Drive You Wild: A Love Between the Bases Novel

by Jennifer Bernard

  Was she going to be okay? She did a quick survey, inside and out. Physically, she noticed only one twinge in her elbow, where a falling bat must have bruised her. Emotionally . . . actually, she felt pretty good. As if a new part of her had been brought to life. She looked back at the photo spread, still open on the massage table. “It looks so staged, doesn’t it? Kind of embarrassing, really.”

  “Absolutely. Just imagine the shit the Warriors are going to give him. Bet they’ll smear cupcake frosting all over his locker or something.”

  “That shouldn’t make me feel better, but it kind of does.” She laughed up at him. His gaze dropped to her lips. Desire surged between them again, hot and volatile.

  “What the hell is going on in here?” The deep voice of her father made her spin around. Great, just what she needed, her father misunderstanding the situation and taking it out on Trevor.

  “Nothing. Trevor was comforting me because of this.” She grabbed the tabloid off the table and waved it at him. “Did you know about it?”

  Crush transferred his angry glare to Trevor. “Yes, and I was trying to keep you from ever having to see it.”

  Trevor did his best Greek statue imitation, face like marble, arms crossed over his chest.

  “It wasn’t Trevor’s fault. He didn’t write the article, he didn’t pose for those photos, and he didn’t cheat with Nessa. And actually, I’m glad I saw it. It makes it easier for me to move on.”

  Crush still held Trevor in his sights. “She’s been crying. What’d you do?”

  “Don’t blame Trevor for that, Dad. And I’m right here. Look at me.” She waited until he’d unlocked his gaze from Trevor’s. She kept it simple, stating each sentence with careful enunciation. “Trevor was being nice. Thanks to him, I feel better. He was comforting me. We now have to do this photo shoot. Okay?”

  A muscle in Crush’s jaw jumped. “Fine. Just . . . take it easy with the ‘nice’ shit.”

  No more touching Paige, anywhere, anytime. It wasn’t just that she was sexy and appealing and someone he could look at all day long and not get bored. It wasn’t just that he wanted her in his bed. The problem was that when she looked at him, something happened. He felt . . . seen. Appreciated for something other than good looks or baseball.

  What she saw, he had no idea. But he couldn’t get enough of being with her, talking to her.

  And that was bad, bad, very bad news. Could not happen again. Not because of Crush Taylor, of course. He couldn’t care less what Crush thought of him. Actually, he appreciated how protective the baseball legend was of his daughter. Someone had to be, after what Notswego had done.

  After Paige left the room, he ripped the tabloid into little shreds and buried it in the trash. When he reached the dugout, Marcia had arrived and was arranging Dwight and Shizuko for the shot. The marketing head was in her element, though it was funny watching such a tiny woman prodding two big baseball players where she wanted them.

  As the center fielder, Dwight took the middle spot, posing with both hands resting on a bat. Shizuko casually rested one arm on Dwight’s shoulder and held his glove to his heart. Marcia pointed Trevor to Dwight’s other side.

  “Turn your body sideways, toward Dwight,” she directed. “Fold your arms across your chest and look at the camera.”

  Just to get this crap over with so he could go murder some baseballs, Trevor did as he was told. He was in no mood to smile for the camera. He kept thinking about the article in the tabloid. The only mention of Paige had come when the reporter referred to Hudson’s first wife, the “daughter of sports legend Crush Taylor.” It didn’t even say her name. As if she’d been whitewashed out of the storybook basketball romance.

  The problem was, Hudson didn’t know what it felt to be alone in the world. If he did, he wouldn’t toss away a wonderful girl like Paige. He would worship the ground she walked on, he’d shower her with love, give her anything she needed. That’s what he would—

  No. Trevor stopped that thought before it could fully form. The best thing he could do for Paige was keep away from her. If the Detroit guys came for him, if they knew Paige existed, that he’d held her, kissed her . . .

  No. No more Paige.

  “Uh, Trevor Stark, do you think you could give us more of a smile?” Marcia was saying. “You’re going to scare off the little kids.”

  He spread his mouth wide in a mirthless grimace.

  “Maybe we’re better off staying in his comfort zone,” Paige said to Marcia. “The stare of death.”

