Caught Looking

by Lucy McConnell

  “Oh, hey, it’s you.” Brayden reached out his hand. “Clover, right?”

  “Yeah.” Clover shook his hand and gave a small wave to Tilly.

  “We met at the club in Vegas,” Brayden continued, as if that night hadn’t been one of Dustin’s biggest mistakes. “This is my girlfriend, Tilly.” Tilly returned Clover’s wave before threading her fingers through Brayden’s. They exchanged pleasantries and chatted about the game.

  Clover didn’t say much. Instead, she soaked in the verbiage and slang. Her enthusiasm was like a puff in Dustin’s baseball balloon. He loved the game. Loved it more than anything on this earth, with the grand exception of his family. Having the two things he loved the most at odds had taken a toll on him, dragged him down to where he wasn’t playing his best.

  Clover had given him back that drive, the desire to prove them—and especially her—wrong. He had—or so it seemed. She no longer treated him like a Peter Pan and had a sincere interest in his sport. That was major progress.

  He glanced down at her hand, wondering what she would do if he threaded his fingers through hers.

  “Babe, I have a climb tomorrow.” Tilly tugged on Brayden’s hand, gently reminding him that it was after one in the morning.

  “I’ll drive you home.”

  They said goodbye, and Dustin was once again alone with Clover. She turned to face him, just as Brayden’s lights shut off. They were left with the half moon and the lights from his place a few doors down to light their way. Emboldened in the dark, Dustin reached for Clover’s hand. She grabbed on to him, and his pulse matched Brayden’s pitch speed.

  “Thanks for the lesson.” She squeezed his hand. “Now I’ll be able to stop produce attacks.”

  “Do they happen often?”

  “More than you’d think.” She laughed lightly.

  Dustin’s heart grew warm at the sound. They turned and headed back to his place. “We have one more game against Oakland tomorrow. Will you come?” He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand. She shivered, and he instinctively drew her closer. Instead of going back into the garage, he walked her to her car, parked at a crazy angle on the curb.

  “I can come for part of the game, but I’ll have to leave early.”

  “I’ll take whatever time you’ve got.” They stopped by the driver’s side door. He released her hand and ran his fingers up and down her bare arms, loving the soft feel of her skin.

  Clover searched his eyes. He got the feeling she was looking for evidence that she could trust him. That lion sat up in his chest, and he wanted to be a man worthy of her trust. Because of that, he stepped back, letting her hands slide through his fingers. “I’ll have the tickets at will call.” He smiled and headed for the house, though every part of him wanted to hold Clover’s face in his hands and kiss her good night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  People streamed down the stairs and found their place in the red plastic seats. Dustin wanted to call them fans and not spectators, but he couldn’t deny the number of Oakland shirts. Harper Wolfe had a dream—a dream she broadcast to the whole Redrocks organization. One day, Redrocks fans would fill the seats, and fans would pay money to see them in other cities. It was a great dream, one Dustin found himself longing to be a part of. His batting had been average during this series. A couple base hits and grounders too short. Santacruiz had hinted at moving him up in the batting order. That wouldn’t happen unless he picked up his game.

  He shook off thoughts of contracts and batting averages and pressure. He had a philosophy: Practice like your stats were on the line and play the game like you love it. Because that was the key. He’d seen too many guys burn out in the majors because they played a game like they had to increase their on-base percentage. Dustin preferred to play like he wanted to win. Because when you forced baseball, you got trippy. Your swing came up short. You threw wild. And you began to resent the players, the field, and the game.

  Needing to win was poison.

  Especially because the guys he watched fade out needed to win for themselves. They began thinking things like, “If I hit it out tonight, then that means I’ll stay in the game.”

  Baseball didn’t work like that. There weren’t baseball gods on the baselines waiting to bestow the worthy with extra bases or faster pitch speed. Baseball was complex—like an amazing woman—once you thought you had it figured out, it threw you a curveball, and you struck out looking.

  Grabbing a handful of dirt, he rubbed it between his palms. He poured the stats and commentators’ thoughts and projections about the show into the grains scraping his palms and let them dribble into the dirt as the sand fell like water to the ground.

