Dustin must think she was a baseball idiot. Or an idiot in general, because she couldn’t play a game of catch. Her stomach sank. There was a good chance that the majority of the problems between them—the reasons they couldn’t get along—started and ended with her.
Well, that was going to change. She’d march herself right on down to the stadium and do what needed to be done as soon as she was off work. Never let it be said that Clover Maes couldn’t admit when she was wrong.
Chapter Sixteen
Clover ended up staying an extra hour at the hotel to cover for the guy who worked graveyards. His son was sick and had to go to an all-night urgent care facility. It wasn’t like Clover could argue that apologizing to Dustin was more important than a child’s health. Turned out he had a bad case of strep and needed a couple shots and some major antibiotics. The poor little guy.
Maddie stayed with her, sitting on the couch in the lobby and watching the game unfold. The Redrocks weren’t doing well tonight. They were down by five.
“I like Broc. He’s got a swagger to his walk that’s kind of sexy,” admitted Maddie.
Clover nodded. “Zack is pitching well tonight, but the team isn’t giving him much support.” She’d heard one of the announcers say something like that a few nights ago after Travis Dadds dropped a high fly ball.
Just then, Oakland’s left fielder hit a grounder past the third baseman and brought in another run. Six to zero.
Jeff finally arrived for his shift, looking haggard and worn. His shirt was untucked, wrinkled, and buttoned incorrectly. Clover politely pointed it out to him and then offered to stick around for fifteen more minutes so he could use the iron in the laundry room. He told her thanks and made his way down the hall.
Maddie got up and shut off the television. “That’s it, game over.”
Clover watched the minutes tick by on the digital clock on the wall. The numbers were in green, but nothing about this situation said go go go. Pulling her hair out of the too-tight ponytail, she scrubbed at her scalp.
Maddie tipped her head to the side. “How are you going to find him if the game’s over?” At the beginning of her shift, Clover had filled her in on the whole new level of understanding about her subconscious mind and how she was making an honest effort to overcome her antisocial behavior. Maddie nodded along, not contradicting Jane’s statement about her keeping people at arm’s length, and also not judging her for being that way. Maddie was literally the world’s best best friend.
“I’m not sure.” Clover chewed her lip. “Don’t laugh, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I read this blog by a guy who used to be in the majors, and he said that when the team is at home, most of the guys eat in the clubhouse after the game and then go right home.”
“You’re reading baseball blogs now?”
“You said you wouldn’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing. I’m impressed that you’ve done your homework.”
“Yeah, well.” Clover cringed. Her research about baseball had made her more interested in Dustin. She wondered what his daily life was like, his routine.
She shouldn’t have read the blog post, because it also detailed what a player ate to stay in shape, and now she wondered stupid things like if Dustin liked his eggs over easy or scrambled and if he had gone to organic produce or ate the regular stuff. Each time a question was answered about the sport, she had five more about Dustin.
“Well, in my research, I found out that a lot of the players live in the new development by the stadium.”
Maddie nodded. “It’s secluded out there, not a lot of shopping to bring random people through the neighborhood, and the houses are nice.”
“Right—so I was thinking that he might live in that neighborhood.” Clover chewed her lip. “Is it weird if I drive around and look for his car?”
Maddie nodded. “Yes. It is.”
Clover groaned and dropped her face in her hands.
Maddie rubbed her back. “Sweetie, you’re cute enough to pull off weird. I say go for it.”
Clover’s muffled laugh was interrupted by Jeff’s return. Maddie and Clover gathered their things and quickly left. “I’m not waiting up for you, but I want a full report,” Maddie called as she unlocked her car.
“I shouldn’t be long.”
“Unless it goes well.” Maddie pumped her eyebrows.
Clover’s face heated. For once she was thankful for the dim lighting in the parking lot. “It won’t.”
“Uh-huh.” Maddie waved goodbye and ducked into her car.
Clover did the same. She stared at the steering wheel, gathering her courage and trying to find the right words to say when she found Dustin. If she found Dustin.
Maddie honked as she pulled away.
“Okay.” Clover started the car. She made her way onto I-15. Traffic was heavy going the other direction because of the game, but her lane was clear. St. George wasn’t that big of a city. They had a lot of suburbs that wrapped around bluffs and beautiful red rock statues carved by wind and time. There were still places a cell signal couldn’t be found. St. George had a four-year college and shopping districts and the Redrocks. It was a good place to live. A happy place with loads of families and singles.
The closer she got to the stadium, the more jittery she became. To calm herself, she practiced what she would say to Dustin. “I’m sorry I didn’t play catch with the lettuce.” No, that wasn’t the real issue.
“Dustin,” she began again, “I think we got off to a rocky start.”
Duh. Figured that one all out on your own, did ya?
“Think nice thoughts,” she admonished herself. “He’ll be too surprised to see me to be rude.”
She took the stadium exit and hung a left in the roundabout. In a few minutes, she was meandering down the street, admiring the houses. The beautiful French-inspired homes rimmed a golf course. Golf courses abounded in St. George, so she wasn’t surprised to see one in this posh neighborhood.
