That bald statement made something flare in his steely blue eyes. “Okay. I’m listening.”
She took a deep breath. “When I broke up with Hamilton, he—”
“Hart! What are you doing, flirting while the rest of us slave away in the kitchen?” Mike Solo’s mischievous face popped up beside them, an empty tray tilting on his broad hand.
“Get lost, Solo,” Caleb growled. “Sadie’s filling me in on some stuff.”
Her heart pounded, whether from relief at the reprieve or frustration, she didn’t know.
“Excuuuuse me. Just thought you might want to know our newest Catfish just showed up.”
Caleb lifted his head sharply. “Who?”
“Nope. I’m getting lost now, as ordered.” Mike whisked himself to the oven, where Dwight was pulling out a fresh tray of cupcakes. “Fill ’er up.”
Caleb refocused on Sadie. “Maybe this isn’t the best place.”
“It’s not, but I need to tell you this, and—”
“Sadie, there you are.” Burwell Brown appeared, his notebook at the ready. “Can you give me a quote about the anatomy of the horn-toed slug? Are the horns like toes, or are the toes like horns?”
“Burwell,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Can you give me a minute?”
“Yeah sure. While I’m here, Caleb, do you have any comment on Trevor Stark joining the team? Word has it there’s bad blood between you two.”
“No comment. And that’s off the record.”
“How can a ‘no comment’ be off the record? Why won’t you talk to the press?”
Caleb folded his arms across his chest and gave Brown a death stare. The reporter shrugged and turned away, nearly bumping into a stunning man with light hair and crystal green eyes that would make an angel jealous. A thin white scar ran just below one cheekbone, but it didn’t mar his beauty at all; it emphasized it.
“Stark,” said Caleb, eyes narrowed.
“Hart.”
Perking up, Brown poised his pen over his notebook.
Sadie wanted to tear her hair out. This must be the infamous Trevor Stark. She had read about him. He was a home-run slugger and a troublemaker who had battled drug and alcohol problems in the past. The Friars had just traded for him, and even though he’d passed all the drug tests, they sent him down to make sure he was clean before introducing him to the home crowd.
With a drama unfolding right before her eyes, she had no chance of telling Caleb her embarrassing story.
Trevor looked from Caleb to her and gave a thin smile. “I heard there were going to be cupcakes here, but I didn’t know they meant the brown-haired kind.”
“She’s not a cupcake. She’s the organizer of this event.”
“Got it. Thanks for including me in the event, cupcake.”
The two players glared at each other. The air practically vibrated with animosity.
“Yo, dude,” Dwight called from the baking area. “Keep it chill.”
“I’m chill,” said Trevor, his crystal eyes glittering. “Just comin’ over to say, What’s up, cupcake?”
Sadie felt Caleb’s abrupt movement and grabbed his arm. “Caleb, let’s go back out front. We can finish this some other time.”
“No. This guy’s interrupting. It’s rude.”
Sadie caught sight of Burwell Brown scribbling away. “Burwell, do you mind?”
“Mind what, Sadie? Just covering the news here. If you can call baseball players making cupcakes news.”
“Who are you calling a baseball player?” drawled Trevor. “Not him, I bet. Last game I saw him pitch ought to disqualify him for good.”
Caleb strained against her grip like a bulldog trying to slip his leash. Trevor braced for action with a look of glee, as if dying for a confrontation. The air crackled with the lightning of tension. Sadie held her breath, afraid to watch, afraid to look away.
Then something came winging through the air and hit Trevor on the back of his head. He turned, scowling, and whipped a hand up to catch another flying missile. A cupcake crumbled in his hands. Dwight and Mike brandished more cupcakes, ready to fling them.
“You guys ready to get back to business?” Mike asked, smirking.
In answer, Trevor whipped his handful of mangled cupcake at Mike, who ducked the spray of crumbs and launched another one, which hit Caleb in the chest. Caleb started forward, but Sadie desperately hung onto his arm.
“Let me go,” he hissed, then shook her off and ran to the door that separated the kitchen from the seating area out front. Good idea, Sadie realized. At least no one else would see the crazy scene unfolding.
