Switch Hitter

by Roz Lee

  She followed him, taking a seat across from him. “Rumor has it you aren’t going to play again.”

  Direct hit. How the hell did she know? He took a swig from the plastic container, hoping his facial expression remained neutral. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Bentley.”

  “Fuck Bentley.”

  “Thank you. I plan to. Often.” She was a cold-hearted bitch.

  “You want me to leave?”

  “No. Look,” her voice softened. “That’s not why I’m here, at least not the main reason I’m here. Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do next?”

  “You mean since I can’t play baseball again? That next?”

  “Yes.” She was getting frustrated with him now. Good.

  “Nope.”

  She glanced around the room, a little nervously, he thought, but why would she be nervous? “Have you ever considered broadcasting?”

  He rested his almost empty drink container on his thigh while he studied her. She was nervous. And serious. He thought back to the day a few months ago when Bentley invited him here for lunch then later, Ashley had suggested he move into the pool house. There had been some mention of a job opportunity then, but they’d gotten side tracked. “Maybe.”

  “Remember the position I talked to you about earlier this summer? The anchor spot on Around the League? Well, it’s still open. Actually, we’ve held it open, hoping…well, not hoping, but thinking perhaps if things didn’t work out for you….”

  “Huh.” She was looking at him again. She was fidgety, but she was fuckin’ gorgeous. A man didn’t have to be hetero to notice. “So…you’ve been hoping I would have a career-ending injury so you could offer me a job?”

  “No! Of course not. It’s just, there aren’t many players out there who have the on-screen presence you do, who also happen to live in the Dallas area. I admit, we’re on the brink of approaching someone else, but when you had your accident, I convinced them to wait a while. We have to make a decision soon, Sean. If there’s any chance you might be back on the field, then I understand if you turn me down. But please, won’t you give it some thought?”

  If he didn’t know the job had been up for grabs months ago, he would have sworn the offer was made out of pity. “If I say no?”

  She shrugged. “It wouldn’t change anything between you and me.”

  “You want me out of Bent’s house.”

  “Actually…no, I don’t.” Her fingers were busy, picking at the hem of her stylish business skirt. “But that’s another subject.” She squared her shoulders, fixing her gaze squarely on him. “So…what’s your answer? Do you want a chance at the job or not?”

  “Tell me about it,” he said, settling back in the sofa. He stared at his feet propped on the ottoman while she talked. The salary she named wasn’t extravagant, but it was more than he thought it would be for sitting behind a desk a few hours a week, talking about something he loved. Nothing she described sounded like anything he would have trouble doing.

  “It’s a chance for you to spout off without management censuring you. You can interview whoever you want, ask them anything, within reason, voice your opinions on the players, the teams, and the league. The level of controversy is up to you, but we’d prefer you don’t alienate every viewer in the lower fifty states.”

  “I’ve seen the show.” According to her viewer stats, it was more popular than he’d thought.

  “Then you know the format.”

  “I do.” He dropped his feet to the floor then leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. A few weeks ago, sitting in such a position would have been impossible. “Can I have some time to think about it?”

  She dug in her purse then tossed a business card on the coffee table. “Can you let me know by the end of the week? I’m serious about our time line. We need to name a replacement soon in order to have time to get the new person up to snuff. If you think you’re interested, we’ll need you to come in, do a test run, let everyone see how you look on camera, meet the staff, the people who do the legwork—booking interviews, helping write questions, and polishing editorials. It’s harder than it looks, Sean. You might not want to do it once you see what’s involved.”

  “I appreciate the offer, I promise to think about it and let you know.” He stood, but she remained in her seat.

  “Now that our business is done, I have something else I want to talk about.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hell.

  “Will you sit back down?”

  He sat. She was back to trying to unravel the hem of her skirt. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach he wasn’t going to like whatever else she had to say.

  “Bentley doesn’t know anything about this. He’d have a fit if he knew I was bringing the subject up with you right now.”

  Shit. This just gets better and better.

  “He wants you to be his best man at our wedding.”

  “What the fuck?” He stood so fast a sharp pain in his hip almost sliced him in two. He winced, pacing to the other side of the room. Any closer and he might try throwing her out of the house. She looked fit, but he might be able to manhandle her out the door without putting himself in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

  “He said to wait, you weren’t ready to hear it yet, but I disagree. I think you need to know where we both stand.”

  “Well, I damn sure won’t be standing at the altar watching him get married.”

  “Please, Sean. Won’t you listen to what I have to say?”

  “Not if you’re going to tell me you want me to be in your wedding, because you aren’t going to convince me. Not in this lifetime, sweetheart.”

  “I have to admit, when Bentley told me about ya’ll, I was shocked. I felt betrayed. As much as I wanted to hate him for what he’d done, I was curious, intrigued by it. I’d noticed a change in him weeks before he told me. I chalked it up to the stress of the season plus the wedding plans. But then when he told me, it all started to make sense. He proposed to me the same day you came to the house—the day I let you in.”

  He remembered. Hell, he’d wanted to fuck Bent so bad, but all he’d done was touch. Walking away had almost killed him.

