Home Run

by Heidi McLaughlin

  At the last moment, I set my hand on her shoulder and squeeze, keeping my eyes forward even though I just want to stare at her. The media coordinator tells the photographers that their time is up. A few of them grumble and continue to shoot while most of us stand here, smiling, but the veterans all turn their backs.

  I don’t move, and neither does my hand, until she turns to face me.

  “I’m Cooper Bailey,” I tell her, even though I’m not sure she wants to know.

  She steps back and offers me her hand, and once I take it, I can’t let go. This is very unlike me. I’ve never chased a woman before so I feel a bit unsure, but the feel of her hand in mine makes me feel like I’m soaring through the air. The exhilaration I feel from holding her hand is downright crazy.

  “Do you want to let go of my hand?”

  “No, not really,” I tell her honestly. I loosen my grip, giving her the opportunity to slip away if she wants.

  She doesn’t want. “My name is Ainsley.” Her voice is sweet and soft, sending a chill down my spine. Behind me, I can hear the guys snickering, so I let go of her hand and adjust my ball cap.

  “They’re probably waiting for you.”

  I look over my shoulder to see Travis Kidd acting like a woman. The jackass is blowing kisses and posing like a supermodel. I shake my head, wondering how immature he really is.

  “They can wait,” I say without looking at her. When I turn back, she’s still staring at me, and I like it. I like the way her eyes connect with mine. It’s as if she’s trying to figure me out.

  “Can I call you sometime?”

  Ainsley looks down at the ground and crosses her arms over her chest. “Listen, I’m sure you’re a nice guy and all, but I don’t date baseball players. You guys all come in here, acting sweet and caring about the kids, but will be gone in two months. We’re forgotten all about until next season.”

  From her spiel, I can tell someone has hurt her in the past, but I’m not willing to give up. There’s no way I can now.

  “Whoa, why the one-eighty?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, a second ago I sort of thought…never mind.” I shake my head and start to walk away, only to turn back. “I don’t know about the other guys. I only know me, and I’m not like that. I’d like to prove myself. Just one date to show you that I’m genuine?”

  She shakes her head no again, but there’s a glint in her eye that tells me she’s thinking about it. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Ainsley is walking away before I can even think to form a rebuttal. Kidd is there to pick up the pieces and remind me that I just had my first strikeout of my Major League career. Wonderful.

  I drag my sorry ass out toward the waiting bus with my head hanging in shame. I thought for sure I’d at least get her number and be able to convince her that I’m not an epic douche like some of the other guys.

  Just as my foot touches the bottom step, my name is called from behind. In a heart-stopping moment, I think it’s Ainsley, only to find another female worker running toward me. I step away and wait for her to get to me.

  “Here,” she says, slapping a piece of paper into my hand. When I look at what’s written on it, I’m surprised to see Ainsley’s name and what I’m assuming is her number. “She’ll kill me if she knew I did this, but it’s her cell. Sweep her off her feet. She deserves it.” The woman winks before running back toward the zoo.

  “Well, you lucky dog,” Michael Cashman says as he slaps me on my shoulder.

  I look at the piece of paper then back at the zoo entrance and smile. Now the challenge is to get her to return a text message or go on a date.

  Chapter 6

  Ainsley

  I’m great at pretending. It’s what I do best, even when my actions break my own heart. Okay, the heartbreaking is a little overdramatic, but it feels the same. From the first time I saw Cooper Bailey staring at me this morning, right up until he asked for my number, I felt good about myself. Someone was actually interested in me. It’s a satisfying feeling when you catch the eye of a good-looking man, but that’s all it can be.

  When he came over and stood by me to seal our first and only meeting with a photo, I thought I was having an out-of-body experience. My entire being gravitated toward him while my brain reminded me to be pleasant. That it’s my job to be nice. But my version of nice went way too far when I smiled at him, not once, hell, not even twice, but every time I’ve seen him today. I couldn’t help it. I don’t know if it was the way he entered the zoo, with an air of confidence, or the way he looked at me like he’s known me forever. Things became bad when I saw his five o’clock shadow and turned even worse when he went to adjust his hat and inadvertently flexed his arm.

  Cooper Bailey, or any other athlete, is off limits. They’re trouble and not just with a capital T. It’s the whole damn word that needs to be capitalized. It’s been my rule for as long as I can remember, and living in Fort Myers makes my point even more valid because most of the baseball players march around town like they’re God’s gift to women. Some of us fall for them, but there are the few of us who are immune to their charms.

  A few of us call them the spring flings. They’re here to entertain us, make our streets look damn fine with all the man candy, and bring in the revenue we need to kick off our summer. Many of my friends belong in this category. I, however, am not one of them.

  Then they leave. And in their wake, they leave broken hearts, pissed-off husbands, and a few unlucky, or maybe lucky, depending on how you look at it, pregnancies. I’ve been here long enough to know that you don’t mess with the baseball players. It’s safer for all those around you.

