her attention doesn’t shift to Erik, but the message is clear. At least to me. She wants to speak without an audience. My brows hike, curiosity roused, despite me hating that shit. I glance at Erik, who shrugs and bumps his shoulder against mine.
“I’ll hit you up later to see if you change your mind about tonight.” Giving Natasha Mowry a chin jerk, he continues down the hall.
“What can I do for you?” I ask her, attempting to conceal the impatience running rampant through me. Curiosity didn’t trump the desperate need to end this day.
“There’s a young woman in the conference room who’d like to speak—”
I shake my head, cutting her off.
“Sorry, but my PA handles all the fan shit. I’m not doing any meet and greets right now, but shoot an email to Alyssa, and she’ll send her a signed jersey or something.”
I’m already turning around when Natasha stops me again.
“Mr. Young, please, wait. This isn’t a meet and greet. The woman is a firefighter from the city—”
“No more community service events either. I’m good with the Boys and Girls Club.”
Her mouth firms at my second interruption, and I’m no mind reader, so I can’t say for certain that she’s calling me an asshole. Butthose narrowed eyes and flattened lips telegraph the message pretty loud and clear.
She’s not wrong. My mother would pop the shit out of me if she overheard me being rude. Especially to a woman.
Still doesn’t change my answer, though.
“I understand,” she says, voice measured like she’s doing deep-breathing exercises having to fuck with me. “This isn’t about community service either. It has to do with the fire at our facility last week.”
I blink.Thatgrabs my attention.
“Yeah? What about it?”
“One of the firefighters found something of yours and would like to return it. She insists on giving the item only to you.” Her mouth tightens at the corners, and once more I catch a hint of irritation. As if the stubbornness and audacity of the firefighter waiting in the conference room annoys her. “Ordinarily, we wouldn’t allow a meetup between strangers and our players, but Mr. Talley okayed it. He spoke with the young woman and told me to tell you that you’ll want to see her.”
I stiffen at the cryptic message from my father-in-law, who’s also the Pirates’ owner. The fire. Something belonging to me. The firefighter wanting to return it only to me.
This could mean only one thing. My pulse thickens, slows. What were the odds?
Blinking again, I refocus on Natasha.
“Where’s she at again?”
“The conference room next to the media room.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, then take off for the opposite direction of where I’d been headed.
A thousand thoughts whirl through my mind as my legs eat up the distance between the locker room to the front of the building. My heart hasn’t stopped hammering against my rib cage, and I can’t cleanly parse the emotions dogpiling one another. Anxiety, relief, anger—they’re so tangled I can’t pinpoint which one claims more real estate.
Minutes later, I approach the closed conference-room door. My hand hovers over the knob, and I give a harsh yet low chuckle. The fuck am I hesitating for? It’s not like I’m waiting on an ass-beating on the other side of this door. Logically, I acknowledge that. But the fist of emotion lodged in the base of my throat?
That ain’t listening.
“Stop being a pussy,” I mutter to myself, forcing my fingers to close around the knob and twist. Pushing the door open, I move into the room.
At first, I don’t see anyone. Just the long conference table with the built-in monitors and black leather chairs, along with the large screen mounted on the far wall. A softly clearing throat draws my attention to the corner directly across from me. The corner and the woman standing in it, like a child placed in fucking time-out.
Except there isn’t a damn thing childish about her.