And they sure would have gotten an eyeful. Her jaw dropped as four grown baseball players launched a full-on food fight. Within minutes cupcake crumbs were everywhere—in their hair, on their clothes. Chunks of cupcake littered every surface. Mike showed off his catching skills by palming a cupcake whole and whipping it back at Caleb. Caleb proved his accuracy with a cupcake right between Trevor’s eyes. Dwight threw long. Trevor tagged Mike by mashing a cupcake into his shoulder.
And then the absurdity caught up with them and they laughed until they were hunched on the floor, holding their ribs in pain.
Sadie stood over them, hands on her hips, biting back her own laughter. “Y’all are going to clean this up, right?”
“You look kinda mad, Sadie,” gasped Mike. “What’s up, cupcake?”
That launched them into another spell of laughter. Sadie shook her head, waited until she got a clear “Yes, ma’am” from Dwight and a “We got this, Sadie” from Caleb. Then she took Burwell by the elbow and hauled him out the back door where deliveries came in.
“You can’t write about that, Burwell. Please.”
Burwell was wiping away tears of laughter of his own. “Keep dreaming, Sadie. That was gold.”
“No. No! Burwell, listen. What will it take for you to write a nice, well-researched fluff piece on the horn-toed slugs and the handsome ballplayers making cupcakes to support the cause? That’s a great story. Your female readers will love it. Maybe I can throw in a kitten. ‘Bad Boy Slugger Trevor Stark Makes Cupcakes, Adopts Kitten.’ How’s that?” She knew how desperate she sounded. Too bad. She was desperate.
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll pretend I never saw the Catfish in a cupcake fight if you get me Caleb Hart,” Brown said.
“What do you mean?”
“That exclusive with Caleb Hart you promised. Get me that, and I’ll make your slugs look like tiny saints.”
“Caleb Hart exclusive. Got it. I’ll see what I can do.” She knew Caleb hated talking to the press, but he was supposed to be helping improve the Catfish image. A public account of Cupcake Wars wouldn’t exactly help matters.
“Soon, Merritt. Make him talk soon.” He brandished his notepad. “I want a sit-down with the pitcher who has everyone talking. And I want him to answer some real questions.”
Chapter 14
THE FOOD FIGHT at What’s Up, Cupcake? had released some of Caleb’s tension, but it destroyed any chance of him and Sadie finishing their conversation. He left for batting practice with only a brief “Talk to you later.”
Trevor Stark couldn’t have arrived at a worse time. Just because they’d had a little fun at the bakery didn’t mean he liked the guy. Ever since Bingo came to live with him, Caleb had been irritable as hell. Now it felt like he couldn’t turn around without something lighting on fire. The incident in the stands. The fight with Hamilton. The confrontation with Trevor. He felt as if he balanced on the edge of a knife every minute of every day, and sometimes he slipped.
Sadie’s odd behavior made everything worse. She had something big to tell him, something to do with Hamilton, something that made her very uncomfortable. And that made him nervous.
He’d told her the biggest secret he had. Was that a mistake? Since he trusted very few people, if any, it was easy to slip back into his usual guarded state. But with Sadie, something felt different. His feelings for her didn’t res
emble anything he’d ever experienced before. Something about her—her spirit, her intelligence, her vulnerability—brought unexpected impulses to life inside him. He wanted her, yes. But he also wanted to be close to her. Close in a way he had no experience with.
He also wanted to protect her. The anger that had propelled him into confronting Hamilton and his friend still boiled in his veins when he thought of the things they’d said. Why would they talk that way about her? And why had she stood there like a lamb to the slaughter?
At batting practice, he ignored the presence of Trevor Stark while he hefted his own bat over his shoulder. As a former American League player, he hadn’t focused much on his hitting. But the Catfish played by National League rules. He didn’t want to make an ass out of himself in that ninth position in the lineup.
Lolo, the former coach from Cuba who threw batting practice, flashed him a five-minute signal. He sat on the infield grass and began his pre-practice stretches.