  “When I thought back, I realized that’s when he began to change. He was different when he was with me, more aggressive, more forceful. Not mean or anything remotely similar, just more sure of himself, I guess. I didn’t say anything to him, but I liked the new Bentley. You don’t need all the details, but he did tell me what had been going on between ya’ll. I reacted as you can imagine any woman would when she finds out her fiancé has a lover on the side. Except Bentley’s lover was you—a man. That, for lack of a better term, blew my mind. I didn’t know what to think. I was hurt, mad as hell, and shamed.”

  Goddamn. He did not want to feel sorry for her, but he did. “What we did was wrong. I’m sorry we hurt you.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t be, please. I didn’t come here to berate you. I came to tell you I understand. We have something fundamental in common—we both love Bentley Randolph, and he loves both of us.”

  “Yet, he’s marrying you.”

  “Yes, he is. I get how you could be bitter about the situation. I’m a big girl. I can admit if the shoe were on the other foot, I’d feel the same way.”

  “Then you’ll forgive me if I decline to dance at your wedding.”

  “No, I won’t. I’m going to marry Bentley for two reasons. First—”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass why you’re marrying him. This conversation is over.” He pushed away from the wall he’d been holding up. He headed to the door with every intention of throwing her out, bodily, if necessary.

  “First,” she continued as if his wishes didn’t concern her. “I love him, and he loves me.”

  “We covered that.” He held the door open for her though she hadn’t moved from her seat.

  “Second—to protect him.”

  “Protect him?” He slammed th
e door closed. “What the fuck are you talking about? Why does he need protecting?”

  “He’s going to need it once you move in with us.”

  She was speaking a language he didn’t understand. “Huh?”

  “Bentley and I have discussed this—at great length. We want you to move in with us. Officially, you’ll live here, in the pool house, but in reality, you’ll live with us.”

  “With you,” he repeated, sure he’d lost his hearing and his brain was filling in random sounds to match the movement of her lips.

  “With us.” She stood, facing him. Her breasts rose and fell as took a deep breath then let it out. “In our bedroom. In our bed.”

  After a long moment of tense silence, he reached for the doorknob, turned it then opened the portal. “Get out. Now.” She’d fucking lost her mind. If Bentley was part of her hair-brained scheme, he’d lost his as well. For now, he wanted her out of his living quarters, the sooner the better.

  She took a step toward the door then stopped. “The job opportunity is real, Sean, no matter what else happens between us. As for the other, anytime you want to give it a try, you know…to see if it would work for us, just come to the house. You know Bentley’s schedule. It would be best if he’s there.”

  Fucking insane.

  He closed the door behind her then stood there, processing what had just happened.

  Unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.

  He sank into the chair Ashley vacated and stared at the big, rusty Texas star on the opposite wall. Maybe it was some kind of joke. If it was, the woman had balls. Her face hadn’t given anything away. In fact, she’d been as earnest about the moving in thing as she had been about the job, and he had no reason to believe the job wasn’t real. Bent had mentioned it to him months ago.

  No matter how hard he pushed himself at his PT session later, Ashley’s invitation continued to ring in his head.

  “Hey, easy. Not so fast.” His personal Pixy of torture put a hand on his shoulder, breaking him out of his thoughts. “What’s up? You know better than to push the limits.”

  Scrubbing one palm across his face, he let the weights settle back then slid his leg out of the resistance machine. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Yeah, well not paying attention to your surroundings is how you ended up here in the first place. If you ever want to get out of here, you’d better focus on what you’re doing. If you strain a muscle now, you could end up back at the beginning. Unless you’ve developed a weakness for aluminum walkers?”

  He smiled, as she’d intended with her absurd question. “No, I have no intention of using one again for the rest of my life. Even when I’m an old, crippled up codger in the nursing home, I’m going to have me a custom made, souped up model—chrome with flames painted on the cross bars, maybe a horn.”

  “Then get out of here now. You’ve done more than enough for one day. As a matter of fact, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, take tomorrow off. Swim if you want, but take it slow, half your usual distance. Not a foot more, understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her then bent to place a kiss on her forehead. “I love to hate you, you know that, don’t you?”

  “I know. All my patients feel the same way about me.”

  “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to sabotage all your hard work.”

  “It’s your hard work you were sabotaging, not mine. My fault though. I should have been keeping a closer eye on you, but I thought you knew better.”

  “I do, I swear. I’ll do as you say. I’ll take tomorrow off. I have something I need to do anyway, so the extra time will work out well for me.” He decided then and there to take a look at the job Ashley dangled in front of him earlier. Admitting he was done as a ball player was a bitter pill to swallow, but it was fact—which meant he was in need of a job. He’d always imagined he would coach, maybe work up to managing after his playing days were over, but he’d also imagined he’d be a lot older, too.

  His agent had been calling, wanting updates on his condition, and Sean had lied through his teeth. But if Bentley knew he was done, then others knew. It was just a matter of time before his agent got wind of it. Walking to his car, he vowed to call the man tomorrow, after he’d talked to Ashley about the job. If he decided to make a career change, he would do it on his own.