  So when my body becomes a traitor and my heart is beating five times faster than normal, I expect my brain to be the voice of logic, and it was, for the most part. It was easy to say no to Cooper when he asked if he could call me sometime, because I don’t want the heartbreak come April when he leaves. I’m too old for a relationship that is only going to last a few months, or even a few dates. I want to settle down. I want that house with that stupid picket fence and a mailbox out front, with flowers growing along the walkway and the sense of love inside my home. You can’t get that when you date an athlete. I should know.

  As I hear the chartered bus pull away, I sigh in relief, knowing that I’ve done the right thing. Would it be fun to date a man like Cooper Bailey? Probably. I’m sure he could show me a good time, but having a predetermined expiration date is like having a neon sign over your head that reads “loser.”

  Of course when I sit down, the Boston Renegades baseball roster, complete with the photos and bios that I needed for media day, is sitting right on top for my viewing pleasure. None other than Cooper’s profile is highlighted, by my stupid yellow marker. His résumé is impressive, but that doesn’t negate the fact that he’s an athlete, and that is a road I will not travel down.

  My co-worker and overall best friend, Stella, slams the office door, getting my attention. Stella is by all accounts a spitfire, live-on-the-edge type of girl with her long blond hair and green eyes. She’s been untamable since I met her back in middle school.

  “What has your panties all twisted around?” I ask.

  Stella stands in front of me with her hands on her hips, rosy red cheeks and a scowl that would make anyone cower, except for me. I’ve been on the receiving end of a Stella tirade before; they’re not fun, but I’ve learned to work through them.

  “He’s cute.”

  “You’ll have to be a little more specific, Stella. We had forty men, not including coaches, here.” As slyly as I can, I slide a piece of paper over Cooper’s face. The last thing I want is for her to see me looking at his picture or notice that I’ve spent time focusing on him specifically.

  “You’re right, but not all of them are good-looking. I mean a few of them…” She shakes her head as if she’s laughing at her own inside joke. “Anyway, I gave him your number. You can thank me later.” Her words are to the point and without pause as she d
igs into my candy dish to take a handful of Starbursts.

  My mouth opens and closes, only to open again. When I try to speak, nothing but a squeak comes out. With my nails biting into my palms, I prepare to ask the question I already know the answer to and so does my heart.

  “You gave who my number?”

  “The cute one.” She thumbs over her shoulder, pointing toward the window. Five minutes ago, she would’ve been pointing toward a slew of buses, but they’re gone now, and the parking lot is empty except for the employees’ cars.

  “Well, that narrows it down. I’ll be sure to ask the caller if he’s cute if and when he decides to call me. Do you mind giving me a name so I know who I should be expecting?”

  “The one. I don’t know his name. Let me see the roster.”

  “I don’t have one,” I lie, strategically placing my arm over the hidden roster.

  “I smell a pile of stinky shit. Give it to me, Ainsley,” she says with a bite of authority and her hands on her hips.

  “We work in a zoo. We often smell odors we wish we didn’t.” I’m being childish in the worst way, but I can’t help it. I don’t want Cooper Bailey or any of the other Renegades calling me, except I do and I shouldn’t feel this way.

  Stella leans over my desk, and my fingers press down on the stack of papers. Yet my eye contact with her never wavers. If I don’t look down, she’ll never know what I’m hiding. Everything moves in slow motion. The closer she inches, the more my heart races. I don’t understand what the big deal is. If I wanted him or any of the others to have my number, I would’ve given it to him. She didn’t have to do it on my behalf.

  Her fingers come in contact with my upper arm, tickling me until I have no choice but to use my hands to defend myself. She grabs the papers and doesn’t even have to sift through them, since the paper on top gave way in her bid to humiliate me.

  “This one,” she says, pointing to Cooper’s picture. “I don’t know why you’re playing coy. I saw you talk to him, and you’ve highlighted his picture. I don’t see any of the others with yellow lines boxing them in. Shit, the only things missing are little hearts and stars.”

  I want to add that I looked at him—stared at, really—thought about him and imagined what it’d be like to have his arms hold me, but I refrain. I don’t need to give her any more ammunition.

  I snag the roster back and toss it into my drawer, slamming it closed. The logical thing would be to throw it away, but I’m not logical right now. I’m determined. “You know I don’t date athletes.”

  “Ainsley, that was years ago.”

  “It doesn’t matter when it happened, it happened. I was in love, he was the quarterback, and we were engaged. Athletes are all the same.”

  “Not all guys cheat.”

  I laugh, because she knows that’s not true. “It’s a moot point, Stella. I’m not interested. Besides, I have too much on my plate right now with my mom being sick.” I stand and push my chair in, grabbing my purse so I can leave. “I never thought growing up without a dad would be a big deal, but it is. Taking care of mom by myself is tiresome. It’d be nice to have a little help every now and again.”

  “I help as much as I can,” she reminds me.

  “I know, and I appreciate it, but it’s not the same. I know my mom is lonely. She wants me to get married and give her a grandchild, but it’s not going to happen. The doctors aren’t very optimistic about her prognosis.”

  “Maybe Cooper is willing?” Stella states as she shuts off my light and closes the door behind us. We walk out of the office, saying goodbye to the other staff members before heading toward the parking lot.

