The Secret Hook-Up

It’s two in the morning when my phone dings with a text message notification. I lunge for it since I know Paisley’s at a party and I told her I’d come get her, no questions asked, if she needs me.

But it’s not Paisley.

It’s Addie.

My heart trips, then races even harder than when I thought my niece was in trouble.

And that’s before I read the message.

I’m withdrawing my name from consideration for the team manager position.

I sit straight up.

Blink a few times.

Get up and take a piss to verify I’m actually awake and not having a whacked-out dream.

When my toilet looks like my toilet and I don’t struggle to relieve myself, I know I’m truly awake and not dreaming or hallucinating.

So I head back to bed. Sit up. Read Addie’s message again.

And then I call her.

When she doesn’t answer, I call her again.

This time, she answers on the fifth ring, sounding mildly out of breath. “You’re not supposed to call me.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re only at the texting each other stage of this…thing. Hang up and text me back.”

“Look at this funny hockey GIF is texting stage. I’m making a massive career decision that I texted you about at two in the morning is phone stage.”

“Oh, fuck, it’s two a.m. on the East Coast.”

“It’s past your bedtime in LA too.”

“Cooper and Waverly had a party.”

I hear distant laughter, and I realize she’s still there. “You went? Good on you.”

“Waverly’s my friend. And I wanted to talk to a friend.”

“About your job?”

“About you. But that’s for text. Not for phone.”

I almost smile while I rub my hand over my heart that’s pounding in my chest. My pulse is still hammering, but it’s starting to slow down. “How about you tell me what you were going to text to save your hands the trouble?”

She blows out a breath. I wonder if she’s working up her I’m a badass expression, or if she’s scrunching her face up in frustration that I’m not cooperating. “You should go back to sleep.”C0ntent © 2024 (N/ô)velDrama.Org.

“Paisley’s at a party. I’m sleeping like shit while I worry some fucker’s plying her with alcohol or getting pissed that she’s whomping him in pool or…worse.”

“Is she alone?”

“No. She made a few friends at her new job and apparently she’s doing some Greek life thing too.”

“Are they the good kind of friends?”

“If I knew they were the good kind of friends, I’d be sleeping a lot better.”

“Oh.”

“She’s never made bad friends before, so she’s probably fine. But I’m not, which is a me problem.” No matter how much work I’ve done to remind myself that I’m not responsible for everything that happens to everyone in my life, I’m still likely not sleeping the rest of the night. “What’s with this change in job idea?”

When she doesn’t answer right away, I settle deeper into my bed and switch the call to speakerphone. “Addie?”

“I deserve to be me at my job,” she says quietly. “The professional me, I mean. And the professional me is too hard still. I can’t lead a team if I’m afraid to connect with the players.”

“You scared?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Don’t be. You’ve got this.”

“I don’t. Not…not right now. But I want to.”

“What’s the plan? How can I help?”

“I think…I think I need to picture them all as women.”

I bark out a laugh in the darkness, then sober quickly. “Sorry. Sorry. Didn’t mean that.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s an unorthodox approach, but I think it’ll help me relax. I know where the lines are. I know where the boundaries are. I know what’s professional. I don’t worry at all when I’m volunteering with the women’s and girls’ teams around the city. So if I can picture my players as women, I can be more effective. And if it turns out that relaxed Addie makes a bad batting coach, then this job isn’t for me, and the manager position especially isn’t for me.”

“It’s all you’ve ever wanted.”

“It’s what I’ve wanted to prove.” She inhales again. “Like my independence is what I’ve wanted to prove.”

“Your independence is sexy as hell.”

“It’s really, really nice when you do my dishes.”

You can hear how hard it is for her to say that out loud.

And that’s what’s making hope grow in my chest.

She’s trying.

She wouldn’t try if she didn’t want me in her life.

“I’ve done my own dishes for about fifteen years now,” I tell her. “Cooking too. I don’t grocery shop and I don’t do laundry. Spoiled myself hiring those out during one of my early seasons, and I can afford it, so I keep paying for them instead.”

“I know.”

“That doesn’t change when I’m involved with someone.”

“I wouldn’t expect it would. Not with you.”

I love the sound of her voice. It’s a soft melody tickling my ears and making me want to write poetry. An ode to Addie and her voice.

“You know the problem was always me and not you, right?” she says.

“You are not and never were a problem. You’re a human being who’s been hurt and who’s been through things that make you wary. That’s life. I am not a problem now, and I wasn’t a problem then either. But my refusal to acknowledge that you needed to go slower than I did was a problem. My action was a problem. Not me. And you needing to go slow isn’t a problem.”

She’s quiet on the other end of the line, like she needs a minute to process.

“I spent a couple years seeing a therapist,” I say. “It…helped.”

“I should do that.”

“Highly recommend it.”

“It scares me how much I like you.”