  Tipping his head up, he checked the two seats behind the dugout. He must have looked there a hundred times during batting practice. The smell of popcorn wafted down from the top of the bleachers—a signal that game time was close.

  The cold-cut sandwich he’d had an hour ago sat heavy in his stomach as the reality of the empty seat sank in.

  “You got somewhere else you’d rather be, Colt?” called Coach Wolfe.

  The implied threat was a hollow one. Coach Wolfe was a good guy. He’d handled tough situations, like Jackson Kimber’s major league temper tantrum, with calm intensity. They were past the trade deadline, so Dustin was on the Redrocks for the rest of the season. A month ago he would have groaned at the prospect of ending the season on the second-worst team in the division. Funny how a little time and a little Clover had changed his outlook. “No, sir.”

  Coach signaled to Rex Barnes, the catcher. At forty, he was ready to retire. Dustin couldn’t blame him. He had to be in constant pain—a man’s knees weren’t meant to squat for twenty-plus years. Rex spent more time than the rest of them with the PTs. He sat in ice tubs and applied salve and had a family worth saving some of his health and energy for. Then again, for some guys, baseball was like breathing, and Barns might suffocate without the opportunity to rub infield dirt into his palms.

  “Hey.” Coach Wolfe jerked his chin in greeting as he meandered Dustin’s way.

  Dustin responded in kind. “What’s up, Coach?”

  “You seem distracted.”

  Dustin’s eyes flicked to the seats and he bit back a smile. Clover and Jane were settling into their seats. Jane carried a foil-wrapped hot dog, and Clover had an iced lemonade. He brought his attention right back to Coach Wolfe. “I’m good, Coach.” He dropped a cocky grin.

  Coach glanced over his shoulder. There was enough movement in the stands that he couldn’t possibly zero in on Clover as the reason for Dustin’s stray attention. His eyes lingered on the section behind the dugout, taking in each face, before he turned back. “I need your head on the field.” He pointed out to the grass. “Not in the stands.”

  Now that Clover was here, the tightness around Dustin’s chest released. He could focus. He smacked Coach on the shoulder. “Let’s play some ball.”

  Coach smacked him back before heading into the dugout. Dustin smiled all through the local high school a cappella group singing the national anthem and the Vietnam veteran throwing the first pitch. He put his hat back on his head and touched the brim while looking at Clover. She didn’t wave back. Maybe she wasn’t looking right at him; it was hard to tell from where he stood. He jogged into the dugout to grab his mitt and then made his way out to his position.

  Time to play ball.

  The first inning went quickly. Three up, three down for both sides. The second took a little longer with Oakland scoring one run and the Redrocks getting a big old goose egg. Dustin finally had a chance at bat. The series was only three games, so Dustin faced a different pitcher each game. Tonight they had a lefty on the mound. He had a changeup that could make Dustin’s mama swear.

  Dustin strode to the plate. He scooped up some dirt and rubbed it between his gloves, beginning his pre-batting routine. He gripped the top of his bat, gathering pine tar on his gloves for grip, and then dug his right cleat into the dirt, at the top, r
ight of the plate. He brought his left foot into position and loaded his swing.

  “Whooo, Dustin.” Clover’s voice floated over the backstop and splashed around him. She was cheering for him. He gripped the bat tighter, wanting so hard to make contact.

  The ball hit the catcher’s mitt, and the umpire called, “Strike.”

  Dustin stepped out of the box and shook it off. The only pitch that mattered was the next one. He repositioned his feet and stared down the pitcher. The next pitch was low and inside, nearly shaving the hair off Dustin’s shins.

  “Come on!” Clover yelled at the pitcher.

  Dustin tugged on his batting helmet while a smile tugged at his lips. Normally, he didn’t hear anyone during at bat. He focused in on what he had to do, and he followed through with his swing. Clover giving the pitcher a hard time on his behalf was pretty great, though.