  “No man is willing to knock someone up to appease a dying woman’s wish.”

  “In vitro?”

  Shaking my head, I fish my keys out of my purse. “No, she’ll just have to hang on until I meet the man of my dreams.”

  Chapter 7

  Cooper

  “Keep your front leg planted and use your hip more, Bailey. You’re not a power hitter.” The Renegades batting coach, Mickey King, demonstrates the movement that he wants to see from me. I should be pissed about the criticism, but I’m not. I’d rather rack up the RBIs or get on base and let the others bring me home. My base running speed is one of the fastest on the team, and I have the ability to steal any base. So what if I’m not hitting a ball out of the park every game?

  Digging into the dirt, my leg twists twice before I settle into my stance. I’ve been practicing for the past twenty minutes, hitting meatballs all over the park. King doesn’t like my stance and says that I’ll have a hard time with the left-handed pitchers when I face them and I need to adjust. I didn’t have a problem in the minors. A decent number of the pitchers we faced were Major Leaguers rehabbing until they get called back up.

  The pitch comes, and I keep my front leg planted and twist my hip as King instructed. The ball sails, caught easily by one of the outfielders waiting their turn.

  “You’re stiff. Loosen up.” King rubs my shoulders quickly, patting and stepping away. He’s wearing catcher’s gear so he can watch me from behind and is probably praying he doesn’t take one to the junk while he’s squatting.

  My right cleat digs in, followed by my left. I swing the bat a few times, trying to loosen up and prepare for the next pitch. It’s delivered. I swing, and the beautiful sound of the ball hitting the sweet spot of my wooden bat fills my ears. The ball travels along the left field line, staying fair but far enough out of reach that, if this were live, the ball would be hard to get to. I’d be on second by now with a stand-up double.

  Behind me, King hoots and hollers, telling me that this is what he wants to see every time I’m in the batter’s box. I step again and take the pitch with a similar result. This continues for another twenty minutes until he tells me to head to the trainer and get some ice for my shoulders.

  Bainbridge is in the dugout, waiting his turn, along with a few of the other guys. I nod to most of them, but things between Bainbridge and me are going to go from bad to worse in less than a week, and there isn’t shit I can do about it. Right now, I’m performing better in the outfield, running the bases faster and more aggressively, and my batting is only going to improve now that I know what King wants. It would make sense for me to start over Bainbridge.

  We don’t exchange glances after I stow my gear and head to the training room. Words are mumbled as I pass by, but I pay them no mind. The guys on the team are loyal to Bainbridge, and that’s the way it should be. They’re lucky no one is vying for their spot or they’d be freaking the hell out like he is.

  In the training room, Davenport and Hawk Sinclair, one of our starting pitchers, are taking an ice bath, while a few of the other guys and staff filter around the room. The trainer tells me to have a seat on the table, and he’ll be with me in a minute. Slipping off my jersey, I sit there wondering if I should strike up a conversation with the guys.

  For the most part, Davenport has been a good buddy to me, Kidd too. But I still feel like the odd man out, especially considering Bainbridge.

  “Yo, Bailey, how’s that hot piece of ass from the zoo?” Sinclair asks, causing Davenport to look over at me. They’re both waiting for an answer, one that I don’t have for them.

  “Uh, not sure.” I run my hand over the back of my neck and shake my head. Water splashes, and a very naked Davenport steps out of the tub, wrapping himself in a barely big enough towel.

  “You got the chick’s digits. Have you used them?”

  Shaking my head. “Nah, man. Not yet.”

  “Why the fuck not, Bailey?” Sinclair asks, standing in the tub so the room can see all his glory. He doesn’t care that his dick is hanging out for everyone to see, and the fact is that he’s standing there with his hands on his hips, mimicking the way Kidd was acting at the zoo. It’s hard to take a man like Hawk Sinclair seriously when he’s like this. Hell, it’s hard to take any of them seriously most of the time.

  “Dunno, she didn’
t exactly give it to me.”

  “Who the fuck cares? Call her,” he bellows. “She was fucking hot. You could be tapping that ass before we have to get down to business.”

  “Our first game is in a week,” I remind him, but he blows me off.

  “Preseason doesn’t count for shit.”

  That’s where he’s wrong. I only have this window to really prove myself. If my performance is mediocre, that won’t bode well for me when we get back to Boston. If I do well, I make it harder for Diamond to put together his starting lineup.

  “Shut the fuck up, Hawk. Every day we’re out here is important. You’re just burnt out because you’ve been here longer than the rest of us,” Davenport says, pulling up the stool next to me.

  “I don’t have time for a relationship,” I mumble as Sinclair leaves the training room. That is my go-to excuse. It always has been. Despite the fact that I asked for Ainsley’s number, I can’t say if I would’ve used it or not.

  “I thought the same thing, but, man, once I met Daisy, I chased her ass big time. Some of it backfired, but in the end, it worked out for the best,” Davenport answers the statement I threw at Sinclair’s back.

  “Maybe there’s something wrong with her.”