Lolo called out “right field” and tossed Trevor a pitch. Trevor ripped it down the right field line. No doubt about it, the guy could hit. His upper torso rippled with hard muscle. Caleb knew he owed Mike Solo one for defusing the confrontation at the bakery. Honestly, Trevor Stark would have whipped his ass.
“Hey, Hart,” Trevor called as he hit a long fly ball. One of the kids who hung around the ball club chased after it, his short legs churning. He flung himself onto the ball, then did a complete somersault across the outfield grass.
“That kid just robbed you of a double,” said Caleb. “Better pick up your game, bro.”
“Better pick yours up. I found out all about your cupcake girl.”
Oh hell. Caleb pulled himself out of his hamstring stretch and bounced to his feet. “Don’t go there, Stark.”
“Need me to get Duke out here? Any trouble, he’ll bench you both,” Lolo warned.
Trevor hefted his bat in one hand. “Not looking to cause trouble. I’m done here anyway. Just thought the hotshot might want to know what I found on Facebook.”
Lolo, still looking worried, gestured to Caleb to take Trevor’s place in the batting box.
“I don’t give a crap what you found on Facebook.”
Trevor slung his bag over one shoulder and dug inside until he pulled out his iPhone. “You keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, I’ll be scrolling through these photos.” He waved the phone at Caleb. “Your girl’s a lot more built than she looks. She knows how to fill out a red bikini something fine.”
He strolled past Caleb, close enough to display the splash of red on his phone.
“Hang on,” Caleb said in a tight voice. Fuck it. If Trevor Stark knew something about Sadie, he’d better know it too. He grabbed Trevor’s sleeve; the other player was already slowing to give him a closer look.
Images of Sadie bombarded him. Sadie posing on a beach in a skimpy red bikini, long-limbed and tan. Sadie standing naked in a shower, back to the camera, water cascading over her blurry but definitely bare ass. Sadie sitting in Hamilton’s lap while he aimed a can of whipped cream at her barely covered breasts. The photos were sexually charged, clearly taken by someone intimate with her. They danced the line but never quite reached a level that might get them deleted from the site.
“See the name of this page?” S****y Sadie. It has eight hundred likes.”
“You shouldn’t look at that crap.” Caleb’s voice didn’t even sound like his own. His chest felt tight as a drum. “It’s disgusting.”
“I’m just concerned for the rep of my new teammates.” Trevor smirked, the scar on his face riding up. “Don’t want you getting in over your head, Hart. The girl’s trouble.”
“Mind your own fucking business.”
“Exactly what I’m trying to do.” Trevor took his phone back and slid it into his bag. “You’re my teammate now, Hart. It might only be Triple A, and I hope to be gone by tomorrow, but for now I got your back.”
Caleb itched to wipe the grin off his face, but Lolo held him back with a meaty hand on his shoulder. Trevor sauntered toward the clubhouse, saying over his shoulder, “I ain’t the bad guy here, Hart.”
Sadie called that night, while he was on the phone with Teddy and Frankie. He didn’t call her back. Two days later the Catfish left for their last road trip before the all-star break. As he did with most troubles in his life, he stuffed the memory of those photos down deep where they couldn’t disturb him. Well . . . he tried. But the images from that Facebook page flashed across his vision every time he closed his eyes. They drove him insane. But the worst was getting hit with them out of the blue. He hated getting ambushed by disaster, like officers showing up at his house with an arrest warrant. Or Trevor Stark flashing his iPhone in his face.
Sadie should have told him. And she’d tried. He knew that.
He remembered a comment she’d made early on in their phone conversations, asking him not to believe anything people might say about her. But this wasn’t just talk; it was pictures. Pictures he couldn’t erase from his mind no matter how much he tossed and turned.
It ripped him apart. He wanted to talk to her, but they’d have to talk about what he’d seen, and he didn’t know what to say or what to think. If only he hadn’t seen those photos. But he had. And he couldn’t forget them.
His only refuge was the mound, where, finally, things were clicking. His fastball was hitting 98 miles per hour, according to the pitching coach. His changeup was dropping at just the right moment. He pitched a complete game against the Fresno Grizzlies, coming away with a 6-2 victory that dropped his ERA down to a sweet 2.23. In the clubhouse, he began keeping a careful eye on the televised Friars games. So far, their pitching staff was healthy and performing well. But in baseball anything could happen.
