Current day

I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and breathe in the stale hotel air. Jesus, what am I doing? I don’t stress over women. Ever. Besides, Jocelyn made it clear she didn’t want anything to do with me, but she’s not like most women.

She’s Jocelyn.

I grab the phone and glance at the time. So much for a quick phone call. I’m now twenty minutes behind and still have to face traffic. Nana’s going to kick my ass. She may be pushing ninety, but her mental lashings are every bit as feisty as an old bird. Swiping my keys off the table, I push off the bed and try to clear my head of a certain brunette. The task proves impossible as Zach’s words surge through my mind and confuse the hell out of me.

My feet carry me across the golden-brown carpet and out into the hallway while I try to rationalize my motives. I never hold back, but what exactly do I want?

After talking to Jocelyn last weekend, there’s no doubt in my mind I want to see her again. But for long-term? I honestly can’t answer. All I know is I haven’t been myself since talking to her. She consumes my every thought, dredging up feelings that, if I’m honest with myself, have never gone away.

Plenty of girls have entered my life since Jocelyn and I split, but none have been serious. I took an oath to the single-man club the day reality gut-punched me. Six weeks after our fight, I walked through the dining hall and witnessed Carl’s fucking hands draped around her as if she was his personal possession. Jesus, I was pissed, unjustifiably, of course. I mean, we were broken up, and it was my own fault. I didn’t fight hard enough for her. Hell, I didn’t even fight at all. But the cold hard truth remains the same today as it did back then—I never stopped caring for her.

Had I not hurt her that December day, she would still be mine. Maybe. I don’t know. By the way things seem today, she obviously wanted kids. That’s the one thing I would never provide. Surely, we would’ve worked through that.

“Kids are involved, and that’s a whole other playing field.”

I punch the down button and mentally back myself into the area where I excel—the date-free zone. Zach’s right. I need to be damn sure what it is I want before I go after her.

The elevator door slides open to a leggy blonde standing in the middle. She shifts to my left, giving me an appreciative side glance. I nod politely but face forward. I may be confused about Jocelyn, but I know good and well no other woman holds a candle to her. Until I figure out what I’m going to do, women are off-limits.

The elevator jerks downward as the blonde asks if I’m in town for business. Fair enough question, but since I’m on the outskirts of the city, I doubt anyone would stay here to conduct business. This is hardly a five-star resort. I only stay here because the location serves well between the city and Nana’s nursing home.

“Visiting family.” Family. A sharp pang twists my heart at the implied plural meaning, but I force my face to remain impassive. In truth, it hurts like hell knowing that Nana is all I have left.

“Ah, niece or nephew’s birthday?”

I bite back a sigh and answer, “Grandma, actually.”

She grins just as the elevator slows to a stop. I motion for her to exit, and as soon as she’s clear, my feet can’t carry me away fast enough. I turn toward the lobby and cut across the faux marble tile. I’m halfway to my destination when a slight gasp freezes me in my tracks. I turn to the sound and can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. Well, well, well. Who do we have here?

“Most jersey chasers stalk the players during the season, babe.” My gaze rakes along Jocelyn’s knee-length skirt and cashmere turtleneck sweater. “And they definitely show more skin.”

My half-teasing tone causes her jaw to drop. An effect I seem to keep having on her.

“I’m not stalking you. I—”

“Yeah?” I glance around and take in the hotel’s aged decor. My heart rate spikes when I wonder if she’s alone. “What makes you visit this dump?”

The anger in her eyes dissolves into embarrassment as she turns her head away. “I had an interview.”

A sudden lightness strikes my senses. Thank fuck, she isn’t here with another guy, but I can hardly celebrate. Not when her expression makes me want to wrap myself around her and form a protective shield. “You don’t sound too thrilled.”

The planes of her face harden as she flashes her gaze back to me. “I haven’t worked in over six years. My last job was at Penn State’s bookstore.”

Ah, yes. I remember that. I ordered all my books from some sketchy website just to avoid seeing her.

“Sorry?”

She shakes her head. “I always wanted to work, so I guess this is a good thing. I just thought this job consisted of more organizational skills than what they’re actually offering.”

We resume walking toward the entrance, and my gaze dips to her ass. Ten years later, I can’t deny she still looks good, even if she’s sporting Mother Teresa’s clothing line.

“I’m sure you can find something you like better.” Can she? I really have no idea what the job market is like. But I somehow doubt she’ll find her dream job in this dated hotel.

“I have another interview tomorrow I’m looking forward to.”

“Yeah? Is it more along the lines of marketing?”

A cool November breeze whips her hair back as the doorman opens the door for us. My heart pauses at the smile crossing her lips.

“No,” she says with a laugh. “It’s more to do with baking.”

“You’re good at that. Maybe you’d enjoy that line of work better.”

“Maybe. There was a bakery back home I loved as a child. I always thought it’d be cool working there.”

Horns blare in the background as we sidestep the people rushing by. She turns left, the opposite direction from my parking garage. She’s about to walk away, but I don’t want our conversation to end. Not yet.

“There’s a coffee shop not too far. Would you want to get something to drink?” Sorry, Nana.

Her smile wavers as indecision fills her eyes. The yes is on the tip of her tongue, but she pulls out her cell and checks the time. By the way her posture slackens, I know I lost her.

“I can’t. I really need to pick up Melanie before the other two get out of school.”

“Some other time.” I close the distance between us, and just like last weekend, her breathing accelerates.

“Oh my God. You’re Jax Carrigan,” a shrill female voice interrupts.

I direct my attention to two teenage girls who paused midstride to gawk. “You know who I am?”

“Yeah,” the shorter one says in a tone that mimics a duh. “You’re only the hottest baseballer.”

“Jenny,” the other girl says, slapping her friend’s arm.

“The hottest, huh?” I glance at Jocelyn with a raised eyebrow. Her shoulders start to shake.

“Can we get a selfie?”

Amusement dances in Jocelyn’s eyes before she steps out of the way of the giggling girls. I cross my arms over my chest but smile. Whenever photos are involved, I make sure not to touch any of the fans, especially underage girls. The last thing I want is some rumor surfacing on the internet or in the tabloids.

Once satisfied with the shots, the girls giggle some more as they admire the pictures.

I turn back to Jocelyn, and she just shakes her head.

“I believe you were getting ready to agree to a future coffee date,” I say as my fan club walks away.

“I’m not sure I can handle a hot baseballer.”

“I believe it’s the hottest,” I correct.

“Come on, now. You’re no Kris Bryant.”

“Pfft, please.”

Her laugh draws my gaze to her mouth, and my heart hammers against my ribs. God, I’ve missed that sound. My new favorite activity—make Jocelyn laugh.

“I really need to get going.”

“Don’t think for one second you won’t be seeing me again,” I say when she turns to leave. She pauses but then steps forward without saying a word. As she slips through the crowd, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Zach’s number. “Yeah, I’m going to need Jocelyn’s number.”