by Amy Noelle
The second pitch was high and in the strike zone, but Brad let it go by. He preferred lower pitches. The third was too far inside, and the count was 2-1. The relief pitcher threw the next one right in the center of the plate, and Brad swung and missed. 2-2 count. I gritted my teeth and willed him to get a hit as the pitcher fired the ball in the exact same spot.
And that’s where he made his mistake, because Brad wouldn’t miss the same pitch twice. He didn’t. The bat connected, and I didn’t even have to watch the ball sail over the fence. I could tell by the sound it made when it left the bat. My eyes were on Brad as he trotted around the base, a huge grin on his face, looking very much like the boy I used to watch at Florida State.
His teammates waited for him at home plate and surrounded him in a group hug as they celebrated. It was 6-1 now, and things were looking good with Oliver Suarez, one of the best relievers in the game, coming in for the ninth inning. He walked the first batter but the second grounded to first, advancing the runner to second base. The third batter hit a grounder to Brad, who eyed the guy on second before firing to first to get the out. The next batter struck out, and the game was over.
As arranged before the game, I waited in my seat until a team official came to escort me down into the locker room. I’d been in locker rooms before, but I was never prepared for how loud they were. And no matter how plush, they always smelled like sweaty men. Not that I was averse to it.
“Put on some clothes, we’ve got a lady here,” one of the players called out when I entered the room. He smiled as he exited in a hurry.
I can’t say I minded the sight as I ventured farther into the room. Everybody had some clothes on, but not all their clothes. Several bare-chested players didn’t seem at all bothered by my presence. All righty then. I was mostly keeping it professional until Brad walked into the room wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else. Dear God.
I’d seen him naked countless times. We’d practically lived together for a year, for crying out loud, yet I was struck dumb at the sight of that tanned, muscular chest. Oh yeah, he’d bulked up in all the right ways. His arms were more defined, and his abs . . . I had no words for those. Was there such thing as a twenty-four pack?
“Looks like you’re still my good luck charm,” he said when I reached him. I wasn’t quite capable of speaking, so I just nodded. “Did you enjoy the game?”
I really wanted to touch him. I should have worn heels and pretended to trip again.
“Paging Red.”
“What?”
He laughed. “Did you like the game?”
“Oh, yeah.” I shook my head, trying to focus again. “I haven’t been to one in a long time.” Not since the last time I’d seen him play, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. “You were great.”
“Well, I pressed on the second at-bat, but other than that, it wasn’t a bad day.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be sad or relieved when he put on a T-shirt, but I admit I watched the way his muscles rippled as he pulled it down over his torso. “Do you always focus on the negative?” I asked when his head emerged. His hair was all mussed and I itched to play with it.
“No. I focus on what I need to do to get better. I’ll never be perfect, but I’d damn well like to get as close as I can.”
That was good. I took out my pad and jotted it down.
“So this is the girl you were giving your balls to!”
I looked up at the smiling face of Lance Green, right fielder. He had short, spiky brown hair, twinkling brown eyes, and a smile that made me smile back.
“Better watch out, every man gives them to me eventually.”
Brad made some sort of strangled sound next to me, but Lance laughed. “I’d be happy to give you—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll end you,” Brad warned, and Lance laughed harder.
“He’s possessive,” Lance said, shaking his head. “Wants to keep his writer all to himself. He’s just afraid I’ll tell you what a terrible wingman he is.”
“Is that so? Sounds like fun! I’m Dani.” I sat on the bench and patted the seat next to me.
“It’s nice to meet you, Dani. I’m Lance,” he said, sitting down.
Brad slammed his locker shut. “I’m going to go talk to Tom for a few. Meet me here?”
“Sure.” I shrugged and turned back to Lance. “How is he a terrible wingman?”
He held his hand over his heart. “There we were, at the hotel bar in Philly after a game we choked away last October, and I see her. The girl of my dreams.” He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye, and I giggled.
“Let me guess, was she a blonde?”
“How did you know?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Lucky guess. What happened?”
“Well, I’m the shy type, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” I laughed again, and he sighed. “Why does nobody believe me about that? Anyway, before I could work up the nerve to talk to her, she and Brad are walking out of the bar together. I’ve never gotten over it.”
“It doesn’t sound like he was your wingman, then.”
“Well, not technically. But, bottom line, if there’s a girl in the vicinity that you want, it’s better on the whole not to have him around.”
My eyes stung, and I swallowed to ease the tightness in my throat. “Can I quote you on that?”
“Absolutely. So what’s your deal, writer? Are you single?”
I looked up from my notepad. “What?”
“I figure I should make my move before Brad does.”
“Oh, well . . . I . . .”
“We have a day game on Wednesday. I could take you out that night.”
“She’s busy.”
We both turned to an angry-looking Brad looming over us.
“I don’t recall her saying so.” Brad stepped closer, and Lance held up his hands. “I guess I am too late. Sorry.” He hurried away.
I set my notepad aside before standing, my hands on my hips. “What in the hell was that?”
“What was what? Are you ready to go?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Since when do you speak for me?”
