The Perfect Catch

by Meghan Quinn

  “How many players would you like to attend?”

  “Ten. They must be high-profile players.”

  “So, the starting lineup and maybe a pitcher or two.”

  “For the most part, yes. Coach Hopkins’s father was a firefighter so he’s always a huge supporter of this event. We tell him who we want at the ball and he makes it happen, no questions asked.”

  “That’s amazing. So you won’t really need me after all.” I wink, letting her know I’m joking.

  She chuckles and starts tapping away on her tablet. “Oh, we need you. You probably have the most important job—getting the guys to follow directions. It’s going to be like herding a bunch of toddlers, especially once they start drinking.”

  “I’m up for the challenge. Do I need to worry about speeches?”

  “Those will be written up for the players, but we do need to choose a few speakers from the bunch. Maybe drum up some interest, see who’s willing to stand in front of a podium. If none of them, I say we play a little Russian roulette, speaker edition.”

  “Oh, I like that idea a lot. Is it bad that I’m hoping to pull the trigger on one of these guys and slap them with a surprise speech?”

  Conspiratorially, Audrey leans in. “I’m hoping for it too. After being with the Bobbies for so long, you realize you find great pleasure in torturing the players. It’s one of the many perks.”

  “A very good one, at that.” The crowd erupts into a cheer after the crack of a bat echoes into the box. That can’t be good. I glance up at one of the monitors and note a batter from the opposing team on second. Come on, boys. “What’s with the team lately? It’s almost as if they’re all tired.”

  “Happens every year as we near the All-Star break. The team gets burned out, but then after a week of rest, they come barreling out of their beds ready to play.”

  “I sure hope so. I would love to see another pennant win.”

  “We all would, Kate.”

  “You know, I’m starting to get offended,” I say as I spot my friend waiting for me by the door.

  Dan plasters on his charming smile and says, “I’m a busy man.”

  “Too busy for your dear friend?”

  He grabs me by the shoulder and leads me to the bar. He called me up at eight and asked if I wanted to meet him for a few drinks and late-night mozzarella sticks. Needing the break after my long days, and wanting to see how he was doing, I took him up on the offer, even though it meant peeling my pajama pants off and putting on a pair of jeans. He’s lucky I like him.

  “Never too busy. That’s why you’re here with me right now.”

  “Always the charmer.”

  He pulls out my bar stool for me and motions to the seat. “Milady.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t be corny.”

  Dan motions to the bartender, who quickly comes over. He doesn’t even flinch at the sight of Dan, which makes me laugh, because either the guy is obtuse as to who’s sitting at his bar, or Dan is a regular and has established an affinity with the guy.

  “Two orders of mozzarella sticks, a Coke Zero for the lady, and a water for me.”

  “Water?” I ask, a tilt to my brow.

  “That, you question? Not the two orders of mozzarella sticks?”

  “No, because I know that I have no shame in consuming at least ten sticks. Two orders will barely suffice.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “Just don’t hog all the marinara sauce.”

  “Can’t make any promises.” I bump into his shoulder and he returns a smile.

  “So, how’s the job? Are the players all being dicks to you?”

  “No.” I shake my head, even though I want to say yes about one specific guy. Although, he did turn a new leaf the other night. “They’re pretty cool. Some need a little extra shoving, but for the most part they all show up and never let me down.”

  “Even Rockwell?” Dan asks with a raised brow.

  I chuckle. “He’s gotten better.”

  Dan scoffs and shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything else. “What about being in the city? Are you liking it? It’s different than the outskirts.”

  “I am. It’s started to feel like home rather quickly. I went to this hole-in-the-wall restaurant the other day for a gyro pita and it was so good, I went back for dinner.” I bite on my finger as Dan laughs. “They might know me by name now.”

  “That quickly?” Dan asks with a raise of his brow as our drinks are placed in front of us.

  “Let’s just say I’ve gone more often than I should. But in my defense, it’s right next to my apartment building and I haven’t had much time to go to the grocery store.”

  “Have your personal assistant go to the store for you. That’s what I do.”

  I snort so hard I feel a little bit of snot at the tip of my nose. I pick up a napkin and wipe. “Oh, sure, let me just ask my imaginary personal assistant to go grocery shopping for me.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Dan scratches the side of his cheek. “Kind of forgot you’re a mere peasant compared to me.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  He laughs and grabs me by the shoulder, pulling me into his familiar warmth. “Want to borrow my assistant?”

  “No. I really don’t.”

  “She’s good.” Dan takes a sip of his water. “She leaves mints on my pillow.”

  “Before or after you fuck her?” I give him a cheeky grin.

  “Hey now.” He turns to me. “I only fucked my assistant once and after that night, we both agreed we’d keep it professional.”

  “How noble.” I sip my drink just as the mozzarella sticks are placed in front of us. “How is it not awkward around her?”

  “Oh, I never said it wasn’t awkward. Just that we’re professional about it.”

  “You need to make better life decisions.”

  “You’re right,” he sighs. “To this day, you’re probably the best life decision I’ve made.”

  “Are you getting sentimental with me?” I ask, hand to chest.

