Rookie Move

by KB Winters

  “Thank you, Wright. Come on in, sit down.”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  I took the seat indicated and he rounded his desk and took the leather chair behind the desk. His desk was organized and in place. No doubt thanks to his granny panty wearing assistant. She probably had nothing better to do on a Saturday night anyway. No one was hittin’ that.

  “All right. I’m not gonna bullshit you, son. Last night’s game was a train wreck.”

  I flexed my jaw.

  “But to be fair, it was a train wreck long before you hit the field.” Coach sized me up and I kept my mouth in check (it was possible, on occasion). “But you’re a smart guy, Wright. You know how this works. No one remembers the dozen bad calls, missed opportunities, or fuck-ups before that grand slam. That’s all anyone wants to talk about right now.”

  I nodded, my jaw still tightly clenched. I was going to wait one more minute to see where this was all headed before I let loose my opinions.

  “I gave you the call to pitch it low and I’m also the one who told you Delgado wouldn’t swing at his first pitch. You threw a hundred-mile-per-hour fast ball low and inside just like I told you to do.” He arched a brow at me. “You did exactly what I asked and that's all I could ever ask of a ball player.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, inclining my head. His response was more than I could have hoped for. Usually this kind of fiasco became a merry-go-round of blame shifting until everyone was dizzy and nauseated by the whole thing.

  “But we still have to figure out where to go from here. The team is in a bit of a crisis, Wright. You know why you were brought up early from the minors. I need you here. I need your skills. But we have to work together or we’re both going to look like idiots. I can deal with the front office, but they won’t let this kind of shit continue unchecked. They can’t afford another rebuilding year. The city will lose faith and they’re barely holding on as it is. We have to make big things happen. This year. Or else we’re all done here.”

  “I understand, Coach.”

  I could feel it brewing. The tension between us crackled like a storm about to break. This was the part where he would lower the boom.

  Coach Robinson stared at me for a long moment and my nerves went tight as guitar strings. Finally, he sighed and came around to lean against the front edge of his desk. He stared down at me with a mix of frustration and despair. “All right, Wright. The way I see it, we have three choices here and I’m gonna let you make the call. All right?”

  I nodded, my hands digging into the arms of the chair just slightly.

  “Option A, I send you back to Holdenville, to the minors, and I forget about you and pretty soon everyone else will too.”

  My eyes flashed at the middle aged man. “Damn, Coach. That’s pretty fuckin’ cold.”

  He flashed a brief smile. “All right. Option B, we give this mess a few days to blow over and then I’ll work you back into the rotation. We’ll skip the hoopla and press shit. No pressure. You can rise back to the top at a controlled rate and by next month, no one will remember the Delgado grand slam.”

  I flexed my jaw. It was still less than ideal, but if anyone could turn things around, it was me. I’d show those mother fuckin’ hecklers who the real clown was. Joke’s on them.

  “Or, option C. We go balls to the wall and I start you tonight versus the Pioneers.”

  My eyes went wide at the bold suggestion. It took a lot to honestly shock the hell out of me but Coach’s suggestion hit the mark.

  Coach laughed at my reaction and smiled wider. “I thought that one might get your attention. Listen, son, this team is my heart and soul. If I play my cards right, this is it for me. I’ll retire behind that dugout. I’m not going anywhere and I want to build the best damn team I can before it’s my turn to bow out and hang up this cap.” He pointed at his hat that seemed permanently embedded in his skull. I honestly didn’t even know if he had hair under there. “I think—no, I know you can do this. You can be the star this team needs. So, I’m willing to put my money where my mouth is. I fought for you to come up from the minors and I want you to shine.”

  I worked my jaw, his words meaning more to me than I was willing to let on. “All right, Coach.”

  “So, option C then?”

  I nodded and shot up to my feet. “Option C. I want a chance to get out there and show them who Cody fuckin’ Wright really is!”

  Coach beamed and rose to his feet, a few inches taller than me. “Glad to hear it. I was partial to option C myself.”

