by S A Clayton
He presses himself closer, the growing arousal against my stomach sends my mind somewhere else completely.
“I will change your mind,” he says, placing a soft kiss on my temple and releasing me.
I peer up at him, expecting to see that same desire that’s coursing through me, but what I see is that desire plus pure determination.
It’s at that moment my phone chimes and as I take it out of my pocket, feeling Josh’s eyes on me the entire time, I open the text from Mel.
Mel: Your boy has quite the stalker
The second I see the picture attached, my body goes cold and my eyes narrow. As I peer up at Josh, anger coursing through my body the longer I stare at him, I wonder what about me screams “easy mark,” to men like him. Seeing him in a coffee shop with Angela hanging off him is enough to make me run for the hills.
“You want to know the real reason I don’t date athletes?” I ask, Josh slowly nodding as I hold up my phone so he can see the picture. “Because they’re always fucking liars. That’s why.” “Harper that’s not what you think, I promise.” I shake my head, not wanting to hear it.
“Josh, I don’t really care. Right now I’ve seen two different sets of pictures with the same girl, and that girl happens to be the bane of my existence, so if you’ll excuse me, I am going to get back to work.” And with that I walk back down the hall and into my office where I shut my office door until I know he’s gone.
I know telling him to get lost is a good thing. I don’t need to worry about who he’s with when I'm not around, but why does it feel like I just ripped out my heart and dragged it through the mud?
11
Josh
Today has been a fucking joke. I haven’t had a game like I had today in a long fucking time, and I am livid. The minute the game started I knew my game was off. My footing felt forced, my defense was almost nonexistent and honestly, my batting average took a deep dive into hell from the embarrassing at-bats I had today.
I’m the first one in the locker room, still clutching the only ball I caught to end the game in my hand, and I whip it across the room, hitting the back wall. I almost expect it to stick in the drywall, creating a crater but what it does is bounce back, rolling across the room, mocking me.
“Chill out, man,” Will says with a hand on my shoulder.
I shrug the gesture away as I head to my locker, not paying attention to the fact that everyone around me is dead silent. I place my hands on the edge of my locker and take a deep breath. What the fuck was wrong with me tonight? I couldn’t hit a ball to save my life, let alone catch one. My hand goes to my right shoulder, absently rubbing away the pain that’s surfacing.
“It would be nice if we had some defense tonight…” T.J. mutters from across the room.
“You got something to say, Mitchell, say it to my fucking face!” I grunt, making my way toward him. Will’s behind me, holding me back as I struggle to get out of his grip. Mitchell just shakes his head and goes back to changing out of his uniform. I look around the room and everyone’s eyes are on me. The judgment from every single angle is palpable and it’s seeping into every pore of my skin. I need to get out of here, and fast.
“What do you guys want me to say, huh?” I ask the room. “That I sucked ass tonight? Fine. I haven’t played that bad since I was in fucking double-A, and even then, I wasn’t that bad. I know I’m the reason we lost, so let me fucking fix it instead of bashing me like a bunch of assholes.” I turn around, motioning for Will to get out of my way. His eyes follow as I pass, making my anger surge once more. “You gonna give me a hard time too?”
He shakes his head as he walks back toward his own locker, leaving me to my own misery.
I slump into the chair they always have placed in front of the open locker and I lean my head back. “I didn’t mean that,” I admit to Will, who sits down beside me. He only grunts, pulling off his jersey and placing it in the bin beside him.
“Dude, you need to chill out. We all have bad games. Tonight just happened to be a pretty bad one for you.” If only he knew that it wasn’t just my play that pissed me off, I’ve been angry since Harper walked away from me after seeing that picture of Angela all over me. I wish I knew how to get rid of her that didn’t involve the police, because the minute I involved them it will become even more of an issue. I didn’t want to admit it, but what happened yesterday is fucking with my head and I need to figure out a way to fix it.
“Pretty bad? I couldn’t catch a ball to save my life. I couldn’t even throw to first base without making an error. What kind of third baseman can’t throw to fucking first base!” My hands find their way into my hair as my head lowers. The fabric of my jersey feels like it’s suffocating me, so I pull it off and toss it in the bin beside Will.
“Josh, it happens. You need to let this go or it will fester. You know that. The more you think about it, the more you obsess over it, the worse it will get.”
I know he’s right. I told him the exact same thing last year when he was going through a rough string of games. A slump I can handle, but this is something completely different.
“Anderson!” Bob, our coach, calls from his office at the other end of the room. “Get your ass in here… now!”
I rumble a curse as I make my way across the room. Once I’m in the office, he motions for me to sit as he closes the door behind me.
“What the fuck was that out there? You realize that we pay you millions of dollars to not look like a rookie player, right?”
I agree with him. I can’t argue with anything he just said. What could I say? I have no idea what my issue is.
