A do-or-die warning beeped on his phone and he cursed, breaking into a run. Kler-flaps echoed around him. There was no way he’d be on time now. His only hope was that Coach wasn’t waiting in the locker room.
Dustin hustled through the grass-green metal door. The stained concrete floor was cool against his socks. He’d ripped off his busted work boots as soon as he hit the car, throwing them in the back seat along with the gym bag full of workout clothes, his “emergency” mitt, and several bats. Which meant he’d run into the building shoeless—not an easy task when the temperature was already over one hundred degrees, and the parking lot baked like an all-day barbeque.
Despite the air conditioning inside the building, he was boiling inside.
“What happened to you?” asked Brayden Birks, starting pitcher and easily the most talented guy in the bullpen.
Dustin threw the zip-top bag at Brayden and glared.
Brayden caught it easily enough. “What’s this?”
“I believe they call them essentials bags.” The little card inside had said as much. It’d also contained an encouraging quote, the address to the soup kitchen, and a scripture about hope. The penmanship was neat and tidy and—of all things—cute. It personified the mystery girl who dropped the bombshell in his hands.
Brayden cocked his head to the side.
“Apparently, I look homeless.” Dustin landed on the bench and began peeling off his ruined socks. He threw them in a trash can in the corner. “Some woman pulled over and staged an intervention on my behalf. She gave me that.”
Brayden laughed—hard. His eyes crinkled at the corner and liquid leaked out. He brushed it away, dramatically, while holding his stomach. “You’re going to bust my spleen—stop it.”
Dustin growled.
Brayden began to settle, drawing in several gasping breaths, and then he pointed at Dustin and started all over again.
Dustin stripped off his pants and shirt, tempted to throw his smelly shirt in Brayden’s face. “Not funny.”
“No, it’s stinking hilarious.” He opened the bag and pulled out a small bar of soap. “Here, you’re going to shower, right?”
There was soap in the locker room showers. Nice soap. Expensive stuff with vitamin E and aloe to protect their skin against the dry air. “I don’t need soap.”
“I beg to differ.” Brayden ducked, and Dustin’s shirt flew over his head. “Look, there’s shaving cream and a razor too.”
Dustin ran a hand down his beard. He was in great physical shape—the best of his life thanks to the team trainers and the hours he spent hauling Sheetrock. Not that the woman could see all his hard work under his baggy construction clothes. Still, she had to know he wasn’t homeless. The whole thing was probably a joke. “I should have told her who I was.”
“Yeah, nothing impresses the ladies like the old do-you-have-any-idea-who-I-am line. They love cocky. In fact, I lead with do you know who I am when I hit the clubs.”
“Shut up.” Dustin reached for a towel.
“Is that what you told her? Shut up?”
“No.” He wouldn’t have told a lady to shut up, no matter how she’d insulted him. “My mama raised me better than that.” There was something about this woman, though. Her golden eyes were big and trusting and full of concern. The more he thought about her, the more he was sure she hadn’t meant to insult him. She truly thought she was helping, which was admirable. And stupid. She was pretty—much too pretty to approach strange men on the street. He tugged at his beard again.
“She got you thinking about something.”
Dustin nodded. “I’m worried about the new coach. He’s as straight an arrow as they come, and I don’t exactly fit the image. You saw how fast he got rid of Jackson Kimber.”
“Kimber was a—” Brayden muttered a word Dustin wouldn’t repeat.
“Can’t argue with you there.” His back ached from standing on the scaffolding and reaching above his head to apply the compound. He arched to relieve the strain. He’d need to get in with the physical therapists. If they knew he was doing drywall, the new redhead PT, Elise Smith, would chew him out. His body basically belonged to the Redrocks for the duration of his contract.
What was he supposed to do? Turn his back on his brother? Dropping family wasn’t an option. Besides, the drywall business was his fallback.