  “The ladies love it,” Dwight agreed. “Doesn’t have to say a word, just lets his cheekbones do the talking.”

  Trevor ignored their teasing. “Smile or no smile? I’m here to please.”

  “How about some sunglasses?” Marcia suggested. “That way it won’t matter so much.”

  Trevor grabbed onto that idea like a lifeline. If he wore sunglasses in the photo, he’d be less recognizable. He’d changed a lot since Detroit, but his eyes were the same. The ballplayers relaxed their pose while he dug in his pocket for the sepia brown shades he often wore against the Texas sun. Once he had them on, he was able to relax.

  His new look had the added benefit of allowing him to watch Paige without Crush or anyone else noticing. He wanted to keep an eye on her. After all, she’d been crying her heart out half an hour ago. Now she was back at work, trying to act normal. She might fool everyone else, but he could see how shaky she still was.

  Right now she was saying something to Shizuko that made the right fielder smile. Trevor tightened his hands into fists. That Brazilian bastard didn’t deserve her kindness. He’d hurt Paige. Trevor muttered something to that effect under his breath.

  “Get a grip, man,” Dwight said, just as low. “You know you shouldn’t be messing with her.”

  “Keep out of it.” Did every damn guy within a thirty mile radius have to be involved in this thing?

  “Thought I was your friend.”

  “Shut up and smile.”

  They all gathered together for the pose one more time. Dwight grinned, Shizuko looked soulful, and Trevor did the badass thing he did so well. Click.

  Paige and Marcia high-fived each other, and the ballplayers were set free. Crush gave them all a curt nod as they filed onto the field. “Nice work, guys. Prepare to be viral.”

  Out on the field, Dwight did a few hamstring stretches, while Trevor launched into the light jog that always kicked off his workouts. They each did their own thing for a few moments, then Dwight said, “I was out of line, bro. Paige is a sweet girl and I shouldn’t have been looking at those photos. I apologized to her too. She’s a cool chick.”

  Trevor shrugged as if it made no difference to him. “That’s between you and her.”

  “Yeah, and you don’t give a shit, do you? No, because you’re ice man Trevor Stark and feelings are for pussies.”

  Trevor shot him an annoyed look but didn’t rise to the bait.

  “You know, I met Hudson once.” Dwight dropped that little nugget of info, then stopped, waiting for Trevor to react. Don’t fall for it. Don’t do it.

  But Trevor couldn’t help it. “Yeah? What’s the asshole like?”

  “You do like her!” Dwight moved into a lunge, raising his arms over his head in a gesture of triumph. “The mighty Trevor Stark has a crush.”

  A crush? Trevor scrambled to cover his tracks, to bring back the badass Trevor Stark no one would ever accuse of having a crush. “What are you, in third grade? I’m curious about the guy who’s fucking Nessa Brindisi, that’s all. I want the 411. What I want to know, is cocksucking easy with Nessa Brindisi?”

  Dwight didn’t laugh, and that’s because it wasn’t funny, not even a little. Trevor flashed on the memory of Paige staring at that cupcake photo, tears swimming in her big blue eyes. He felt like a total piece of shit in that moment.

  “You know something, T? You’re a liar. And a coward. I’ve seen how Paige looks at you. You should go for it. Ask her out. Act like a h
uman being for once. It’s not like your life could get any emptier than it is right now. And you know something else?”

  Trevor kept jogging in place, letting Dwight’s words bounce off him as if they were hitting a wall of ice.

  “Stop saying you’re my friend if you’re going to act like a stranger.”

  Chapter 10

  PAIGE POSTED THE first series of “Baseball’s Hottest Outfield” photos on the team’s Facebook page the next day. A few hours later a thousand people had clicked Like. Not only that, but the viewership of the page soared. It was shared all over the Internet, on Pinterest, on Twitter, on Instagram. It wasn’t just that the three men were criminally gorgeous. A big part of the appeal came from their racial mix and the blend of personalities. Trevor the stone-cold badass, Dwight the dynamic charmer, and Shizuko, the soulful rock star.

  Paige knew it was all a crock, of course. Trevor wasn’t stone cold, Dwight wasn’t playful all the time, and Shizuko could outcrude most of the clubhouse, and that was saying something. But once those identities became set, people loved them. They were like cartoon characters instead of real people.