Bob Murphy has been the head coach of the Hawks for four years, and every year we seem to get better and better, and I know it’s because of his leadership. I also know that Bob never demands one-on-one meetings with players unless he thinks it’s completely unavoidable. I sit there and stare at the man that has been a mentor, a man I look up to, wondering if I’m going to be the one player that lets one game ruin the rest of his year.
“What do you want me to say?” My eyes meet his concerned ones. “I haven’t played that bad since my early twenties and I have no idea what’s going on.” I know honesty is the best policy here, even if it makes my skin crawl to admit defeat.
“Look,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair with his feet on the edge of the desk. “It’s just one game. Shit happens. But apparently, for you, it happens in pretty grand fashion.”
I laugh because he is fucking right.
“I know you’ve had a lot of pressure on you this season, I know it’s tough. However, I need you to put that shit aside and be the gold glove third baseman, okay? I don’t care if you have to stay here taking ground balls until midnight. I just want a better performance from you, got it?”
I dip my head as he dismisses me, motioning for me to go back into the locker room. Before I do, I head into the medical room and see Josie standing behind a massage chair.
“I was expecting you in here at least a half an hour ago,” she complains, not looking up from her sheets of paper.
“Seems like Bob wanted a piece of me first.”
She chuckles to herself, shaking her head as she taps the chair with the palm of her hand.
“Seems like you deserved it.” Josie has never been one to mince words. She tells it like it is, no matter how horrible.
“Apparently,” I groan, lying facedown on the table.
“I’m assuming it’s the right side that’s bothering you,” she says as she gathers her towels and stops at my head.
I grunt, knowing that’s all I need to do because she was watching the game like everyone else. She saw the subtle rolling of my shoulder, the way my fingers pushed on the muscle like it would help my game.
She spends at least ten minutes rolling out the muscle, using the palm of her hands, her knuckles, and her fingers to release the tension we both know isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Then when she goes to the other side of the room, breaking ou
t her bags of ice, I flinch. Hating and loving this part at the same time.
“Sit up, Anderson. You’re almost done.”
I smirk, her tone reminding me of that tone my mother used to use when I was little. When I’m upright, that flash of cold hits my skin, and I hiss, taking deep breaths as she secures the bag to my shoulder.
“I want you to leave this on until you leave, got it?”
I nod, saying nothing as I get up off the table and make my way back into the locker room.
“Anderson!” King says, coming into the room and I know what he’s going to say before it leaves his mouth. “Your turn, man, the media is waiting.”
I take a deep breath and let out a loud groan. Usually, the media is allowed inside after games, but I’m guessing Coach blocked them considering what happened tonight.
When I open the door, a bombardment of camera flashes blind my vision and I squint, waiting for the torture to begin.
“Josh! I see that your shoulder is iced, was that the reason for the errors tonight?” one reporter yells from in front of me. It takes all the patience, strength, and self-control I can muster not to roll my eyes at the stupid question.
“No,” I begin. “The ice is just precautionary. I have no excuse for my play tonight. It’s not like me and I guarantee that I will do better next game.” I look to my left and motion for another reporter to ask a question.
“Any bad blood between you and the rest of the team? It seems there was a lot of tension in the dugout during the game,” a young reporter asks, and I can tell they’re new at this, and I completely understand their need to write a good story, but right now all I want is for them to fuck off and leave me alone.
“What happened tonight in the dugout was just frustrations boiling over, it happens and tonight it happened to me. I take full responsibility for the loss tonight. My teammates deserved better play from me, and I intend to make sure it never happens again.”
“Are you still hoping for a repeat of the MVP title this year?” The question catches me off guard and I can’t fight the smile because to me it’s a stupid fucking question.
“Of course. I fully intend to make the race as interesting and heated as it was last year.” With that I say goodbye and head back into the locker room, making my way to where Will is sitting, fully dressed beside me.
“You need a ride?” he asks as I shake my head. “Need company?”
I shake my head again. “I need to be alone for a bit. Get out of here and just clear my head.”
He nods, understanding. He takes his bag, flings it over his shoulder, and gets up.
“I know tonight was rough. But if you need me to come here early tomorrow to help you practice, I’ll be here,” he says, clasping my shoulder. He leaves and I’m suddenly alone and start to wonder how the hell I’m going to fix this.
Walking up to my truck, I pull my keys out of my pocket and am about to unlock the door when I hear heels clicking behind me. I lower my chin to my chest, taking a deep breath and preparing myself for the reporter I know is behind me.
“I hoped I’d find you here…” I narrow my eyes, not recognizing the voice. When I turn, ready to tell the person to fuck off, I recoil.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Angela, wondering why the hell she seems to turn up everywhere I am. She looks different; she’s in a short skirt, knee-high leather boots and a look in her eyes that tells me exactly what she’s doing here. “I told you at the game I wasn’t interested, and at the coffee shop” My tolerance for this shit is running thin and my patience is thinning with every second.
“Well, I was in the area when the game ended, and I thought I’d see if you wanted to get a drink?”