  He picks up a mozzarella stick and dips it in the marinara sauce. He studies it for a second before taking a bite. “You know, you’re the only friend of mine that’s a girl that I’ve never fucked.”

  “I’m honored.” I chuckle and then ask, “Are my thighs too thick for you?”

  He tilts his head in my direction and rolls his eyes. “You know your body is slamming, Kate.” He turns in his seat completely to face me, resting his feet on one of the rungs of my stool. “I think I just realized the value of our friendship and don’t ever want to fuck that up. You helped me through college, one of my darker moments in life. Now, that’s not to say I never thought about fucking you, because I’m a man and we think about shit like that, but I never had the urge to actually put a foot forward on the thought and it’s because I don’t ever want to mess up our friendship. It’s far too valuable to me for a quick fuck.”

  I wipe the grease off my fingers and place my hand on top of Dan’s, remembering those challenging college years. The many nights I had to peel him off the floor from drinking too much, the conversations we shared over his rough childhood, the fame he quickly found, questioning if people actually like him or if it’s because he was a celebrity on campus.

  Then, when my youngest brother died, he was by my side when he could be, taking time off for me.

  We’ve had each other’s backs through the ups and downs of life.

  “Always there for each other,” I say.

  He takes my hand in his and replies, “Always.”

  I smile and pick up another mozzarella stick. “So, we’re both aware that there will be no fucking in our future. Tell me, any lucky ladies crawling around your bed?”

  “Nothing long lasting,” Dan answers.

  “What happened to wanting to settle down?” I ask. “Remember all those long conversations in college, hovering over a pint of chocolate ice cream with chocolate sprinkles, talking about how you want kids and a house with a treehouse t
hat you can pretend is for the kids but it’s really for you?”

  He chuckles. “The wife would never know that treehouse would really be my man cave.”

  I nudge him with my toe. “Exactly. What happened to that?”

  “Popularity got in the way. It’s hard to settle down right now, you know?”

  “I could see that. But you could still try.”

  “Worried about me?” he asks, brow raised.

  “You know I’m always worried about you,” I say, growing serious. “Sometimes I think you need to slow down, take a breath, find peace.”

  He motions to the bartender. “Whiskey, neat.” He turns to me and grins that contagious grin that tells me while everything on the outside is good, on the inside, everything is not. “What makes you think I haven’t found peace?”

  “From the mere fact that you just ordered a drink when I pointed that out.”

  “Didn’t expect for you to get serious with me. You know I need something heavy to get me through such conversations.”

  I give him a look. “I’m serious.”

  “What do you want me to say, Kate?”

  “I want to make sure you’re not lonely.” I reach out and place my hand on top of his. His eyes glance at the connection. “Are you lonely?”

  He glances up at me. “Are you?”

  I give it some thought. “I’m not sure I have time to think about being lonely. And I’m content with where I’m at, but I know you’ve always thrived off having people around you.”

  The bartender drops off Dan’s drink and he takes a large swig before setting the cup down. “I have my moments, but then I’m on to the next location and don’t have enough time to spend alone in my apartment.” He tips my chin up with his finger. “But that’s why I have you close to me now, to fill those empty nights.”

  “You know that’s not going to happen. I’ve seen you twice since I’ve moved.”

  He smirks. “Then I’ll just have to make a better attempt at seeing you.” He downs the rest of his drink and asks for another.

  Chapter Fifteen

  WALKER

  I peel my jersey off my shoulders and slouch into my locker. What a fucking game. We ended up winning in the ninth thanks to Ryot knocking the ball over the fence. It was a much-needed win.

  “Good game, Ryot,” Penn says as he walks by. “Didn’t Littleton know not to hang a curveball where you’re concerned?”

  “I think he forgot that memo,” Ryot says as he hands out some more high fives.

  Retreating back into my locker, I drape a towel over my head and clasp my hands in front of me. What a fucking shitty game . . . for me. In all the years I’ve played this game, I never would’ve expected to have such a hard time up at the plate for this long, nor would I expect to have such a hate for the game.

  But I hate it. Day in and day out, I feel this weight of disdain piling on top of me.

  Over the last month, my last name has traveled farther down the lineup, no longer in the fourth position, but holding steady at number eight, which is a fucking disgrace in my eyes since I’ve always been the cleanup hitter.

  Can’t unload the bases if you can’t even make contact with the ball.

  “Cutler, Rockwell, put your jerseys back on,” Coach calls out. “We have a paid meet-and-greet.”

  Hell . . .

  Snapping to stand, I fit my arms through my jersey and fix my hat on my head as Penn does the same, a smile on his face. He pitched a pretty good game. He started to fade in the sixth, his drive-through suffering. I approached him on the mound, called him a few choice names, lighting a fire under his ass, and he demolished the next inning, giving our relief pitchers a great setup. I caught his eye in the dugout before he went to ice his arm. I could see faint appreciation, or at least that’s what it looked like until he flipped me off and walked away.

  Buttoning up my jersey, I walk toward the locker room exit and meet Penn there. Before walking through the door, he turns to me and says, “Don’t say anything stupid this time.”

