Free Behind the Pitch, a novella: Seeking Serenity 1.5 by Eden Butler Page B

couldn’t find the words, they’d slipped away from my mind, filtered out until I was left staring after Autumn like a fecking idiot.
    She didn’t like that and I reckon I couldn’t blame her. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
    “Autumn…”
    Again she tried fighting me, seemed intent to put as much space between us as possible, but I couldn’t let her go, didn’t want to be more than inches from her. I tugged on her jeans, slid her toward me by her belt loops and frowned at her, challenging her with a look to push me away.
    “Just go upstairs. Do the stuff that Sayo asked you to do and leave me alone.”
    Yeah, that’s not what she wanted. She wasn’t pushing anymore and her eyes stared too long, too hard. We didn’t speak, didn’t argue in the least. A small kiss on her forehead, the smallest taste of her sweet skin and I was undone. She shuddered, moved her arms and shoulders as though she’d grown cold.
    Nope, she didn’t want me leaving.
    “I can’t do that.” I didn’t think I could ever leave her alone. She was in my blood like an infection, heady and consuming. With her so close to me, her breath lifting over my face I did the only thing I could and moved my thumb across her bottom lip. I was going to kiss her. There was nothing for it…moth, flame, I was well fucked and I pulled her closer, there, just a bit closer… “Autumn…”
    “No.”
    Buggering hell.
    I watched her face, the play of resistance and need, moving across her features, forcing her eyes shut as she struggled for control. And then, she scooted back, jumped to her feet, as though I was contagious, as though being anywhere near me was a slight on her good sense. I understood, trust me. My rational mind organized reason and logic and helped me see that my rejection of her had her wanting distance.
    Telling my body that, though, was impossible. Primal Declan grunted “want…woman…now” and I followed her, barely managed to keep myself back, ignored that she wouldn’t face me, that suddenly the bookshelf was the height of interest to Autumn.
    Then, she jabbed below the belt. “I’d hate for Tucker to find out we’re fighting. We—we need you playing. Cameron gave us hell last season and—”
    “Don’t tell me about you and fecking Tucker.” I couldn’t take it. The edge of my patience was somewhere behind me, and I let all my frustration, all my anger spill over, slamming my fist on the table. “I don’t want to know about it.”
    I knew I’d scared her. The severity in her stance was back, her cheeks had paled. “I didn’t say anything about us.”
    I’d seen them, the night before, cozied up together at the coffee shop. He touched her, touched my Autumn, and she let him. I wanted to avoid a scene, give her space, let that wanker see that I could follow directions, that I wasn’t as consumed by her as he assumed. What a fake I was. I couldn’t manage to get far away, slipped out of the shop and watched them through the window. Like an idiot. Like someone whose heart had been ripped right out of his chest. Morrison held her hand, lead McShane to their table with his hand on her back. I had to walk away. If I hadn’t, I was certain I wouldn’t be able to hold back from bloodying his face. Again.
    Just the thought of them together had my blood boiling and I couldn’t calm myself, couldn’t resist getting too close to Autumn, invading her personal space, circling her head with my arms, breath hard, expression likely desperate, pathetic. “Did you want to hurt me? Last night, when you were with him? Did you want me jealous?”
    “I didn’t do—”
    “I saw you, McShane. I saw you with that bollocks. You know I saw you. Him touching you—” No, I didn’t want to remember it, shook my head to drive out the memory. “He kept touching you. You let him. He held your hand, you held his. I saw that too. God, did he kiss you?”
    “That’s none of your business.”
    A worse, highly