  * * *

  Ashley met him in the lobby of the downtown high-rise housing the network’s offices. She looked every inch the executive she was in her smart suit and silk blouse. As he trailed behind her, he wondered if she knew the elaborate gravity-defying twist containing her mane of chestnut hair was an challenge to every male, hetero or not. Anything that uptight would explode with passion once it was released from its restraints. He’d bet his new hip Bentley lived for the times he could unravel her, one hairpin at a time.

  She took him on a short tour of the building, beginning with the set he would soon occupy for a screen test then ending in her office. Waving him to a chair in front of her desk, she perched on the nearest corner, crossing her arms over her breasts, and stared at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” She uncrossed her arms then braced her hands on the edge of the desk on either side of her hips. “Just checking you out. Tit for tat, I think.”

  He raised one eyebrow.

  “You were checking me out, so I’m returning the favor. Nice suit.”

  Heat crept up his neck. “I can appreciate beauty when I see it.”

  Smiling, she leaned close to whisper in his ear. “Bentley loves it when he gets to undress me after work.” Straightening, she added, “Unfortunately, our schedules don’t mesh very often.”

  “Sucks for him,” he said, meaning it.

  She took a deep breath then let it out. He could tell by the expression on her face, playtime was over.

  “So, what did you think of the place?”

  “It’s big.”

  “True. We’re going to redo the set when we introduce the new anchor.” She handed him a stack of drawings off her desk. “This is the new set. More modern, lots of Lucite with brighter colors. Lighting we can change to match the colors of the team you’re talking about, better graphics, state of the art touch screen technology. Are you up to learning how to use all the new equipment?”

  “I’ll have some time to practice with it?”

  “A couple of weeks. We’ll make sure there’s someone to teach you how to use it. We’ll do some mock broadcasts, so you can get comfortable with the camera changes and pacing.”

  “Sounds like a plan I can live with.”

  She looked down at her shoes, her lips doing a twisting thing while she thought out her next words. Sean fought the urge to run. When she turned her gaze on him, he knew what she was going to say, and he wished to hell he’d ran when he’d had the chance.

  “Are you sure, Sean? Sure you aren’t going back to the game.”

  He had longer than anyone knew to get used to the idea of not playing again. He’d known it deep down inside when he first woke up in the hospital, the pain all but unbearable. His doctors confirmed it not long after, but he’d convinced them to keep the information to themselves for a while. He’d just recently discussed his options or lack thereof, with the Mustangs.

  He nodded. “I’m sure. I might be able to DH, but a Designated Hitter who can’t run isn’t much good. I’d love to coach or manage, but the truth is, I don’t want to leave Dallas. I’d have to, if I was able to land a position. I don’t have to tell you how big an if we’re talking about. You know how scarce those jobs are. Broadcasting is my best option.”

  “Okay.” Her smile was back. When she relaxed her shoulders, he realized how tense she had been. “Are you ready to give it a try today? We’ll put you behind the desk with some copy to read then turn the cameras on. It will give you a sense of how it feels to do the job, as well as let the powers-that-be see you in action.”

  He broke out in a cold sweat the second his ass hit the anchor
seat.

  “You’ve done press conferences and dozens of interviews, Sean. Relax. Read the copy over a few times while we get everything set up.”

  It didn’t take long to set up, then Ashley was showing him how to tell which camera was on, and where to look while he spoke.

  “The camera is your audience. Speak to it. Don’t rush, normal conversational tone will do.”

  A few minutes later, he was sitting in near darkness as the clusters of hot lights turned off, one at a time.

  Ashley approached the desk, a smile on her face. “That was fantastic, Sean. Seriously, fantastic. I knew you would be a natural the first time I saw you answering questions during a post-game news conference.”

  He willed his legs to quit shaking before he stood. “You think so? I deviated from the script some. Hope it was all right.”

  “I’m glad you did. The script was written for Walters, not for you. You made it yours, which is exactly what we want. No one can take Walters place. We need a fresh voice, someone who can win over his fans plus draw in new ones, too. I’ll pitch your tape to my bosses, but I don’t think there’s any doubt they’ll love it.”

  His legs stopped shaking, and the knot between his shoulder blades eased. “You think so? I have to admit, I was terrified.”

  “You did a good job hiding it. It will get easier, I promise.”

  “What now?”

  “Go home. Do what you do. I’ll call you when I have news.”

  “How long?” As intimidating as the screen test had been, he wanted the job. He could stay in Dallas and afford to live, even put some into his 401K. His savings, along with the League pension that would kick in when he turned sixty-two would make his later years comfortable.

  “Maybe as soon as this afternoon if I can get everyone to look at it.”

  Holy shit.

  He couldn’t ignore the ache in his chest at the thought of leaving the game he loved, but if he couldn’t play any longer, talking about the teams and players—plus getting paid to do it—was the next best thing. As he drove back to Bentley’s house in the suburbs, the odd mix of grief and excitement made his stomach churn.