Chapter Text
The clubhouse was oddly empty, the silent halls echoing as her tennis shoes beat a steady path across the carpeted floor. Ginny moved quickly, almost floating, heading for her locker. She’d forgotten her gym bag inside after a hard loss, and with it, her house keys. Exasperated with her own shortcomings, Ginny pushed open the door to the locker room without knocking.
And came face-to-face with Mike Lawson.
It wasn’t his presence that startled her, nor his all-too-familiar crooked smile. No; these were things she knew well about her captain, things she adored (though she would die before admitting it). What caused her mouth to fall open was the fact that he was sitting squarely in the middle of the room, submerged in an ice bath.
Ginny froze in her tracks, struggling to process, trying her hardest to force her body to flee. Instead, her eyes drank in the sight of him like a woman dying of thirst. She’d seen Lawson shirtless hundreds of times--the whole world had. Hell, she’d even seen him naked in an artistic pose.
This was very, very, different.
For one thing, magazine shoots always failed to capture the light brown freckles dusting his shoulders, and the golden glow of his sun-kissed skin. And sure, his hair, thick and dark, looked nice when it was styled for editorials, but wet? Curling at the nape of his neck? That was something to behold. And of course, his body in motion was a thing of beauty, finely tuned, a spectacle of athleticism. At rest though, there was a softness to his bulk that Ginny found irresistible.
“Rookie,” his voice, deep and authoritative as always, sent a mortifying shiver down her spine.
“Captain,” she snapped to attention, her wits returning. “I’m sorry, I just needed my keys--” she was stammering, stammering, like some teenage fangirl. It was bad enough he knew about the poster she once had of him (still had, hanging from the wall of her childhood bedroom). Now she’d just given him irrefutable proof that no matter her blustering, she was in awe of him.
“Calm down, Baker,” Mike was nonplussed. “You can’t see any of the good stuff.” He waved a hand, gesturing her in. “Shut the door. It’s one thing for you to be ogling me. I don’t need the rest of the staff doing it too.”
Ginny obeyed, thinking privately that if the good bits were what she wasn’t seeing, they had to be mighty impressive indeed. “Forgot my bag,” she said aloud, offering him an apologetic smile. “And hasn’t all of San Diego seen these so-called good bits?”
Mike shook his head, holding up one thick finger. “One,” he began. “If you use finger quotes again, Baker, I swear to God this friendship is over. And two,” he paused, tilting his head at her. “You sound jealous.”
Ginny scoffed. “Hardly,” she protested.
“You sure?” he raised one bushy brow. When he blinked, those damned eyelashes of his clung to his damp cheeks, thicker and curlier than they had any right to be.
“I’m positive, Captain,” she said, satisfied that she sounded like she was telling the truth.
“Oh yeah?” Mike leaned back in the tub, disturbing the ice. “Then why are you just standing there staring, instead of grabbing the bag you forgot?”
“I’m not--” Ginny protested, even as her feet remained frozen in place.
“I think you want to see, Baker,” Mike baited.
“You wish,” it was childish, but her brain could not seem to summon a better retort.
“I do,” Mike answered at once, looking at her hard, his dark eyes turning nearly black.
“You do?” the question came out half a squeak. All of the blood in her body seemed to be making an urgent rush downwards, pooling between her legs. She squeezed them together, willing herself to exercise restraint.
“Yeah, Gin,” Mike’s voice was heavy with a tone she’d never heard before, but instantly craved. “Say the word, and I’ll show you.”
The offer hung between them, hot and charged. The room seemed suddenly unbearably small, her mind incapable of coherent thought.
Ginny stepped closer, her bag forgotten. “I want to see,” she whispered, heart pounding.
Grinning, Mike stood up. The ice jostled around him, sliding down into the metal basin below. Mike’s skin pebbled, the temperature change sending a visible chill rushing through him. Water corded down his muscles. Her eyes followed its path eagerly, the breath getting knocked out of her.
“Well,” he reached for a towel, drying his arms as he stepped out of the tub. “Like what you see, Baker?”
She wanted to call him on his ego, but found she couldn’t find the words to protest. “Jesus, Mike,” her every word was a gasp. “That’s you after sitting in ice.”