I purse my lips, hiding my smirk because the idea is laughable. Not only because she’s no longer my type, but because I made it very clear the last two times how I felt. Before I have a chance to respond, her hand comes to rest against my chest, her fingers sliding between the gaps between my buttons and the second her skin touches mine, I step back.
“Woah, okay. I don’t know what you think is happening here, but it’s definitely not that.”
She gives me a quizzical look, smiling in that way I know girls do when they have a secret and my heart starts to beat faster.
“I’m seeing someone,” I bust out before thinking better of it, and when she rolls her eyes and tries to touch me once more, I wrap my fingers around her wrist and hold it away from me.
“You mean Harper?”
I quirk an eyebrow, remembering what Harper said about Angela being the bane of her existence.
“That girl can throw herself at you all day long, but we both know you belong with someone like me.”
This time I can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of my chest.
“Listen, Angela,” I grunt, trying to step away from her, but she annoyingly follows.
.
“I need you to back up and check yourself before you come at me again saying shit that isn’t true. You can think whatever you want, but Harper is who I’m interested in and that won’t change.”
She rolls her eyes, pulling her hand out of my grip and stepping back.
“You’re making a big mistake, you know.” She spits toward me as she lifts her purse back onto her shoulder, puffing out her chest and composing herself. “You’ll change your mind.” She winks and before I can’t say anything more, she’s walking away and leaving me in stunned silence.
What the hell just happened?
12
Harper
I love the quiet when everyone leaves for the night. Working late usually doesn’t bother me, sometimes I even prefer it. It’s quiet and I get to take my time without people bothering me with questions or even worse… complaints. Plus, Henry loves when I stay late because he knows I’ll do all the paperwork, including his. But today was especially long since I had meetings with what seemed like every person imaginable; from advertisers, potential sponsors and of course that meant having to wear something other than my usual yoga pants and T-shirt. Hence this very uncomfortable skirt and button-up shirt that is currently making me so uncomfortable.
I have the TV on in the background playing the Hawks highlights from tonight’s game. I look up from my computer and watch, already knowing that the Hawks lost. I cringe as the highlights replay over and over the mistakes and errors that lead to the loss, and I know from experience that players usually take these kinds of losses to heart. As I lean back, stretching my arms above my head, Josh’s face appears on the screen.
Fuck, I can’t even escape him when I’m at work.
His interview is short and to the point. His face is a mask of anger, and from the way his shoulder is iced and taped, I’m guessing that was one of the issues he had during the game. For a split second, I wonder how he’s doing tonight, out of all the players on that team, he made the most mistakes… the most I’ve seen him make in years. And from what my dad used to tell me, the coach was probably on his ass the second they reached the locker room.
I peer over at the clock on my computer screen and realize I’ve been sitting here for way too long, so I get up and head out of my office to do a final sweep of the gym to make sure all the equipment is cleaned, and towels put away. Yet as I walk out of my office, I notice a shadow pacing back and forth in front of the windows. I squint through the darkness, trying to see who it is, but I can’t. So, like the smart woman I claim to be, I move closer.
My heart starts to beat a thousand times per second when I recognize the person pacing back and forth. He’s talking to himself and as I open the front door, I stand there in silence for a few seconds, just watching him.
“Josh?” I whisper. “What are you doing here?”
He looks gorgeous standing in the shadows, his hair all messed up around his face and his eyes that look almost black in the darkness. Without realizing it, my body is pulled toward him the longer we stare at each other. He smells like pine and soap as I try and not make a fool of m
yself and fall at his feet.
“Had a bad night,” he says, his fingers raking through the loose strands of his hair causing it to cover his eyes. “I decided to take a drive to clear my head and ended up here.” His gaze levels with mine and my eyes soften at the torment I see in them. “What are you doing here so late?” he asks, leaning against the window.
“I had a lot of work to do. Plus, the quiet helps me think.” My voice carries in the night as his gaze narrows and I wonder if he realizes I meant I was thinking about him. From the way his eyes continue to bore into mine, that fact didn’t escape him. “I saw the game tonight…” I murmur, trying to change the subject but realizing too late that it probably wasn’t a good idea to bring it up.
He visibly deflates as that unmistakable need to touch him takes over.
“I would expect nothing less,” he says, looking at the ground. “Who else would be able to tell me how to improve my game?” There’s a slight edge to his voice and when our eyes meet and his darken, I can’t tell if he’s angry at me or at himself. “Can I come in?” he asks, but I stand tall, not moving.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He shakes his head and lets out a deep breath.
“Why, because of those photos?” I don’t really want to talk about the photos, but they are always in the back of my mind. “I told you they meant nothing. She means nothing. She even followed me tonight after the game and threw herself at me.” He’s pacing now and it takes a few seconds for his words to sink in.
“What did you just say? She was there after the game?” He nods, stopping in front of me, his hands deep in his pockets. “Jesus fucking Christ.” I murmur.
“Harper, I don’t know how else to show you that she’s not who I want. My game is suffering because I can’t stop thinking about you and how much you hated seeing those pictures…”
“So you’re blaming me for your shitty play?” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head.