  At the next game, the crowd roared when the outfielders took their positions on the field. Fans held up even more signs than they normally did. From the owner’s box, Paige scanned the crowd with her binoculars and read the signs out loud to Crush.

  “‘Kilby Hearts Baseball’s Hottest Outfield.’ Thank you very much, we heart you too! ‘We make ’em hot in Kilby, Texas.’ That might be taking a little too much credit. None of them are from here.”

  “Details.” Crush waved it off. Unlike Paige, he was focused on the game. The Catfish were second in the standings behind the Albuquerque Isotopes, and if they won this game they’d crawl a whole game closer. Unfortunately, the Isotopes were having a great year. The best hope for the Catfish was for a whole bunch of Isotopes to get called up to the Colorado Rockies.

  “‘Eenie meenie miney moe, catch a Catfish by the toe.’ Okaaaaay,” Paige said. “Oh, here’s a copy of the photo in poster form. That’s a great idea, maybe we should sell prints.”

  “Do it. Make the players sign the prints. If these guys are going to be famous, they need to work on their people skills.”

  Paige aimed her binoculars at her father. “What do we have here? A Hall of Famer jealous of a bunch of sprouts?”

  “Not just any sprouts,” he muttered. “But I could still get them out. Every single one.”

  “Now that would be a good promotion. Let’s do it, Dad! Imagine the publicity that would get.”

  “No way in hell. I don’t want to humiliate them.”

  “Yeah, yeah. All hat, no cattle.” She trained the binoculars back on the crowd, having spotted the name Trevor out of the corner of her eye. Yup, there it was. Trevor Stark, with the Stark crossed out and replaced with Sucks. Well, you can’t win them all, she thought. Crush probably wasn’t the only jealous one out there. Then she looked closer at the man holding the sign. His body shape looked familiar. The last time she saw him, he was aiming a weapon at Trevor.

  Chills chased up her spine. “Dad, did they ever arrest the man who attacked Trevor in the parking lot?”

  “No, he was gone when the police got there. They never identified him.”

  “Call Security. I think he’s in the crowd.” She handed him the binoculars. “The one with the sign.”

  “Sure looks like the guy on the security tape. And Trevor did mention seeing some threatening signs during the game.” He pulled out his cell phone and called the head of Security. When he finished the call, he gave her an odd look. “When did you see that tape?”

  “I . . . uh . . . just caught a glimpse of it. Do you think he’s dangerous?”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t have a weapon on him, because we tightened the security checks. But clearly he has it in for Trevor Stark. Yes, baby!”

  Paige jumped, having forgotten for a moment that there was a game going on. Jim Leiberman had just hit a single and was bouncing up and down at first plate, yelling something to the Catfish dugout.

  Trevor stepped from the on-deck circle—more like strutted, actually. He looked neither at the catcher nor the umpire. The catcher said something to him with a grin, but he ignored it and focused his concentration on the mound.

  “See how he’s playing mind games with the pitcher?” Crush said. “He’s looking through him like he doesn’t even exist.”

  “Really?” Paige aimed the binocs at Trevor. Under his batting helmet, his profile stood out, clear and proud, firm chin, slashing cheekbones. But she couldn’t see his eyes or his expression. “How can you tell?”

  “I’ve seen him do it. For most batters, it’s a duel between pitcher and batter. For Trevor, it’s ‘throw me that fucking ball so I can smash it into a million pieces.’ He sees the pitcher as more of a delivery boy, and pitchers pick up on that. Rattles them. They always want to start him off with their best pitch just to show him they exist. Watch.”

  The Isotope pitcher slung a beautiful fastball over the plate. Trevor almost lazily swatted it off into foul territory.

  “Strike one, right?”

  “Yes, but that pitch is Gordon’s best, and Trevor didn’t even break a sweat. It’s disheartening for a pitcher to have your best stuff shrugged off. That’s Stark getting inside his head. Watch, next pitch will be a little wild.”

  Ball one, which Trevor watched pass by, his posture expressing disdain for the offering. The atmosphere at the plate was pure tension.

  “They don’t like him, do they, the other team?”

  “No opposing player likes Trevor. But they respect the hell out of him. He challenges a pitcher to be his best. If you beat Trevor Stark, that’s something to be proud of. He’s a pure talent, and you can’t deny it. The Catfish didn’t like him at first either, because of his reputation. But they do now. Beats me why.”