“I don’t. I just figured you’d want to spend the evening getting more info about me. It’s me you’re writing about, not my teammates.” The arrogance in his tone made me want to hit him. Asshole.
“Talking to your teammates is part of getting to know more about you as a player. Also, maybe I want to go out with him. What’s it to you? I’m free to do whatever I want.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I guess we both are. Hey, Green!” he shouted. Lance stepped around the next set of lockers and eyed him warily. “Sorry I was a dick before,” Brad said. “Go ahead and ask her again. I won’t get in the way.”
“Hey, man, I don’t want to step on any toes.”
I don’t know what made me do it. Maybe it was the way they were discussing me as if I was some possession they could pass between the two of them. Maybe it was the look on Brad’s face when he agreed we were both free agents. Maybe I was just feeling ornery, but I did it anyway.
“Actually, Lance, before we were so rudely interrupted, I was going to say I’d love to have dinner, pick your brain a little, and get to know you.” It wasn’t really a date, per se. It was a business thing.
“Are you sure it’s okay?”
I wasn’t sure who he was addressing, but I wasn’t about to let Brad decide anything for me. “I’m sure. I know you’ll have a plane to catch the next day, so we can make it an early dinner if you want.”
Lance glanced between me and Brad, who stood there with a blank look on his face.
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
I ripped a page out of my notebook and handed it to him. “My number.”
“Thanks.” He tucked it in his pants, still looking between me and Brad. I felt Brad’s eyes on me but ignored him. “I’ll see you then, I guess.”
“Absolutely.”
Lance disappeared and I finally looked at my ex-b
oyfriend. “Are you ready?” We were supposed to go back to his place so he could take me through the game tape and show me how he prepared for a pitcher and studied his every at-bat. I was actually looking forward to seeing the technical side of his process.
“Actually, I forgot I had plans. I’ll just see you tomorrow.”
I didn’t like the way my stomach flipped at his mention of plans. “What kind of plans?”
“That’s not your concern, remember? We’re both free agents.” He hefted his gym bag over his arm. “Have a good night, Dani.”
I couldn’t wish him the same. I knew he was doing it to punish me for going out with his teammate, but it didn’t hurt any less.
“Bye.”
He left without another word, forgetting he was my ride. He obviously had better things, or better women, to do instead.
Chapter 9
He’d had plans, all right. Pictures of him and model Amber X—yes, that was her ridiculous name—filled the tabloids the next day. “Reynolds Scoring On and Off the Field.” “Brad Hits Another Home Run!”
He’d looked perfectly happy with his arm around her as they’d walked into some hot nightclub, and reports were that they’d called it an early night since he’d had a game the next day.
I didn’t ask him about it. In fact, I didn’t speak to him at all. I’d gotten to the stadium early and been allowed access to the players prior to warm-ups. He’d smiled when he saw me, but I turned my back and asked Mike Hager about playing with Brad.
His teammates loved him, which annoyed me. Consummate professional, hardest worker on the team, most talented player, selfless, consumed with winning, and my personal favorite, worst to go out with because he gets all the girls. Naturally.
And of course they’d been in awe over his latest score, the blond Victoria’s Secret model with the huge breasts and eyes so dark blue they were practically black.
“Brad has all the luck,” Mike had said. “He smiles and women drop their panties then and there. I once caught him with some network executive in the locker room. He’ll be a legend on and off the field.”
So Brad was a whore. I knew that, of course, but hearing it again and seeing the admiration on his teammates’ faces had been hard to stomach. Nearly as hard as seeing the pictures of him in the tabloids.
I hadn’t stayed for the game, electing instead to go back to the hotel and start writing. But I wasn’t able to lose myself in the words as I usually did, since all the words were about him.
Because I was a glutton for punishment, I then went to sit in some stuffy restaurant, waiting for Pamela Baxter to join me. Like I hadn’t been tortured enough by his beautiful blondes, I was actually going to sit down with one? Even though she’d been much sweeter than I’d anticipated, it was pretty much the last thing I wanted to do.
“Dani! Sorry I’m late. I’m afraid that’s another thing I’m known for.” She kissed my cheek before she sat down next to me, looking stunning as usual in some dress that probably cost more than my car.
“No problem.” It wasn’t like I wanted to go to the game, though I supposed I had to since I was going out with Lance right after. “Can I ask you something?”
“Isn’t that why we’re here? Shoot.”
I waited until the hovering waiter finished simpering over her and hurried off to get her some iced tea. “Is it ever exhausting to have to look like that all the time?”
She threw back her head and laughed, and everybody who wasn’t already staring at us turned to look. “Oh, I do like you! And the answer is yes, but if I don’t put in the effort, the tabs will be littered with pictures of me looking frumpy and speculating that I’m pregnant or dying. You can’t take a walk in this town without tripping over a photographer, and after many unfortunate pictures, I’ve learned to put on my game face every time I venture out.”
“That sucks,” I said and shook my head. I didn’t mind getting dressed up now and then, but I was a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl.
