by Sierra Dean
“For argument’s sake, though. How set in stone is this rule of hers? Really?”
“It’s so set in stone it could be an eleventh commandment.”
“Sorry, bro,” Tucker said, in a show of masculine solidarity.
The path looped back around, and the hotel loomed in front of them. As they slowed to a walk, Alex’s skin beaded with sweat in response to the relative chill of the late-February air. Today marked the first day of training for pitchers and catchers, with the remaining players making their appearances the following week. He and Tucker, as well as the team’s two other catchers and the roster of pitchers and hopefuls, would all be neck-deep in training exercises for the next seven days.
It didn’t leave a lot of time to worry about whether one woman would or wouldn’t be willing to date him.
In fact, dating should have been the last thing on Alex’s mind.
That Alice’s no-ballplayer rule bothered him so much was a bad sign. He would throw himself into training until it stopped nagging at him.
Women. Even when he couldn’t have them, they were driving him crazy.
Chapter Five
On the plus side, there was no way anyone would mistake Alice for a woman in her uniform. The bulky shoulder pads under her polo shirt ensured even her ample bosom was masked, and she resembled a linebacker more than anyone’s mother.
She smoothed the powder-blue shirt over her stomach and tucked it into the hideous, pleated black pants the league insisted on. Polyester, while easy to chuck in the washing machine, didn’t lend itself to breathability. She wasn’t outside yet and was already loathing the material. A layer of sweat coated her skin, and she wiped her forehead on the shirt’s sleeve.
Gross.
Alice took a seat with the three male umpires who would be calling the game with her. Donovan, the crew chief, was in his early sixties, and she’d known him for most of her time in the league. He was a gruff, unsmiling man with a tidy gray beard, but she adored him. He didn’t take bullshit from anyone, and the first time someone had called Alice a dumb bitch in a game, he’d thrown the guy out so fast the player’s head spun for days. After that he’d told her not to take crap from anyone, that she was one of the boys now.
Since then, she’d been treated as a near equal, at least by the long-time league umps. Every year, though, one of them retired and got replaced by some new up-and-comer. Aside from Donovan, the other two men calling the game were strangers to her.
The redhead who’d introduced himself as Heath didn’t seem impressed or dismayed by Alice’s presence, but the blond guy, Karl, kept shooting her uncertain glances. Not hostile, per se, but definitely uneasy.
Alice was used to it.
She intentionally played down her more feminine attributes. Her long hair was tightly braided to appear shorter, and her bangs were pinned back from her face. She’d opted to wear no makeup except for a little concealer under her eyes, and thanks to her pale blonde eyebrows and lashes, she had nothing to make her stand out as too womanly.
But it was impossible to keep all things under wraps. She wasn’t the heroine in a Shakespearean comedy, she was a woman, and she wasn’t trying to pretend otherwise. She liked to make things comfortable for the men she worked with, though, as well as the players. Having a woman on the field was foreign territory for most of them, so she did what she could to make it easier. She wanted them to learn to accept her presence. If not for her, for the women who might follow her.
She knew she’d never get to call plays in a major league game, and that was fine with her. But someday—hopefully someday soon—a woman might get further than her and be able to make their mark on a real MLB field. If Alice could make things easier for another woman by slowly getting the men in the field to accept having ladies around, well…all the better. Most of the guys were cool about it. She wasn’t sure if Karl was going to be respectful or difficult, and that might prove tricky. Ground crews rotated fields, but not umpire crews, so it would be her, Donovan, Karl and Heath for the rest of the early season.
Sadly, it seemed these days for every Donovan there were three or four Karls out there to treat her like she didn’t fit in. But there were other old-timers like Donovan. Men who had taken her under their wings and treated her like a daughter. Those guys had taught her tricks for blending in on the field, and helped train her how not to take player barbs seriously.
Players, and more often managers, had a bad habit of making their displeasure known when they didn’t approve of a particular call. Dumb bitch was hardly the worst thing Alice had had yelled at her in the past. She’d been physically threatened, sworn at and belittled in every possible way. In the beginning she’d let it get to her, often leaving the ballpark in tears at the end of the night.
Since then she’d toughened up. She’d learned to let the nasty words slide off her back and get her revenge in the calmest way possible. On the field, her word was law. And it was within her power to throw players or their managers out of the game as she saw fit.
Karl sat across from her in the small office they were waiting in—enjoying some air conditioning before the midday sun would make them all sweaty and grumpy—and he chewed his gum while staring at her.
Alice pursed her lips, crossing her arms over her chest, the padding under her shirt pinching awkwardly. The longer Karl stared at her, the more she kept matching his gaze, until he seemed to realize he’d been busted.
Getting defensive, he sniffed. “What?”
“You tell me ‘what’. You’re the one who can’t look anywhere else.”
He rubbed his nose, his cheeks ruddy. “Whatever. Get over yourself.”
Gritting her teeth, she tried to overlook it, but Donovan wasn’t in as forgiving a mood. “You got a problem, kid?” he growled to Karl.
“No.”
“I dunno, seems to me you’ve got some attitude. Ballplayers got enough attitude. There’s no room out there for yours, you got that? So if you got a problem, spit it out or shove it up yer ass, got it?”