  He lifted an eyebrow at the pitcher, daring him to put the ball over the plate. The pitcher started his windup, and Dustin saw the flick of his ring finger. Curveball. Outside corner. He made a minuscule adjustment, and the bat caught the edge of the ball—he pulled in trying to avoid a foul ball. The ball dribbled to the third baseman while Dustin sprinted for first, trying to outrun a throw. He didn’t make it and was called out.

  He hated being thrown out at first. Hated handing the ball to the third baseman like that. If he’d gotten a little more loft, it would have gone behind the plate and into no-man’s-land in the corner pocket. He glanced up before jogging down the stairs to see Clover give him a sympathetic frown.

  He tossed his helmet against the wall.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Clover kept one eye on the clock and one eye on the field. Dustin had ground out and wasn’t doing much better on the field. He’d missed a dive ball, face-planting in the dirt, and took an extra second to pop up from where he lay. His jaw was tight and his nostrils flared as he sucked in air. He was hurt but walked as if he wasn’t. Maybe he’d had the air knocked out of him.

  Jane pried Clover’s hand off the armrest. “Relax.”

  Clover shook out her fingers and laughed. The crowd noise sounded fake in her ears—maniacal, even. She clamped her lips shut, cutting off the sound as quickly as it had burst out. She shook her hands again in an effort to get all this crazy bubbling energy out. What she wouldn’t give for a chance to run her nerves out by running the bases.

  Jane eyed her warily. “You take this game pretty seriously.”

  “Yep.” Clover began pushing her cuticles back, focusing on something small to block all the big feelings building inside of her. Baseball was this force inside of her that pushed her heart to the limits and seduced her into yelling at umpires and holding her breath before a pitch.

  “I take it the apology went well.”

  Clover thought of the way Dustin’s hands had brushed her arms, and she shivered. This reaction was different from what baseball did to her. Her reaction to him was warm and syrupy and involved butterflies. Although both Dustin and baseball had a way of making her behave in ways she wouldn’t have before.

  “Yep.” She’d thought he might kiss her last night. And she thought she might let him. And then he hadn’t. And she had driven home on a cloud. “You’ll be happy to know we left as friends.”

  Maddie hadn’t been too happy about their newfound friendship when Clover updated her the next morning over Lucky Charms. She’d thrown her arms over her head and said, “Why didn’t you kiss him?”

  At the time, it seemed perfectly reasonable to drive away. Now, watching Dustin step forward in a low crouch between second and third base, wearing a uniform that made him look oh so delectable, she wondered the same thing as Maddie. Why hadn’t she kissed him good night?

  The batter took his stance. He had a loose hold on the bat and wobbled it behind his head. Clover leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. She was dressed in a floor-length black maxi skirt and a white tee. A black blazer waited in the car. She’d throw that on before getting to the hotel. Wearing her work clothes to the game meant she could soak up the last drop of baseball before she had to start her shift. She had three minutes—tops.

  The batter popped one up. Dustin waved off those around him, put his mitt between the ball and his face, and made the catch.

  Clover released the breath she’d been holding. As Dustin jogged in, he looked her direction and touched the brim of his hat. This might be the last chance she had to communicate with him before she had to leave, so she pointed to her phone and gave him a small wave goodbye. He held up a finger, telling her to wait, and then disappeared into the dugout.

  The big guy in front of her turned around to see who Dustin was talking too. A glob of mustard fell out the end of his Redrocks dog and landed on his bright red Redrocks shirt. He didn’t notice. “Who are you?” he barked.

  Clover lifted her shoulders. His loud mouth had drawn more attention her direction than Dustin’s little exchange. Her face was quickly turning the color of his shirt. “Nobody.”

  He turned around with a grunt.

  Clover fanned her suddenly warm face. She glanced at the JumboTron to make sure her embarrassment wasn’t caught on screen. There was a couple dancing, wearing silly hats and shirts that said “35 years and counting.” Clover envied them. What a way to celebrate an anniversary, dancing like no one was watching and loving for the whole world to see. She wanted that kind of love, the kind she could count on forever.

  Dustin appeared on the top step of the dugout, only his head and shoulders visible from where she sat. He pointed at her with his left hand and held a baseball in his right. She stood up, her hands outstretched, ready to put the skills she’d learned to practice.