The way I want to book tickets across the country to meet this woman at her next city so I can look her in the eye and promise her she’s safe with me is almost unbearable.

But if I truly mean she’s safe with me, then I have to let her want me there.

Not leap because I want to be there.

“I’m proud of you for doing the scary things.” I’m proud of her. That’s not what I want to tell her.

I want to tell her so much more.

You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.

I fantasize about you hourly.

Shampooing your hair is my favorite memory.

I want you back in my bed, every night, for eternity, and I want to make you coffee and breakfast every morning.

“What if it takes me years to fully get there?” she says.

“Can we hang out during those years?”

“Yes.”

“Is there any chance you’ll let me kiss you during those years?”

Her “yes” is softer this time, with a hint of longing that makes me hard so fast my balls ache.

“I would enjoy kissing you again.” My voice is softer too. Husky. Raw. I don’t want to scare her. But fuck, I miss kissing her. Holding her. Having sex with her. Telling her stories and listening to all of her stories too. Laughing with her.

I adjust my cock, which is hard as granite just from hearing her voice.

I miss this woman.

I want this woman.

“When I texted you after I saw you throw out the first pitch—it wasn’t about hooking up again,” she says. “I just wanted to ask you to be discreet about that night after my interview. But you’re so damn irresistible and you don’t even try. You’re so easy to be with, and that is the scariest thing about you.”

Don’t be scared, Addie. Don’t be scared. Easy means it’s right. “I’ll work on that.”

She doesn’t laugh. “I’m not easy to be with, Duncan.”

“Yes, you are.”

Her breath hitches. “No, I⁠—”

“You are to me.”

She huffs a soft laugh. “Who have you been dating to make me look easy?”

“It’s you, Addie. Not in comparison to anybody. Just you. You get the drive and passion I have for playing hockey because you have the same drive and passion for coaching baseball. I like that. I need that. Even after hockey, there’ll be something. I don’t go halfway. I can’t. You get that.”

She makes a soft noise that makes me want to physically be with her so badly, it hurts.

I swallow. “When you get home and kick your shoes off and let your hair down, you’re as big of a marshmallow as any of us in downtime. When we’re with family and friends. With the people we let in. When we don’t worry about how we’ll look if we get a little too tipsy or too competitive or too honest. I’ve always felt the obligation to go overboard taking care of the people in my life, and you—you don’t need me to take care of you. You just need me to stand next to you. It’s nice. I like it. I like you.”

She’s quiet again. I hear more distant laughter. I’d ask if I’m keeping her from the party, but she’s not there for a party. She’s there because she needed to see her friend.

If she wanted to go talk to everyone else, she would.

“I don’t know if anyone has ever liked me…for me,” she finally whispers.

Her confession is a sucker punch to the heart and a call to ride at dawn.

Someone hurt her.

Likely multiple someones.

I want to end them all.

But not as much as I want to hug her and kiss her and show her how much this guy likes her for exactly who she is.

All of her.

“From this moment forward,” I say, “you can go to bed every night knowing someone likes you for you. All of you. Your drive. Your intelligence. Your passion. Your independence. Your body. Your heart. All of you. And I will destroy anyone who makes you feel like you don’t deserve that. Understand?”

When she doesn’t reply right away, I mentally punch myself.

Too much, dummy.

We’re going slow.

We’re not scaring her away with I am obsessed with you and I will defend your honor to the end of time.

Except that’s what I just did.

“Duncan?” she whispers.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’m going slow. I promise I’m being patient.”

“Thank you for liking me enough to want to destroy my enemies.”

“I know you can do it yourself.”

“I—I think I understand now how that turns women on.” Her voice is throaty.

And there goes my dick getting harder. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I swallow hard. Adjust myself again. Let my eyes fall shut while I imagine Addie’s hands on me. “Let me know if you ever want me to tell you that again.”

“I’ll try.”

My phone buzzes in the middle of the call, and I lunge for it. But I smack the water bottle on my nightstand too, and it goes crashing to the floor.

“All okay?” Addie asks.

I scan my text message. “Paisley’s home safe. Had a good time.”

“So you can sleep now.”

Not with this hard-on. “That’s the theory.”

“Great. Good. You need your sleep. I’ll—I’ll see you next week. For Croaking Creatures. Thank you for calling.”

“I don’t have to go.”

“I think I do.”

“Okay. Call or text anytime. I’ll be here.”

I don’t hang up.

I don’t want to hang up.

I want to wait for her to hang up.

But she doesn’t either.

Instead, there’s a very long pause, and then⁠—

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Anything for you, Addie. “My pleasure.”

The line goes dead.

I pull up our text messages and scroll back.

I wish you hadn’t gotten attached. Then we could’ve hung out forever.

I’m attached, Addie. I’m attached, and we’ll still hang out forever.

But in the meantime, I have a boner to rub out and some upgrades to our Croaking Creatures date to plan.