“You’re preaching to the choir. But look up some bad pictures of me on the Internet and you’ll understand why.” She shuddered before beaming at the waiter who returned with her drink. We placed our orders and she leaned forward. “Now, will you tell me something?”
I didn’t know if I wanted to, but I acquiesced. “Sure.”
“Why is our boy all over the tabloids with that insipid model?”
Yes, I could get to like Pamela Baxter. “I assume she’s the flavor of the moment.” I took a sip of my water and studied her. “Jealous?”
She let out that tinkling laugh again. “I don’t get jealous, honey, I get even. But I have no claim there. Still, I’m concerned.”
“Concerned about what?” Was she a clinger? A user? Would she drag him into a life of drugs?
“You and Brad. What in the hell happened between the charity benefit and Monday night? I even saw him flip that ball to you in the stands that afternoon. I’ve never seen him do that before.”
“He used to do it all the time,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Oh, with you? How romantic. So then why was he out with X-rated Amber?”
X-rated Amber? I wasn’t going to be able to eat because the knot in my stomach was getting tighter by the minute. “It’s complicated.”
She shook her head. “I get the feeling everything with you two is. Spill.”
“We’re here to talk about you and Brad, not me and Brad,” I said.
“True, but we both know you don’t want to hear about it.”
She was too observant for my own good. “I may not want to, but I need to.”
“You spill and I’ll spill. You first.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
I couldn’t deny that I wanted to talk about it, and she was probably the person who knew him best these days. It certainly wasn’t me.
“I guess it was almost like old times during the game. It reminded me of college—he used to send me messages on the game balls.”
She smiled. “I didn’t know he had it in him to be romantic.”
I widened my eyes. “He didn’t treat you well?”
“Of course he did. But it was never romantic. We’d go to dinner and laugh and have a good time. He’d hold my hand when we were surrounded by paps and to help me in and out of cars, but he never romanced me. He still takes me to Disneyland for my birthday.” She laughed. “I adore that. Most men like to wine and dine me, but he just likes to have fun with me.”
“I see.” He had changed, and not for the better.
“What did he do for your birthday?” she asked.
I smiled. “He forgot, because of baseball, and I yelled at him and went to a party. He showed up with roses, played our song, gave me a heart necklace, and took me home and made it up to me.”
She sighed and pretended to wipe at tears in her eyes. “Now see, that’s romance. He really loved you, didn’t he?”
We were getting into very uncomfortable territory. “I guess.”
“No. A woman knows when she’s loved, especially when a guy sends her baseball messages and comes running when he fucks up.”
“Did he ever fuck up with you?”
She ran the tip of her finger over her glass, drawing something in the frost. “In some ways, in the beginning. But I don’t think he knew it.” Her gaze rose to meet mine. “He swept me off my feet. I was younger and more naïve then, and here was this handsome, charming baseball player. He was so confident, and back then I was kind of a mess. I let myself get caught up in the whole Hollywood thing, and I fell quickly for a pretty face—usually a costar—but Brad was no different.”
“But he didn’t fall?” I couldn’t help it; the fact that he hadn’t loved anybody after me and Bailey made me happy.
“No. I don’t think he even knew that I started to.” She smiled but it didn’t meet her eyes. “I called him while he was out of town on the East Coast somewhere. I didn’t think about the time difference, so it was late, but he answered. I’d had a
bad day of filming and I just wanted to dump it out on the man I considered to be my boyfriend.”
I had a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. Once a player, always a player.
“There was a girl in the room, and he didn’t even bother to hide it from me. In fact, he told me to give him a second while he went into the bathroom for some privacy.”
I dropped my chin into my hand. “Oh, wow. Ouch.”
“Yeah. I made up some excuse and got off the phone.” She touched my arm. “I can see the look on your face, and I don’t want you to think badly of him. To be fair, we hadn’t committed to each other in any way. I made assumptions. But he never made me any promises, and he still hasn’t.”
Maybe not, but he had made them to me. “Maybe it’s better that way.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying he cheated on you? Because I can’t believe that. Honey, I see the way he looks at you now, with all those years between you. I know he would never have hurt you like that.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I couldn’t. Too many emotions were boiling to the surface and I wasn’t going to relive that pain, no matter how much I empathized with Pam.
“Fine. I understand. But will you tell me what happened after the game on Monday?”
I nodded. “Lance Green asked me out and, before I could say no, Brad told him to back off.”
Pam laughed, delighted. “He got territorial, did he?”
“Yes, he did. But I’m not his.”
“So what happened next? Did you deck him?”
I laughed, despite my anger and confusion. “No, but I did make a date with Lance. Though it’s not really a date, since I plan on talking about Brad.”
“Does he know that?”
I shrugged, and she laughed.
“And I just bet it burned Brad’s ass that you’re going out with his teammate.”
“It must have because he blew off our interview and left me to get a cab back to my hotel.”
“Well, I hope you reamed him for it.”
I avoided her gaze, and she sighed.
“You didn’t yell at him for ditching you to go out with Easy McSleazy? Come on, Dani, I expect better from you.”
