And—she often added—the bases weren't in the shape of a diamond. Jordyn knew her gemstones and with chalk lines outlining it didn't qualify. Not by a long shot.
Eyes glued to the field, Blue didn't care how many opening days she went to, nothing—not familiarity or Jordyn's cynicism—could dim the excitement.
Football may have surpassed it in popularity, but baseball was still America's game. In Blue's heart—and, she'd bet, the hearts of almost every man, woman, and child, packed in here to cheer on the Cyclones—that would never change.
Blue's proudest moment of the day came when she personally escorted her parents to the owner's private box, introducing Clark O'Hara to Ross Burton. The pride on her father's face—the way his chest puffed out—made Blue's eyes sting, the lump in her throat making it hard to swallow.
"You go ahead," Clark told his daughter. "Your mother and I'll be fine."
Blue had no doubt. Her father was never at a loss for words in any situation. Before she was out the door, the two men were getting on like old friends.
"Don't you have more important things to do?" Vance Sutter asked, materializing from the shadows. Hoping to what? Catch Blue loafing around, chugging back a beer?
With an inward sigh, Blue took the tablet from her bag, pulling up the long to-do list. The one Vance dropped in her lap just as she left work the day before.
Most of the items were ridiculous. Even the most anal-retentive person would've questioned why she'd been tasked with carrying them out.
But—like the good, loyal soldier she was—Blue spent her first hour at the stadium carefully checking off each item, carrying them out to the best of her ability
Blue swore she'd die of boredom before she gave Vance any opportunity to impugn her work. Biting her tongue, she stopped herself from asking why—instead of dogging her heels—he wasn't busy taking care of team business?
"Well?" Vance asked, impatiently tapping his loafer encased foot.
"As you can see," Blue handed Vance the tablet. "Most of the items are completed."
Vance didn't bother to look at the list. With a raised eyebrow, his gaze held Blue's.
"How do I know you aren't lying?"
"Excuse me?"
"All I have is your word. As far as I know, you checked off these tasks without actually doing them."
Blue felt a flush suffuse her cheeks, the heat—and her temper—rising. Never. Not once in her entire career had anybody accused her of lying. Logically, she knew Vance's purpose. Nothing had changed. He wanted to push her out. Today's antics were simply an escalation in his tactics.
Childish. The acts of a desperate, petty man.
You know better than to rise to Vance's bait, Blue told herself, taking a deep breath. Don't react. That's what he wants. Play it cool. Be pleasant even it kills you.
The way she felt at the moment, her lips curving into a stiff semblance of a smile, death would be preferable. Not hers. Vance's.
"Would you like to go over everything with me? Retrace my steps? My activities?"
With each word, as Vance's scowl deepened, Blue's jaw loosened, her teeth unclenching. She hadn't won the battle. But each victory—no matter how small—added up.
Vance thought he could wear her down. Sorry, sucker. Not going to happen.
"There isn't time. You better hope nothing comes back to bite you in the backside."
Sorry, Vance. Won't happen.
During each stop on her crazy-assed pile of busy work, Blue made certain she exchanged words with somebody. A janitor. A vendor. An usher. She asked questions. Made herself memorable.
And because Blue understood how Vance's mind worked—wasn't that a scary revelation—she made a list of names. If he decided to check up on her, she was prepared.
"I need you to go to the airport."
"What? Now?" Blue stared at Vance as if he were speaking a foreign language. "The game is about to start."
Blue hadn't been able to keep the disappointment from her voice. Vance smiled, a gleam of satisfaction dancing across his beady eyes.
"To celebrate opening day, Mr. Burton flew in some of his old college buddies. One—Terrance Prescott—was delayed. His flight arrives in an hour. You need to pick him up."
"I was just in the owner's box. Mr. Burton didn't mention anything about his friend to me."
"Why would he?" Vance dismissed Blue's question. "You have a job. Do it. Unless you consider this assignment beneath you?"
"Not at all. May I have the information?"
As Blue jotted down the arrival time, airline, etc., she asked herself what the catch would be. Would she discover the flight had been canceled? Something Vance already knew? Had he given her the wrong details hoping she'd miss Terrance Prescott altogether?
The possibilities were too great for Blue to calculate. So, instead of trusting Vance—like that would happen—she took the time to make a few phone calls.
Yes. According to Terrance Prescott's assistant, he was due to arrive at SeaTac in less than an hour. However, he hadn't taken a commercial flight but chose to pilot himself and his family in his private jet.
The kicker? Blue's services weren't needed. Never had been.
Arrangements were made a week ago for a car to take Prescott, his wife, and their daughter to the stadium. A little late. But in plenty of time to catch the later innings.