Not that he wanted something bad to happen to another pitcher. But if an opportunity arose, he wanted to be ready.
At night he’d ride the van back to the hotel with the other guys, have a beer in someone’s room, and call it a night. A hundred times he picked up his phone, intending to call Sadie. But the right words didn’t come, so he never called.
But he dreamed about her every night, hot, thrashing dreams that left him with a massive boner in the morning. It astonished him how much he wanted her. For Chrissake, he’d never even slept with her, yet couldn’t get her off his mind. Maybe that’s why she was haunting him like this. If they had sex, maybe he could move on with his life.
Meanwhile, he kept his distance from Trevor Stark. No one liked the guy. Stark kept a calendar on his locker with the days crossed off, as if he was in jail. Granted, no one wanted to stay long in the minor leagues, but an attitude like that didn’t endear him to anyone. He disdained the clubhouse food. Instead, every night he sent the attendant out for a steak from the most expensive restaurant in town.
Literally. He’d Google “Most expensive steak,” tell the awed attendant the name, give him a hundred dollars and sit back like an emperor waiting for his tribute.
“It’s like he’s living the major league life whether or not he’s in the majors,” grumbled Mike Solo as he and Caleb humped their luggage to the bus. Trevor wasn’t carrying his own luggage; no, he paid a kid to haul it for him. Every town they played, he’d hire a different kid.
Contributing to the local economy, he called it. Showboating, his teammates called it.
“If he’s got the dough . . .” Caleb shrugged.
“He won’t have it for long at this rate.”
“Not my problem.”
“Oh yeah? I heard he’s going to ask Sadie Merritt out when we get back to Kilby.”
Every muscle in Caleb’s body tightened. “Why is that my problem? She’s not my girlfriend.” He swung onto the bus and stalked down the aisle, looking for a seat where everyone would leave him alone.
“Good to know. That’s what I told him, but I didn’t know for sure.” Mike slid into the seat across the aisle and put his earbuds into place. “Can you turn down that jealous rage? It’s drowning out my
Yanni mix.”
Caleb gave him the finger and settled back for a nap. But he couldn’t get comfortable, and when he did finally fall into a restless sleep, he dreamed of Sadie in a red bikini, surfacing from a deep green lake, water streaming off her sleek body. She came close, cupping him, whispering to him, desire turning her gaze sultry and seductive. Then she broke the mood by laughing and splashing him with water. He chased her down but she kept slipping away like a quicksilver minnow. And then she was gone, nothing but a lonely ripple dying on the surface of the water, and terror shook him awake.
Outside his window the humble skyline of Kilby rose up from the flat ranchland that surrounded it. He could just make out the Spanish bell tower that marked City Hall. That’s where Sadie was probably working right now. Saving the slugs, or maybe some disadvantaged children, or whoever her soft heart had embraced.
He had to call her. He would. As soon as he figured out what to say.
Later that day, he met with Bingo and his probation officer, Officer Kelly, in her office near the police station.
“Your father’s doing very well,” said the officer, a young woman with short-cropped blond hair. “He reports in on schedule and has been diligently attending job interviews. I’m guessing it’s just a matter of time before he gets a job offer that we can approve.”
“Great. So why am I here?” Caleb crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and bounced it restlessly. Conversations with or about Bingo made him want to jump out of his skin.
“You’re here because Mr. Hartwell has a request. He asked that I be part of the conversation.” She gave Bingo a sympathetic smile.
Fan-tastic. Bingo had managed to reel in his probation officer. The man never stopped . . . being Bingo. Today he wore a sober gray suit with a yellow paisley tie, so he looked like a respectable accountant—the furthest thing from the truth. When it came to Bingo, even his appearance was a lie.
“Well, hit me. What’s up?”
Bingo spoke for the first time. “I want to see Tessa and the twins.”
“No.” The word was out before he even thought about it. “Out of the question.”
All of Me Page 15