Mike didn’t bother to keep the pride off his face. “Wait until you see it in action.”
He stepped fully out of the tub, rushing for her. Ginny met him halfway. They collided in a desperate clash of limbs, scrambling to get closer. She ached for him, complications be damned. And if he wanted her right here in the clubhouse, well...he could have her.
She reached down, smoothing her palms across his tightened abs, through his happy trail, heading for the prize.
“Damn, Ginny,” Mike muttered. His voice alone was enough to send an impossible thrill through her. She was dizzy, eager, spiraling out of control. The world around them seemed to be shaking, going fuzzy at the edges. The ground beneath them gave a sudden lurch. Her head swung forward, colliding with Mike’s.
“Shit,” he cursed. “What the hell, Rookie?”
Ginny’s eyes opened to the sight of an airplane screen playing some comedy without the sound. She was cramped, her legs folded beneath her, her mouth dry, and her head pressed flat to Mike’s broad shoulder. Her headphones were tangled around her neck, hanging uselessly.
“Thought you were having a nightmare,” Mike turned his head to look at her, reaching above them for the narrow spotlight. He flicked it on, peering into her face as he rubbed at the reddened spot on his cheek. “Didn’t expect you to headbutt me.”
Ginny blinked in confusion, disappointment overtaking her. Mike’s irritation melted into concern.
“Shit, Baker, was it a really bad nightmare?” He lifted the armrest between them. The feel of his arm against her leg sent a shiver through her. Mike noticed at once. “You ok?” he asked
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Mike narrowed his eyes.
“What were you dreaming about?” he questioned.
Ginny scrambled for an answer. “I dreamed I lost my house keys. You were helping me find them.”
The excuse was thin and they both knew it. Mike cut his eyes at her.
“Were you having a dirty dream, Rookie?” he asked.
Ginny did not protest fast enough. Instead, a mortifying blush began to color her cheeks
“Shit, Baker, was it about me?” he whispered, delight shining behind his eyes.
Her sudden flush was all the answer Mike needed. He began to laugh. Ginny hit him.
“Ow,” he protested, rubbing his arm. “I’m not the one having inappropriate thoughts about a coworker.” He grinned. “I could report you to HR, you know.”
“Lawson, please,” Ginny hated how desperate she sounded. “Shut up.” She wished she had her hat, if only to hide her face. She busied herself with her headphones instead, attempting to untangle them. Mike reached for the wires, tugging them from her hands.
“Was I good?” he asked, fussing with the knot.
She hit him again in answer, wishing she could dissolve into her seat. She made a move to grab her headphones, but Mike pulled his hands back.
“I must have been really good,” he quipped, that insufferable smirk splitting his face.
“Mike…” she sighed, looking around the plane. The rest of the team was blessedly asleep or wired into music and movies. It did little to assuage her embarrassment.
He took pity on her. “Don’t worry, Gin,” the nickname stole her breath, but Mike charitably didn’t comment on it. “It’ll be our little secret. It’s my fault for looking the way I do. Can’t help it.” He handed her headphones back to her, untangled.
She shook her head, covering her face. Mike rubbed her shoulder soothingly.
“It happens to everyone. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” He sounded almost genuine.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she managed to mutter. “It wasn’t that good of a dream.” She plugged back into her movie, determined to put this behind her.
“Sure,” he nodded, unaffected. “It’s nothing new anyway. I’m told my poster did that to lots of fans,” he shrugged one shoulder, doing his damndest to hide his smirk. “Old habits die hard.”
“Mike--” she warned, going maroon.
He only smiled, popping his headphones on and shutting his eyes.
Ginny watched him for a moment, waiting until she was satisfied that he was done. When he began to snore, mouth hanging open, she took a moment to record it, saving the video to her phone. In his sleep, Mike leaned against her, the armrest still up between them. Ginny considered lowering it for a moment before settling back into her seat. She queued up a new movie and promptly began to ignore it, focusing instead on Mike’s weight against her arm and side.
She knew if she went back to sleep, the dream was likely to return, perhaps in more stunning detail. She could smell the crisp scent of Mike’s cologne, feel his breath tickling her arm as he snored away.
Grinning to herself, Ginny shut her eyes, curling up against him.