  “No shit,” I tersely reply.

  Flashing that annoying smirk, he says, “Thought you might need the reminder.”

  Ignoring him, I push past the bane of my existence, knocking his shoulder in the process, and head into the hallway, where I stop abruptly at the sight of a curvy figure walking toward us. Brownish-blonde hair, freckles . . .

  “Thank you so much for doing this, boys.”

  Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

  I’ve forced myself to forget just how gorgeous she is, especially after spending an evening with her, which, let’s be honest, was a really bad fucking idea. I learned things about her—not just surface things—which only made me want to get to know her more. She was easy to talk to, she listened intently, and she asked stupid, but thoughtful, questions. She made this brick of a man feel something, and that was more terrifying than anything.

  Seeing her now brings back all of those feelings.

  I tug on the bill of my hat and mumble, “Yeah, no problem.”

  I can feel Penn studying me, the soft tone in my voice, the way my gaze slides over Kate. And from the corner of my eye, I see that annoying grin spread across his face. He can see it, my body language, my unease. Nothing slips past him, especially where I’m concerned. He knows I fucking like her. The only question is, what’s he going to do with this information?

  “Follow me,” Kate says, completely oblivious. “A quick background—they’re a father and son combo who moved away from Chicago a year ago and are diehard fans. They love you two and are pretty much bursting at the seams to meet you.” She stops in front of the door where the fans are waiting and turns toward the both of us. “Do you have any questions?”

  “What are you doing after this?” Penn asks with a sly grin that grates on my nerves for an entirely different reason.

  Before I can stop myself, I slap him in the stomach. “Be a goddamn professional.”

  Chuckling, he asks, “You want me to be a professional? Pretty sure I was the one who carried the meet-and-greet on my back last time because you’re an idiot.”

  “Hey, focus,” Kate snaps. “We need smiles on both your faces. Go in there, do your thing, and for the love of God, don’t talk to each other. It’s easier that way.”

  “Sure, Kate,” Penn says, brushing by me.

  When he’s out of the way, I glance at Kate, who looks at me sternly, those eyes eating me up on the spot. How much does she know about my rivalry with Cutler? Because from the way she just spoke to us, it seems as though she’s at least vaguely familiar with our hatred.

  But how familiar?

  I ease into the ice bath, a sharp hiss escaping past my lips as my entire body lights up with needles prickling every sore muscle inside of me, which is everywhere.

  We have an off day today, but even though they say it’s an off day, it really isn’t. Not for me. I just spent the last two hours in the cages, focusing on my swing, taking hits off the tee and hitting ball after ball from our hitting coach.

  My swing felt good.

  My focus was there.

  And my mechanics seem to have connected in all the right ways.

  Thank God Ryot belted one last night to win the game and take the series. We need the momentum moving forward, and even though my bat wasn’t where I needed it to be, I threw out two motherfuckers at second and made a diving play at the plate. Defensively, I was doing my job, just need my offense to pick up.

  I’m almost desperate enough to get a hit at this point that I’m considering raising my pants to my knees for a change. Wouldn’t that just make Kate’s fucking day?

  “How do your hands feel?” Ryot asks as he walks into the icing room in only his boxer briefs, just like I did.

  “Fine.”

  “Are you sure? I would’ve sworn your skin has peeled off with as many balls you’ve been hitting lately.” He lowers himself into the ice bath next to me. “Motherfucker,” he says in a strangled voice.

&n
bsp; “Hands are fine.”

  “Maybe you need an actual break. You haven’t taken a day off in weeks. You’ve got to be dead tired, man. Ask Coach for a rest day.”

  “Never.” Not now, not when I need to prove myself.

  “We all take them, Walker. You need a mental health day every once in a while. It’s a long season.”

  “I know.” I lean back, letting the ice hit my neck as my arms stay propped up on the sides of the bath. “I think I had a breakthrough this morning, though. Everything felt right. My swing, my grip, the connection of the bat with the ball. It just clicked.”

  “Good. So, take the rest of the day off.”

  “Plan on it.”

  Just then the doors to the ice room open up and the sound of heels click across the floor. I glance up to find Kate wearing a killer pair of black pants that smooth tightly over her legs and curvaceous hips. The red top she’s wearing is tucked in at the waist with the top few buttons undone, showing off a lacy undergarment.

  Fuck . . . she’s hot.

  And that lipstick looks good on her.

  She pushes her long, silky hair behind her ear and holds her ever-present tablet close to her chest as she looks up. At first her eyes go to my chest, curiosity taking over her gaze as she studies my defined muscles. But before she spends too much time staring, she snaps her gaze up to my eyes and smiles bashfully.

  “Um, sorry for interrupting, but I wanted to catch you before you left. I was wondering if I could have a minute with you when you’re done?”

  “Why?” I ask, my voice sounding harsher than intended.

  “I have some events to go over with you.”

  “Read them off to me right here. I’m not doing anything but icing.”

  She shifts on her feet and sticks her hand in her back pocket. “I have something I have to do right now, but when you’re done, can you meet me in the players’ suite?”