  It didn’t seem strange to her. Not at all.

  Crush’s phone beeped with a text. He scanned it, then told her, “Guy with the sign checks out clean. Just an avid Isotope fan, not a stalker.”

  “Darn. I wish they’d catch that guy.”

  “I doubt he’ll be back, and he definitely won’t get a weapon through the gates.”

  He was interrupted by a crack from the field that made them both jump to their feet. The ball flew into the air as if it had rocket boosters. It soared so high Paige nearly lost sight of it.

  “It’s gonna hit that bird,” someone yelled through the cacophony of cheers and stomps.

  “Gonna hit the scoreboard!”

  But no, it went over the scoreboard. “Hot damn,” said Crush, clapping his hands together. “That’s a frickin’ thing of beauty. All right, Stark!” he shouted at the field. Trevor was jogging around the bases on the heels of Leiberman, who bounced along the base paths like an overexcited nine-year old.

  “You like him now?” Paige teased her father.

  Just then Trevor looked right at the owner’s box. Right into Paige’s eyes. And smiled. A genuine, heartbreaking, happy smile that just about melted her knees to jelly.

  Crush stopped clapping and growled. “Motherfucker.”

  No one realized just how successful the Baseball’s Hottest Outfield campaign had become until the Catfish’s first road trip. As the team bus pulled into the El Paso Marriott Courtyards, where the team was staying, a surreal sight greeted them. A throng of teenage girls screamed as the bus arrived. It looked as if the entire high school girl population of El Paso had skipped class to be there.

  “Holy freaking shit,” said Ramirez. “Some kind of celebrity in town?” He assessed the makeup of the crowd. “Maybe Taylor Swift?”

  Then they spotted the giant blow up of the Baseball’s Hottest Outfield poster being held aloft in the sea of girls. “Oh boy.” Shizuko clambered over the seats and aimed his camera phone out the window. “This is crazier than Kilby.”

  “Looks like we’re big in El Paso,” quipped Dwight, though he looked a
s unnerved as Trevor felt. He stood, even though the bus was still moving, trying to inch into the parking lot without running anyone over.

  “Trevor! Trevor!” Girls called his name, held up their iPhones, snapped photos.

  “It’s the Shiz,” another girl yelled.

  “The ‘Shiz,’ you hear that, Shizuko? You got yourself a lame-ass new nickname.” Sonny Barnes collapsed into laughter.

  “No one out there for me?” Dwight peered out the window. A young girl saw him and started screaming his name. “Dwight, Dwight, I love you, baby! I love you!”

  “Geez Louise, is it safe to go out there?” Leiberman crawled over Ramirez to get a closer look. “Do we need bodyguards or something?”

  Ramirez pushed him off his lap and stood up, flexing his muscles. “Sonny and me, we got this.” The two biggest guys on the team exchanged high fives. “’Course, if any of those girls slips me some cash in exchange for a phone number, it’s on.”

  “I’m the bodyguard here.” Duke puffed up his chest. “If anyone’s used to dealing with hormonal young people, it’s a minor league manager.”

  “That’s cold, Duke,” complained Manny Becker, the new catcher.

  The bus jerked to a halt and the girls swarmed around the door. Trevor jammed on his shades. “Are you guys seriously afraid of a bunch of fans? I’m going out there, and I’m gonna smile and act nice. Who’s with me?”

  After working his way through the crowd, he thought facing the Detroit gang might have been easier. Everyone wanted to touch him, talk to him, stare at him. It was insane and it made him very uncomfortable. I’m just a loser from Detroit, he wanted to scream. I spent three years in juvie. I grew up in a shithole with a druggie father and I’ll have a target on my back if certain people ever figure out who I am.

  The words were so loud inside his head that he couldn’t believe no one heard them. But people saw what they wanted to see, and in his case they saw a good-looking ballplayer with a big contract. If that Trevor Stark had a worry, it would be about the next ball game, or which girl he’d take out that night. So he signed scraps of paper, notebooks, wrists, shoulders, whatever the girls offered. Luckily, no one felt inspired to present a boob in the parking lot of the Marriott Courtyards.