No one expected Dustin to take baseball all the way to the majors. No one but him. He’d known since he was a kid that playing professionally was where the Lord wanted him. When he stepped onto the field, it wasn’t about money or contracts or agents or fans. When it was just about playing ball, his heart opened. Fear disappeared. Mistakes and guilt were wiped from his mind. Anger and sorrow had no place inside him. He communed with the Lord of Heaven in those times and hadn’t been able to feel that way any other place.
Was it a long road to the big leagues? Heck yeah! He was thirty years old and had languished in a farm system for years. The Cubs had traded him to the Redrocks in their inaugural year on a dime. For ten years he made peanuts during the season, crashing on his parents’ couch during the off-season. His trust in himself and the Lord finally paid off, and he was living his dream. If he wanted the dream to continue, he needed to up his game.
He grabbed the plastic bag off the bench. “I’m hitting the shower.”
“‘Bout time.” Brayden plugged his nose.
Dustin contemplated flipping him off, but decided his mother had taught him better than that, too.
Once alone, with empty shower stalls and a few sinks for company, he took a long, hard look at himself in the mirror. Not shaving was a tradition in the MLB. Guys started the season off with smooth cheeks and a pocket full of luck and ambition. By the end of the season, they were supposed to have a scraggly beard and a championship. Based on their record so far, the Redrocks weren’t going to win the title. Their less-than-stellar record didn’t mean Dustin couldn’t start fresh—they didn’t have a shot at the pennant, and no one on the team could point their finger at him and say he’d jinxed them. He could prove to himself, and his family, that baseball was the only career he needed and finally sell his half of the drywall company to his brother.
He glanced at the razor in the plastic bag. There was no way the cheap blade would hold up against his facial hair. He’d have to wait to shave until he got home, but he would shave. Being paid like a Yankee started with believing he was worth a Yankee salary. And seeing was believing. He was going to be one clean-cut Redrock.
Chapter Three
Clover pushed her chest forward and her shoulders back as she entered the posh Los Vegas club. There was so much to remember when wearing a tight-fitting dress. She felt like an imposter in a pair of borrowed high heels and perfume. She never wore perfume. Maddie’d spritzed it on her before they left the apartment, and it had made her sneeze three times.
Though they lived in St. George, Vegas was the real singles scene. Only an hour away, the bright lights, loud music, and hordes of beautiful people lived up to every Elvis song she’d ever heard.
The club scene was not her scene, but she’d promised Maddie a girls’ night out, so here she was, trying not to sweat and ruin the coral fabric flowing around her body like a second skin. She’d been much more comfortable approaching the homeless man yesterday than she was approaching any of the slick men here tonight. Well, she was comfortable with the homeless man until their eyes met over the essentials bag. He had the most amazing eyes, green with browns and yellows mixed in. She could have stared into those eyes for hours.
“I haven’t been here before.” Clover leaned toward Maddie to be heard over the pulsing music. “How much do I owe you for the cover?”
“Nothing.” Maddie waved her off.
There were several swimming pools dotting the open-air restaurant and club, and fractals of light in blue, red, yellow, pink, and green sparkled over the undisturbed surfaces. The palm trees were beautiful, each one the same height with thick, manicured trunks. Plush leat
her seating rimmed the balcony. Behind them, the Eiffel Tower replica glowed, a shining star among many on the Strip. “But this place is legit. It had to cost you.”
Maddie smiled and shook her head. “Ladies get in free tonight.” She got on her tiptoes and scanned the area. “There’s a table. Come on, I’m starving.” Maddie pulled her across a walkway spanning two pools to a round table high off the ground. There were no chairs, so the girls stood. Clover glanced at other people grouped around tables and eating. This was so weird.
A waiter passed by them on his way to another table. Maddie tried to catch his eye, but he ignored her. Clover shrugged. She let her gaze wander around the trendy club. Women in expensive dresses, the fabrics rich, walked like runway models. Men in everything from jeans to suits waved short glasses full of amber liquid as they talked and laughed loudly. At the far end of the open-air space, the dance floor was hopping. Clover grinned. Dancing was something she was actually good at.