Donovan’s abruptness clearly rankled Karl. He shifted in his chair, and his gaze darted from Donovan to Alice and back, trying to assess which of them was the more apparent threat to him. Donovan, while old, was an ex-college football player and still seemed beefy enough to tackle someone.
“No problem at all,” Karl said again, his tone flat.
“Good. I ain’t got room for whiners and pussies on my crew.”
Karl might have wanted to say something about pussies, but Alice shot him a look cold enough to make snow shiver. “Don’t.”
He raised his hands in surrender and sat back in his metal folding chair. “You do your job, I’ll do mine, and we’ll be fine.” But it didn’t sound like he was going to be fine. It sounded like he wanted to make something of it, and Alice made a mental note to keep her eye on Karl. And on her own back.
“Enough of this dramatic high school bullshit,” Donovan huffed. “Let’s go call some ball, shall we?”
“My pleasure.” Alice made sure her words were spoken directly to Karl.
The day’s rotation had Heath on first, Karl on second, Alice on third and Donovan at home plate calling the plays. Alice loved being the first- or third-base ump. It put her in a position to judge whether someone was safe on base, and it meant Donovan would turn to her or Heath to decide if a batter had checked his swing or not. It could be a high-stress position, especially if the crowd didn’t agree with a safe or out call, but it was way less stress than home plate.
The schedule had her at home plate for a game three days later. When she noted it was a Felons-Twins game, her heart gave a little stutter. It was nerves over being responsible for the plays and had nothing to do with seeing Alex again. Sure.
When she’d confessed to Emmy she’d invited the catcher over for dinner, her old friend had teased her mercilessly for it. Emmy and Alex were close, now that she and Tucker were engaged, so Alice hadn’t missed all the wingman moves Emmy had tried to pull on A
lex’s behalf. Emmy casually mentioned what a great guy he was about a hundred times during the twenty-minute phone call. Alice suspected if her friend had been able to hype up Alex’s sexual prowess without it sounding ridiculous, she would have found a way. As it was, she’d had to settle for his great sense of humor, his wonderful personality, natural charm and a mention of his charity efforts.
After that phone call had ended, Alice wasn’t sure if they’d been talking about a dating prospect or a candidate for governor. Either way, Alice wasn’t sure how she was going to vote.
It was ludicrous for her to even consider spending time socially with Alex. Her position within the league made that troubling enough without bringing her personal reasons into the mix. Being an ump might have been the excuse she gave not to date players, but it was a legit excuse.
So why was Alex making her question things?
How did one night—and not a romantic night, either—make her wonder if she wasn’t being too rigid with the rules? Sure, he’d been charming, he’d been polite and he’d been amazing with Olivia. But that didn’t mean anything. Lots of ballplayers had a good game face. She didn’t know him well enough to have insight into what he was really like, and she was never going to get to know him that well.
Nope. No way. No exceptions.
Not even for the cute, dark-haired, too-cheeky-for-his-own-good catcher.
Alice settled into position a few feet behind third base, her braid tucked under her league-issued cap. No one gave her a second glance when she got onto the field. Thanks to the tricks she’d learned to minimize her femininity, it was unlikely anyone in the stands could tell she was a woman, and the players never scrutinized her too intently.
Heck, she’d called Felons games in the previous years, and Alex hadn’t recognized her at all. Mind you, she hadn’t been the home plate ump during those games. So if Alex was the starting catcher—which was probable—she’d end up standing less than a foot behind him for close to three hours.
Not distracting at all.
The game started, and Alice did her best to stay on task, calling all her plays perfectly, yet somewhere in the back of her mind was the nagging realization she was looking forward to Thursday’s game.
And her reasons had nothing to do with her job.
Chapter Six
“Could you be more tense?” Jasper DeMarco scolded, digging his fingers into the tissue between Alex’s shoulder blades.
Wincing, Alex tried to ignore the pain and relax, but the more Jasper assaulted him, the harder it got. “Maybe if you weren’t trying to pull me apart like a Christmas turkey, I wouldn’t be so tense.”
Jasper made a noise that sounded suspiciously like pfffffft and continued to work on Alex’s knotted muscles. “If you don’t loosen up, you’re going to pull something on your first at-bat of the season. I don’t think anyone would be too thrilled if that happened.”
Emmy, who was nearby working on the Felons first baseman Ramon Escalante, lifted her head and chimed in with, “Especially not your overworked athletic trainer who has to deal with someone else’s shin splints.” She prodded Ramon so he wouldn’t mistake her warning tone.
“Me? I am a perfect angel,” Ramon replied, his Dominican accent working its charms. Emmy smiled but quickly hid it under a serious look. She called Tannis, one of the therapists, over to continue stretching Ramon out. Once she’d wandered off to warm up Miles Cartwright, the game’s starting pitcher, Jasper returned to poking and prodding Alex.
“Seriously, you’re wound up tight enough I could play violin on you right now. What’s the deal?”
“Nothing. No deal.” Alex wasn’t sure there was anything up with him, but if there were, he wouldn’t particularly want to divulge the details with Jasper. He liked Emmy’s assistant well enough but wasn’t sure where he ranked on the trust scale. Jasper tended to be a bit chatty.