What did surprise her was that there weren’t any cars in the driveways. All the houses were shut up tight with the garage doors down and the shutters drawn. Several had lights on, and she guessed those belonged to Redrocks players or fans getting home from the game. She looped the area twice. Parked at the top of the street, she contemplated turning her lights off and waiting for a while. With a shake of her head, she pressed the gas. She might be cute enough to pull off weird, but she wasn’t sure she could make stalker look good.
She sat at the ornamental gate into the neighborhood, waiting for an opening in traffic. Did being willing to apologize count in the world of self-improvement? She’d made a huge effort to make amends tonight. It wasn’t her fault Dustin was a no-show. She slumped into the steering wheel. That wasn’t how life worked. Unless she actually spoke to Dustin, none of this counted. She scrubbed her face and checked the clock on the dashboard. 12:23.
Bright lights filled the cab as a flashy car turned the corner. She blinked to save her corneas from certain death. When she opened her eyes, she saw the back end of a red Camaro flash by the window.
Desperate to have the night of semi-stalking pay off, Clover slammed on the horn to get his attention and flipped around in her seat to watch his car.
Dustin tapped on the brakes and kept going—completely ignoring her.
Grrrr. Slamming the car in reverse, she managed a five-point turn in two points, scraping her tire against the curb in the process, and took off after the Camaro.
The garage door cranked up on a two-story red brick home with black shutters and a cobblestone driveway. Dustin slowed down to wait for the door to go all the way up before pulling into the three-car garage.
Feeling panicked that she was losing her chance—again!—Clover threw her car in park on the curb, yanked out the keys, and dashed across the driveway as the door started to go down. With each inch, it lowered her adrenaline shot up. In an act of total craziness, she threw herself under the waist-high door, triggeri
ng the sensor and sending it back up.
Triumph filled her and she threw her arms in the air. “Yes,” she laughed.
“What in the …” Dustin had spread his legs apart and hunched down, ready to attack.
Clover’s smile faded right along with the sense of urgency. “H-hey.” She brushed her hands down the front of her shirt. She’d been so caught up in catching Dustin that she didn’t stop to think things through all the way. “I guess I could have used the doorbell.”
Dustin continued to stare at her like he wasn’t sure what to do. His hair was still wet from the after-game shower, and she knew if she got closer that he’d smell like zingy soap. The awkwardness lengthened like a long fly ball to right field.
“I, uh, I wanted to apologize for not catching that ball the other night. I didn’t know it was a thing. And I didn’t mean to dis baseball. I like baseball. Love it, really. And you’re good at what you do, and I can see that it’s more than a bunch of guys playing a game.” She swiped at the moisture beading at her hairline.
Dustin dropped his defensive stance, but he was still looking at her like she was a stray cat in his garage or something, and he wasn’t sure what to do with her.
“So I just dropped by to say that I was sorry and I’ll be nicer when you come to The Pantry, and the door is open now, so I know the way out.” She spun, ready to make a run for the not-embarrassing interior of her car.
“Wait.” Dustin’s voice was soft, but she had no trouble hearing him.
“O-kay.” She spun back around and bounced her hands off her sides like a five-year-old waiting in line.
Dustin pointed at the door into the house. “Do you want to stay?” He gave her a friendly smile while his eyes twinkled with mischief.
The air in the garage began to tornado. That was the only explanation as to why Clover couldn’t drag oxygen into her lungs when Dustin looked at her like that. His jaw had a fine layer of stubble over it, the kind that would scratch her cheek if he kissed her. And his hair, oh my gosh, his hair was all silky and clean and begging to have her fingers comb through it.
“In there?” she squeaked, pointing to the door. He couldn’t possibly want to be alone with her in his house. She could count on one hand the number of guys she’d allowed herself to be alone with since her mom left. And she could count on her pinkie fingers the number of guys she’d enjoyed being alone with.
Her mouth dried out just thinking of being alone with Dustin. Not because she was afraid of what he would do, but because she was afraid of what she would do. Dustin had a way of creating oh-so-strong feelings inside of her. If the good feelings were as strong as the bad ones, she was in a heap of trouble with this guy.
Chapter Seventeen
Dustin waited as Clover struggled with an internal debate. He could see her sway back and forth between wanting to stay and wanting to run.
He wanted her to stay.
Her popping into his garage had taken him off guard. Once the shock wore off, the only thing he could think about was how much he wanted her to walk through his home. He wanted to walk into his kitchen and picture Clover at the counter with a bowl of cereal, her hair falling forward like a curtain and a good-morning smile on her lips.
He didn’t have any cereal. Curse the team trainer and his infatuation with eggs.
He needed to buy cereal.
Clover continued to hesitate, and he realized he was losing her. Suddenly, her accusation that he had thrown his money in her face came back to him. Perhaps taking her into his house wasn’t the best idea.
Walking slowly so as not to startle her, he reached for two mitts on the shelf in the garage. Unlike his buddy Blake Rygs’s garage, which was full of gearhead tools and several sets of tires, Dustin’s garage was lined with baseball gear. He had years of baseball in here, from his old aluminum bats to a tee and a net set up for practice. He kept his wooden bats and best mitts in the climate-controlled house. The St. George heat could be brutal on gear. At least he wasn’t playing in Arizona. Those guys had to deal with real heat.