  8

  Chelsea

  “All right, babe. I’ve been dying over here! Robby just left for practice and I gotta know what happened last night after dinner!” Paris was practically breathless with excitement.

  I didn’t know why I even answered the damn phone.

  I sighed and flopped against the mesh fabric that stretched across the back of my office chair. “Nothing happened, Paris. I told you at the ballpark I’m not interested in dating right now and I am especially not interested in dating a ballplayer.”

  A sentiment that had only been reinforced after the drive with Cody and that…well whatever it was…on my front porch.

  Paris groaned. “You didn’t even break off a little piece of that? Damn, Chels, what am I gonna do with you? I practically handed you that ass on a silver platter and you have to admit—it’s a pretty perfect ass.”

  I snorted. “Oh, he’s a perfect ass all right.”

  Paris laughed. “Oh, come on. Get over yourself. You liked him. I could see it in your eyes.”

  “Wrong.”

  “Honey, I’m never wrong about this kind of thing and you know it.”

  “Is this the part where I remind you about the last time you fixed me up? Mr. Handsy the Perv?”

  Paris scoffed. “I didn’t set you up with him. I’d never met him before. And I’ve already apologized for that like a billion times. This is completely different. I’ve met Cody and I like him. And you do too. And what’s not to like? He’s pure man candy.”

  “Hey, Paris, do me a favor and look down at your hand. The left one. What’s that doorknob thing? Oh, that’s right, your engagement ring.”

  She laughed, the sound utterly unfettered. “Yeah, yeah. Robby’s not threatened. Believe me. He knows he has the goods to keep me entertained.”

  “TMI, sista.”

  “Did you see Cody’s hands? I bet he’s hung like a—”

  “Paris!”

  She cackled with delight.

  I rolled my eyes and wondered how long it would take her to notice if I hung up the phone. She was clearly entertained with herself.

  “All right, all right, I’ll stop. The real reason I’m calling is to see how things went with the car. Did they drop it off yet or do I have to go rattle some cages?”

  I smiled. “As much as it pains me to take away your opportunity to go ream some people, the car is here, picture perfect.”

  “Good. Speaking of pictures…”

  “If you say the words Cody and dick pic, I’m going to cut you out of my life.”

  She laughed. “No, no! Nothing like that. Did you see your cars pic in the paper?”

  My heart stopped beating and plummeted to my stomach. I jumped up from my seat, sending my rolling chair skidding back behind me. “What?”

  “Your car is Insta-famous dah-ling!”

  “No, no, no…” I clicked the call on speaker and flipped open my news website for the local news.

  “Yep. Someone took a picture of your car after that grand slam ball smashed the windshield and blasted it all over social media. Don’t worry, they blurred the license plate so you probably won’t have crazy stalkers coming after you. Probably…”

  “Damn it! It’s in the local paper too.”

  “Who reads the paper anymore?” Paris said, and I could imagine her nose wrinkling at such an outdated idea. I doubted she’d ever read a real newspaper. Personally, I liked the feel of the paper and the ink o
n my fingertips. I spent way too much time staring at a computer screen as it was. For reading, I liked physical books, the older the better, and I grabbed a newspaper usually every morning at the coffee shop I frequented. I hadn’t made it out that morning, after a later start than usual, thanks to my…ahem…alone time.

  But there it was. Blasted across the sports section of the online version of the local publication.

  “Ugh! What a disaster.”

  “Oh, calm down. If anything, this is a good thing. The ball value will probably go up now that everyone knows about the grand slam.”

  “Fantastic,” I replied, my tone dry and sarcastic. “I’ll be sure to put the picture of my busted ass windshield on the eBay listing for proof.”

  “It’s a good idea, I’m telling you, some crazed Delgado fan will sell a kidney for that thing.”

  “It’s not even signed, Paris.”

  “Damn. We should have thought of that!”