She sidestepped to get a better look and saw a man come through the door. “Holy guacamole,” she breathed, still staring at the Adonis. He had wavy, dark brown hair artfully tousled off his forehead. It was long enough to run her fingers through, and the waves would drop into his eyes. Her stomach flipped at the idea of being familiar enough with the man to touch him tenderly.
Her skin flushed from her toes to her cheeks, and she grabbed Maddie’s arm. He was a man among men with his nicely formed body, a jaw that could cut a 2x4, and shoulders so thick they could hold up the world for eons.
“Holy hot guacamole,” Maddie answered.
“With cheese on top.”
Maddie turned to her and giggled. “What does that even mean?”
Clover fanned her face. “It means I’m melting like shredded cheddar over here.” Mr. Hot Guacamole turned her way, and their eyes met. A jolt zipped through Clover, making her grab the edge of the table for support. His chin jerked back and his eyebrows lifted as if he recognized her, too. Too? Did she know him?
Clover dropped her gaze. There was no way she knew that guy—she didn’t know guys who were hotter than jalapeños because they made her brain spark like a fork in the microwave.
Maddie shook her arm. “Do you know him?”
Clover cringed. “I don’t think so.” She stole another look his way and found him talking to a server, pointing their direction.
“He has a friend,” whispered Maddie, as if the men could hear them from twenty feet away with music piping through speakers placed strategically in the potted plants. Funny, Clover hadn’t even noticed the other guy; she’d been unable to look beyond the Hot Guacamole.
The two men smiled in their direction. Clover’s legs went numb. Her mind couldn’t connect with a single nerve ending in that area. For all she knew, she was floating.
“Are you sure you don’t know him?” Maddie squeaked.
“We moved around a lot.” Clover turned her back. “Please tell me he’s not coming over here.” There was no way Clover could handle a man with truckloads of sex appeal. She’d turn into a hot, messy puddle right there and ruin Maddie’s shoes. Already her tongue was thick and clumsy, and she’d only looked at him. Heaven forbid she’d have to put two words together.
A line of waiters arrived, filling their table with a variety of food and drawing their attention away from the men at the door. “We didn’t order this,” Clover told one waiter. He ignored her and slid the platter of cold shrimp arranged beautifully in chopped celery pieces. She scowled as chips and several dips landed on the aged wood.
“Um …” Maddie’s eyes grew as she looked over Clover’s shoulder.
“What?”
“He’s coming over here.”
“He is not!” Clover grabbed Maddie’s arm and tugged, ignoring the two servers trying to fit a platter of twice-baked potatoes on the already full tabletop. “Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not!” Maddie’s eyes spoke volumes. Clover tried to pull herself together, but there were way too many parts strung about; her brain was definitely in the clouds, and her stomach was doing somersaults.
“Excuse me?” The voice was deep and calm and set her skin a-tingling.
Clover turned slowly, making sure to use the table for support. It didn’t wobble, thank goodness, because she did. Her eyes connected with his chest and she slowly lifted them, taking in the view along the way. “Hi.” She cleared her throat, unsure if the word made it out of her mouth or not.
He nodded.
Their gaze held, scrumptious sensations overtaking Clover. She was most definitely befuddled.
His friend, standing slightly behind and to the side, cleared his throat.
Hottie-Pa-tottie came to himself. “Right. I noticed you didn’t have any food, and I know it’s hard to accept help, but people care about you.”
The words cleared Clover’s head like a lawn mower taking off all the sweet tips of her thoughts. She’d said the same phrase yesterday. To a man in an oversized, soiled hoodie and a broken shoe. “You’re the homeless guy?” she blurted.
His friend leaned forward, all bright white teeth, apple cheekbones, and mischief. “Hi, I’m Brayden Birks, and this is Dustin Colt, shortstop for the St. George Redrocks.”
Maddie smiled as she shook Brayden’s hand. A small noise escaped her teeth—something between a gasp and a sigh of pleasure.
Clover’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Are you telling me I handed an essentials bag to a major league baseball player?” She addressed Brayden because looking at him didn’t steal her breath away.