The last thing Alex wanted was anyone else knowing he might have a thing for an umpire.
In the week since full team warm-ups had begun—two since he’d first arrived in Lakeland—Alex had only seen Alice once. She’d come to the local bar to meet up with Emmy, the same place he’d met her for the first time the prior year. Though she’d sat at their table and Emmy had managed to seat Alice and Alex next to each other, nothing had transpired aside from polite chitchat. He’d asked her about Olivia, and she asked him how he was feeling going into the season, but other than that, they treated each other like strangers.
Alex wasn’t sure what he’d expected. They were strangers for the most part. Did he want her to behave like a friend towards him because they’d shared cheap pizza and he’d met her family?
Okay, maybe a little.
Where he was from, once someone had come to dinner with the family, they became an extension of the group. People his parents had only met one time would be treated like long-lost cousins. Whenever he or his sisters had friends over, his parents acted as if they suddenly had two or three times as many children, feeding and caring for the visitors like they were their own. Some of that had rubbed off on Alex. He liked to think if Alice were the one he’d had over to dinner, he wouldn’t treat her with such distance.
But in spite of a shared border, it seemed Georgia and Florida were very different places.
Besides which, it didn’t matter, did it?
Why should he care if some chick in Florida didn’t want to spend time with him? He’d be around another four weeks then he’d be back in San Francisco for the spring and summer. So what if she didn’t date ballplayers? He didn’t date…single moms from Florida.
New rule.
Effective immediately.
He wrestled himself free of Jasper’s hands and stood, wriggling his shoulders to regain some feeling. “I’ll be fine.” He left the room to change into his uniform, finding several other players already dressed and sorting through their equipment. He sat in front of his locker in a fancy swivel chair, regarding the #37—Ross sign.
This was where his mind should be, not on some chick he knew nothing about.
His grandfather had warned him once, way back in high school, about the cunning power of a woman. He’d said, They’ll bedevil you, boy, but once you hand over your soul, they don’t give you nothing but trouble in return.
Amen, Grandpa Pete, amen.
Stripping down to his boxer briefs, he tried not to think about Alice. About the way her shirt sometimes lifted up from the back of her pants when she leaned forward, showing him a sensational glance of her milky skin. Or the way her blonde hair was so light it might have given the sand on the beach a run for its money. And God help him if he got to thinking about how she’d looked crouched beside his car, covered in dirt while she helped him change his tire.
Jesus, if he was going to not think about her like this, he might need to go somewhere more private.
He adjusted himself and tried to get his half-erection under control before he put on his jock. Nothing quite like wedging a boner into a hard plastic cup.
He was grateful he wouldn’t have to worry about her at all once he got onto the field. With the game on his mind, nothing could distract him.
Perfect.
He hadn’t even gotten to home plate when a familiar shock of white-blonde hair greeted him. At first he assumed his mind was playing tricks on him. He had, after all, just been thinking about her. It stood to reason he might see a blonde umpire and jump to conclusions.
Except she was an umpire.
No, there was no way his luck could possibly be that bad.
He was looking at a very short, compact, slightly built male umpire, nothing more.
The not-a-dude turned around, erasing any hope Alex had of getting Alice off his mind today. She stood at least a full head shorter than most of the guys on the field, and gave him a warm smile.
“Hey, stranger.” Her smile faltered, and Alex worried he might have let his uneasiness show.
“Hey. I didn’t know you’d be on this game.”
Lessened. Didn’t do away with altogether, unfortunately.
There was no way he could park his ass within a hundred feet of her and not be hyperaware of her presence. As it was he’d practically be sitting on her shoes. It was a good thing he wasn’t playing a real game because he had a funny feeling he wouldn’t be doing his best work with Alice around.
He passed her, adjusted his kneepads and his black-and-orange custom Nike vest, then squatted in front of her. He smacked his fist into his glove a few times, hoping the sound of skin on leather would bring him back to his senses.
How was it she still managed to be hot with the massive shoulder pads and hideous clothes the umps were required to wear? Even without a lick of makeup she still had a radiant, beautiful glow about her. It wasn’t fair. She should have looked terrible, but instead he was imagining stripping the pads, helmet and polo off her. The curves he knew she had were hidden under the bulk of her uniform and the two big hip pouches she had to hold spare balls.
Miles Cartwright took the mound and lobbed a couple test pitches to Alex, warming his arm up for the game. Miles was a young guy, barely twenty-two, but he showed a lot of promise. It wasn’t a sure thing he’d make it into the starting rotation, but the odds were in his favor. Alex reminded himself Miles would be depending on his calls to look good for the coaching staff. If Alex didn’t have his head in the game, he would be screwing someone other than himself.
With that sobering thought in mind, he settled into the rhythm of tossing a ball back and forth with Miles. Had Tucker or one of the other more seasoned pitchers been on the mound, he might have been willing to let his thoughts trail off. After years of working with those guys it was second nature, and he could do it without as much focus. With Miles it was a different story, and Alex was grateful to be working with the younger pitcher.