  I clicked out of the news site and took the phone off speaker. I pressed it to my ear and left my office. “You know, I don’t know all that much about baseball but shouldn’t you be more upset, on Robby’s behalf, over this whole thing? I mean it was kinda shitty for the team. You heard those crazy people at the bar last night.”

  “Psh. There’s always going to be haters. Besides, as long as it doesn’t affect Robby, I don’t care. If the Warrior’s don’t turn it around this season, he’ll leave. He’s a free agent at the end of this season anyway.”

  I stopped walking in the middle of the hallway. “And then what?”

  “Then we’d see who the highest bidder is and move on to a new team.”

  “You’d move?” The idea made my heart sink even lower. Paris was one of my only real friends in Oklahoma City. We hung out together every few days and texted incessantly. I couldn’t imagine her living somewhere else and only getting to see her when Robby’s new team came into town to play against the Warriors.

  “Oh, honey, don’t worry about that now. It’s a long way off. Besides, I’m sure the Warriors will get their shit together. Robby’s pretty confident about it. You saw him last night. He wasn’t bothered by the game. It’s still early in the season.”

  I nodded and started down the rest of the hall and then down the stairs. My stomach was rumbling and I needed a fresh cup of coffee as mine had gone cold while I’d sorted through my inbox. “Good. I don’t want you going anywhere.”

  “I’m not planning on it. Besides, your job is location independent. You could always come with us!”

  I laughed and raked a hand through my loose waves, still tangled from sleep. “I might have to. I just got another email from the investment firm. They want me to come in two weeks from now and update them with my progress.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “Yeah. I don’t have anything to show them right now. Not even an idea…at least nothing worth building a full pitch around. Ugh. I’ve got to get it together.”

  “You will, babe. I believe in you!”

  “Thanks, Paris.”

  “So, I guess this isn’t the best time to ask, but I have two tickets to tomorrow night’s game. You wanna go with me?”

  I groaned. “No! No, I do not. I didn’t even want to go last night but you bribed me with sushi. Which I didn’t even get to enjoy…not with the Neanderthal pig in the seat beside me.”

  Paris laughed softly. “Wow. You really didn’t like him, huh?”

  “Ya think?”

  “Sorry. I just thought…well…I thought you were doing that whole girl thing where you pretend you hate a guy but it’s really because you want him.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “Maybe so, doll, but we all do it from time to time.”

  “I can assure you, that isn’t the case here. I think Cody is an arrogant ass who is used to chasing skirts and getting his way. I refuse to be another one of his conquests. A notch in his bedpost, belt buckle, or baseball bat. I don’t care.

  “Well he’s a pitcher, so technically he wouldn’t have a baseball bat…”

  I huffed. “You know what I mean!”

  “All right. Calm down! What happened last night?” Paris paused. “From what I saw he wasn’t that bad. What did he say that has you so riled up over there?”

  “Everything! He’s cocky and crude and—”

  “Honey give me specifics. He’s a man. You’re a hot woman. He’s allowed to flirt with you. Did he get handsy when I wasn’t looking? Tell you you’d look hot in duct tape and bubble wrap? What?”

  “Duct tape and bubble wrap? Good Lord, Paris. Where do you come up with this stuff?”

  She laughed. “I’m pleading the fifth on that one.”

  I cringed. “He just kept telling me how bad I wanted him and acted like God’s gift to women the world over. That kind of thing.”

  Paris giggled. “That doesn’t sound that bad, Chels. Why didn’t you just tell him you have a boyfriend or something?”

  I gaped, unable to answer her.

  “I get it, you don’t like them cocky and rich. I’ve added it to my mental matchmaking file. It’s cool. I’ll call Whitney and see if she’ll go to the game with me instead.” Paris gave a wicked laugh. “Cody sounds more Whitney’s type anyway from what you’ve said.”

  My mouth worked, trying to find something to say—all I could think about was Whitney, dressed in a top so low it was amazing her nipples weren’t visible, jiggling and giggling for Cody. He’d eat her up. Literally.

  The thought made my stomach roll with hot bile.