Brayden grinned. “You made my day. You also got him to shave—something the team chaplain has been praying for all season long.”
Clover turned to Dustin. He certainly didn’t look homeless tonight. Besides the high-end suit that fit him perfectly, he’d gotten a haircut. The skin along his jawline was a little lighter than the rest of his face, but the difference didn’t take away from his downright gorgeousness.
“I—” She stopped, unable to come up with an apology. “I’m not sorry.” She took a breath, ready to tell him that his transformation was totally worth the embarrassment heaped upon her.
Dustin scowled and tapped the table with two fingers. “I guess there’s nothing else to say except enjoy your food.” He strutted away like he’d won the Division Championship.
Clover watched him walk all the way across the room—her eyes Velcro-ed to his broad, muscular back. She wished she had a comeback to shock him into mutism. Turnabout was fair play, but Dustin Colt didn’t play fair.
A beautiful woman joined him and Brayden, sliding her toned arm around Brayden’s shoulders and offering him a quick kiss on the cheek. Clover breathed a sigh of relief when she only nodded hello to Dustin.
“What just happened?” asked Maddie.
Clover stared at the food on the table. There was way more here than she and Maddie could eat in a week. What a waste.
A group of women giggled as they walked by. “Hungry much?” asked one in a red dress that barely covered her assets.
Clover’s face heated as people around them pointed and whispered. They’d heard Dustin say something about her needing help. Years of being the kid in a dirty shirt and an empty stomach came rushing back. She threw a glare toward the dance floor.
“What just happened was that I met the biggest jerk in baseball. Can you believe that guy, throwing his money in my face like this?” The butterflies, which had been pleasantly buzzing around inside, suddenly turned to fire, blazing through her blood.
“Cutest jerk too,” Maddie muttered.
Clover ignored the comment. She scanned for Dustin, ready to smash one of these meals in his face. He was on the dance floor with two women doing their best to leave their DNA on his suit. Of course—she wouldn’t expect anything less from a guy who thought the world revolved around him. “Nope. Just a jerk.”
Maddie rubbed her palms together over the meals and licked her lips. “Where do you want to start? You can have first p
ick.”
“I’d like to start by kicking him in his tight behind.”
Her eyes lit up. “Ha! You noticed his backside.”
“Well, yeah, he was walking my favorite direction for guys like him—away.”
Another round of waiters appeared, carrying trays loaded with plates. They stared at Clover as if she could magically make the table bigger.
Maddie snorted a laugh. “Come on. Let’s spend his money.” She selected a shrimp, dipped it in the cocktail sauce, and popped the whole thing in her mouth.
“You’re right.” Maddie picked up a plate of stuffed mushrooms and another with a variety of veggies and hummus and walked to the nearest table. “You guys having fun tonight?”
The trio of buttoned-up corporate types grinned. “We are now that you’re here,” said the one in the middle.
Clover smiled tightly—unsure if he expected her to flirt back or simply absorb the comment. Flirting wasn’t an option because her brain was still working out something she could have said to Dustin. Why couldn’t she come up with anything to zing him? She shifted her weight, wishing Dustin had kept his credit card to himself so she wouldn’t have to make sure this food didn’t go into the trash.
“Whatcha got there?” asked the one on the end. He wore a plaid shirt and a plain tie—opposite of the other two guys at the table, who wore plain shirts and plaid ties.
She slid the plates onto the table. “Free food.”
“Thanks,” they said almost in unison.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have more deliveries to make.” The first server had placed his load in the spots she’d cleared.
She tapped the edges of the plates to check for heat before picking them up. There was a rowdy group taking up two couches. She flagged the next waiter in line to follow her. The three guys winked as she walked by their table, and she smiled shyly in return.
Maddie hoarded the shrimp platter and the chocolate sampler, but Clover was able to distribute the rest. They ended up with quite the crowd around their table, and Clover found herself relaxing as the food had made her instant friends. She took full credit, refusing to let Dustin get any more enjoyment out of his attempt to humiliate her.
Caught Looking (Dating Mr. Baseball Book 2) Page 2