Picking up the mitts, he held one out to Clover. “Let’s hit the backyard. I’ll teach you to throw—no vegetables involved.”
The mitt hung between them like an olive branch.
Clover’s lips formed a small O as she exhaled. “I guess, since I’m obviously missing an essential life skill.” She took his old fielder’s mitt and hugged it to her body.
Dustin tried not to admire her curves and headed to the door that led from the garage to the back patio. “It’s like you don’t even know how to tie your shoes,” he teased. He turned on the floodlights and snagged a ball from the bucket by the door.
“That’s what Velcro is for.”
Man, he loved how quick she was, how sharp her mind. She followed him out to the golf course. He had a small patch of grass that came with the house, but to play a proper game of catch, they would need more space.
He stopped and pointed to the ground. “You start here.” She watched intently as he slipped on his mitt. He’d done the action more times than there were thin blades of grass on the putting green, but if her wide golden eyes were any indication, it was all new to her. She managed to get her hand inside the leather and opened and closed the mitt a couple times. He nodded. Good.
“Why are they different?” She pointed between the two mitts.
“Mine’s a pitcher’s glove, and yours is a fielder’s glove.”
Her eyebrows lowered. “Okay, why does the pitcher need a different glove from a fielder?”
He grinned, enjoying her curiosity. Clover had a hard candy shell, but inside she was sweet, and he suspected delicious. Pulling his thoughts away from leaning down and sampling her full lips, he held up his mitt. “A pitcher’s glove is a solid color so he doesn’t distract the hitter.” He turned his wrist over. “It has a solid web so the hitter can’t see what grip the pitcher is using.”
“Because the grip would indicate what he’s about to throw?” She had the right answer, but phrased it as a question, which told him she was allowing herself to be vulnerable with him. A sense of protectiveness swelled in his chest like a lion getting to his feet ready to roar. Clover had always seemed larger than life with her don’t-mess-with-me attitude, but standing this close, staring down into her eyes, he couldn’t help but notice she was delicate.
“That’s right,” he whispered.
She glanced down. “But you’re not a pitcher.”
Dustin laughed because he was happy—like caught-the-pop-fly-to-end-the-game happy. “I pitched in high school and a year of college before I was drafted.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes.” He took five big steps backward. “Okay, the glove should be an extension of your arm. Don’t think of it as separate.”
“Got it.” Her lips pursed in concentration.
Dustin thought about jogging the five steps back and tugging on her chin with his thumb to loosen them. “And you want to keep your mitt between you and the ball.” He moved his mitt in front of his face, palm forward, and then his chest. She mirrored his movements.
“Okay, I’m going to toss this one real easy. When it hits your glove, squeeze to keep it in there.” He’d given her his old mitt, the one that was out of shape and flat as a pancake. He had to work harder to keep it open than to close it because the leather was worn out.
“I’m ready.” She spread her feet slightly and poked her behind out in the sexiest ready stance he’d ever seen.
Grinning, he tossed the ball. It flew through the air in slow motion, smacking the leather with hardly a sound. Clover jumped back as if he’d thrown a line drive, but she managed to hang on to the ball.
“I caught it.” She turned the glove over to verify that the ball was still in there.
“Okay, send it back.” Dustin hunkered down like he was a catcher. He didn’t need to—there was no way she would kill him with a throw—but he liked the way her eyes lit up when she noticed what he was doing.
They went back and forth for a few minutes, throwing easy tosses. Dustin took a couple steps back every few throws until they were a respectable distance apart. Even though they weren’t standing together, he felt close to Clover. “I haven’t thrown a ball with anyone outside of the Redrocks in ages.”
Clover smacked her fist into the mitt. “No one?”
He shrugged as he threw, aiming for her right hip so she would have to adjust to catch. She did fine, and he nodded his approval. “My nieces and nephews think soccer is the world’s only sport. My brother stopped playing when he didn’t make the high school team, and my dad thought baseball was a waste of time. Try to step as you throw; it will save your elbow.”
“What does he think now?” She thought about the movement as she threw.
Dustin had to jump to catch the ball. “The same.”
“But you made it.” She tipped her head. “You are one of the top five percent to get drafted.”
Dustin twisted the ball around in his fingers, feeling the laces bump against his palm. “Someone has to be the black sheep in the family.” Maybe there was a spin of resentment on the ball as he threw, because it sailed past Clover and hit Brayden’s back door. Dustin jogged forward to retrieve the ball. Clover headed that way too.
Brayden’s floodlights came on and his back door slid open. “You trying to break my window?”
“She should have had that one.” He tapped Clover’s back with his mitt.
“He threw too hard,” Clover shot back.
“He doesn’t throw hard enough,” Brayden teased as he stepped out onto the patio.
Clover glanced at him, concerned.
Dustin hurried to belay her worries. “Brayden has a ninety-eight-mile-an-hour fastball. No one throws hard enough for him.”
Brayden was followed out by Tilly, the rock climbing instructor he’d been dating for a couple months.
Caught Looking Page 8