  But why the hell did I care? I didn’t want Cody. I’d just spent twenty minutes explaining that—emphatically—to Paris over the phone. And yet…the idea of him with his mouth all over Whitney’s silicone enhanced boobs made me want to throttle the girl into next week.

  “Unless you’d rather go with…” Paris dangled the bait with a sweetly sing-song tone.

  Damn it!

  I grimaced and squeezed my eyes closed. “Don’t call Whitney.”

  I could just picture Paris’ Cheshire grin. She had me and she knew it.

  “Are you sure? Robby will probably want to hang out after the game, and I don’t know who might tag along…”

  I gritted my teeth together. “I said I’ll go.”

  “Okay doll. Get to work and I’ll swing by to pick you up tomorrow at three! Ta-ta!”

  How does she do that? I marveled to myself, staring at the phone in my hand.

  After getting off the phone with Paris, I slipped into a pair of black leggings, a t-shirt dress, with a black belt cinched around my middle. I piled my hair up in a sloppy bun on the top of my head, applied a smattering of blush across my cheeks, a thin layer of lip gloss, and laced up my trusty pair of classic black Converse high tops and headed off to the coffee shop a few blocks from my house.

  “Hey, Chelsea!” Tonya, one of the regular baristas called out when I pushed through the door.

  Tonya was probably around my age, with dark skin, dark, expressive, almond-shaped eyes, and sleek ebony hair that always made me feel like a sloth by comparison. She was always dressed like she stepped out of the pages of some fashion forward magazine—a feat considering her wages were probably barely above minimum wage—and was one of the sweetest people I knew.

  “Hey, Tonya.” I stopped by the door to snag a newspaper from the stack in the media bins. I walked it up to the counter, already searching for the sport’s section.

  “Hot news item?” Tonya asked, her tone amused as I tore through the paper.

  I found the page and drew in a sharp breath. I’d expected to see a blown up version of the picture of my car. What I hadn’t expected was to find an even larger picture of Cody Wright beside it.

  “Ooh! Who is that man-muffin?” Tonya asked, gawking at Cody’s picture.

  Unbelievable. It was like he was stalking me in a very passive-aggressive kind of way.

  “That is Cody Wright, some new baseball player.”

  “Well I can se
e why this was an emergency newspaper situation. Too bad it’s not in color, huh?”

  I glanced up at Tonya and shook my head. “That’s not what’s important. Trust me. He’s not important. This…” I paused to slap my finger down on the picture of my poor, innocent bystander of a car. “This is my car!”

  “What?” Tonya reeled back. “What happened?”

  “He did…” I said, glaring at Cody’s image.

  “Wow. I’m sorry, Chelsea. How awful!”

  I shrugged, trying to let it go. If I got all riled up again, I’d never be able to get my focus back to work. “The car is fine. The repair shop dropped it off this morning with a new windshield. I just can’t believe they printed this is the paper.”

  “Did you get to keep the ball?” Tonya asked casually. “You could probably sell it.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

  She shrugged. “That’s what I would do.”

  I squashed the paper into a square, not bothering to take the time to follow the crease lines. It was going in the recycle bin anyway. “The paper, a banana muffin, and a…” I stalled as my normal menu options rotated through my head. “And a caramel drizzle vanilla latte. Please.”

  “You got it!” Tonya sprang into action and a few minutes later, I was holed up at the corner table, my laptop open, muffin halfway devoured, and my latte cooling to tepid perfection.

  Unfortunately, Cody’s image was glued in my mind and the words and figures on the screen in front of me lost all meaning. What was I doing? I absently fingered the corner of the newspaper and before I could stop myself, I peeled it back to the sports page and Cody stared back at me. The black and white image was nothing compared to the real, breathing, living man, but it was enough to rattle me and take my mind back to forbidden places.

  Damn him.

  I pushed the newspaper off the table and it fluttered to the seat opposite mine. “Screw this! I have a bestselling game to design!”

  A little pep talk never hurts.

  9

  Cody