  He grinned and tossed the ball. Her heart thrummed as she tracked the white leather with such concentration she could count the laces. She caught it, laughing as she did so. A few people clapped for her.

  She smiled at Jane. “See? Friends now.”

  Jane patted her knee. “I think the whole stadium can see that.” She pointed to the JumboTron. Clover slowly turned, afraid of having a stadium full of people see her mooning over Dustin Colt’s ball. What she saw surprised her. She saw a woman who looked put-together in her long black skirt and white tee with her hair draped over one shoulder. She might even say that she looked … pretty, which was a surprise, because she’d never thought of herself as pretty before.

  She held the ball in the air and waved before quickly sitting down. Her whole face was on fire from the attention, but she wasn’t embarrassed about what they’d seen, because all traces of the malnourished, homeless child she’d been only a few short years ago were gone. Relief flooded her system, making her arms feel weightless. Jane had once told her that she could be anything she wanted to be, and for Clover, that was like telling a hippopotamus it could be a ballerina. Really, all she’d ever wanted to be was normal and average. From what she could see on the screen, she fit right in with the people around her, and that was amazing.

  The camera switched to someone else. Clover leaned over and drew in deep breaths. She’d been told her whole life to be invisible, which made her feel invisible. Well, she hadn’t been invisible today, and it felt good. Dustin had seen her—he’d picked her out of the crowd. And a whole stadium of people had seen her and no one looked away, embarrassed by her dirty clothing or pleading eyes. No one had frowned with sympathy. But more importantly, Clover felt no shame. Instead, she’d felt pride in being herself.

  She gripped the ball tighter, feeling the laces under her fingers. Baseball. Baseball was magic and romance and a gift she didn’t know she wanted.

  And Dustin? She began to turn the ball over and over in her hands. If the whole stadium was empty, she would stay because Dustin was on the field. She liked watching him play more than watching the game itself.

  The revelation was almost as scary as being on the big screen.

  “What’s that?” Jane grabbed her wrist to hold the ball still.

  Clover glance
d down at the ball and saw a blue pen. Turning it slowly, she read out loud: “Text me when you get off work.” Dustin’s phone number was written inside the laces. Clover gasped.

  Jane laughed. “Friends, huh? Yeah, right.” She put her arm around Clover, who was so shocked she hadn’t been able to close her mouth.

  “Well?” Jane asked. “Are you going to text him?”

  Clover pulled the ball to her chest and held it there with both hands. “I have to.”

  Jane’s eyebrows shot up. “Have to?”

  “Yeah.” Clover stood, gathering her purse from under the seat. “When someone throws you a ball—you catch it.” She said goodbye to a confused and bemused Jane before hurrying up the stairs toward the concessions stands and gift shops filled to the brim with Redrocks gear. She’d have to come early to the next game and buy herself a shirt or hat. A hat would be great for keeping the sun off her face. Once through the shopping area, she negotiated another set of stairs to the large, slowly turning to sticky tar parking lot. Her car was hotter than the inside of a bread oven, but the engine groaned to life as if it had been sitting in a frozen tundra.

  She made it to the hotel with thirty seconds to spare before her shift started.

  “Hey, how was the game?” asked Maddie. She held a dust rag and a can of Pledge. They were supposed to dust the lobby daily.

  “It was awesome!” In her rush to get to the computer and sign in, Clover set her purse on the edge of the counter and it tipped over, the ball spilling onto the floor on the opposite side of the desk along with the blush-pink lipstick she’d bought that morning to wear to the game.

  Maddie picked them both up for her.

  Clover bit her lip and set all her attention on the screen. She’d planned on telling Maddie about the phone number ball, but she was going to lead into it since Maddie was already emotionally invested in Clover and Dustin.

  “There’s something on here.” Maddie gasped and then gave an under-the-breath squeal that was totally appropriate for the lobby of a midscale hotel. She reached across the counter and grabbed Clover’s arm, giving her an excited shake. “Are you kidding me?”