Blue—if Vance's plan had worked—wouldn't have been as lucky. She'd have spent her day trying to track down a VIP who neither needed, nor wanted her assistance.
Standing outside the stadium, watching absently as late-arriving fans hustled through the doors, Blue wondered what she should do about Vance.
One phone call. That was all it had taken for her to figure out his game. Did he think she was a fool? Was he clueless about how the world worked in the twenty-first century?
Technology made it almost impossible to send a savvy person on a wild goose chase. Yet that was exactly what Vance tried to do. He either believed she'd blindly take him at his word—which meant he didn't have a lot of respect for her intelligence.
Or, did Vance never consider the fact that she could—and would—check the facts before rushing to do his bidding.
Honestly, Blue didn't know which scenario she found more disturbing.
"Blue!"
Immersed in her thoughts, Blue jumped when she heard her name. Looking around, she spotted a handsome young man coming her way. The clouds circling over her head—dark and stormy—lifted immediately. Her brother's smile almost always had that effect.
Delighted to see him, Blue laughed. When Dale pulled her close, she slipped her arms around him, hugging him with all her might.
"I didn't think you could make the game."
Dale ran a non-profit foundation that provided job training for underprivileged children. Blue had invited him to opening day, but he had a meeting scheduled with a potential big donor.
"The meeting moved faster than expected. Seems this game was on everybody's mind. Mort Clayton wanted to get here for the first pitch."
"And?" Blue prompted, knowing how her brother loved to drag out a good story.
"And as of next month, the Clayton grocery chain will be an official sponsor of the Work for the Future Foundation."
"Congratulations!" Blue exclaimed. "Do you know where Mr. Clayton's seats are located? I want to send him and his party a Cyclone Platter."
Consisting of fries, onion rings, pretzels, hamburgers, hot dogs. More things than Blue could remember. Plus, enough beer to wash everything down. The Cyclone Platter was a promotional tool management provided when hosting bigwigs.
"Wouldn't that be a misuse of your authority?"
"Only if I don't use my own money to pay for it," Blue assured her by-the-book brother. "And before you argue, I do receive an employee discount."
"Fine." Dale rattled off the seat locations and the number of people in the party. "Mort invited me to join them.
When I explained why I couldn't—that my sister had a seat saved for me in the owner's box—I realized my mistake. Mort was so impressed, if I'd mentioned you before the meeting, his donation might have doubled."
"Little sisters have their uses."
Dale winked. "So it would seem."
Considerably lighter of spirit, Blue linked her arm through Dale's, leading him toward the entrance. When she flashed her ID, the ticket taker waved them through.
"I spoke to Dad this morning. He sounded like a little kid."
"Mom said he wanted to leave the house right after breakfast." Blue took the back way, unlocking the entrance to the service elevator. "Keeping him at home until a decent hour took all her formidable skills."
"He always was a sucker for opening day. But this year?" Dale shook his head, sending Blue a sideways look. "Clark O'Hara's little girl works for the Cyclones. I don't know what Lauren or I'll ever do that stacks up to that achievement."
"Wait until he finds out he's going to be a grandpa."
"What?" Dale's easy smile disappeared, his suddenly stormy gaze dropping to Blue's stomach. "When?"
"Not me, you idiot." Blue rolled her eyes. "Lauren. Our married sister? Remember her?"
"Right." Letting out a relieved sigh, Dale leaned against the side of the elevator. "That's great. I know she and Hal have been trying. Why am I the last to know?"
"You aren't. Lauren plans on telling Mom and Dad tomorrow night. So, keep the news to yourself."
Blue wasn't worried. Dale loved surprises and was a master of keeping information to himself.
"I don't know what I was thinking," Dale chuckled, putting an arm around Blue's shoulders. "You aren't even dating. How could you be pregnant?"
"If you have to ask, I'm not the one to tell you. Spoiler alert. The stork is a myth."
"Ha, ha. Very funny." Dale paused. "On the subject of dating."
"No." Blue knew where her brother was headed. "Not interested."
The elevator doors opened, smooth and silent. Following Blue's lead, Dale exited close behind. The corridor was deserted, the muffled sound of the nearby crowd filtering in. They walked toward the locked doors, passing stacks of empty boxes, left there by the various food vendors.
"Come on. You've been away from Seattle for some time. Let me help boost you back into the dating scene."
"Lauren already offered. As I told her, I'm fine on my own."
"But—" Dale stared at Blue's profile. "Are you seeing somebody?"
Blue didn't know how Dale managed to read her so well. According to some people, she had an excellent poker face. Her brother saw through any attempt to hide her feelings. Always had. Apparently, always would.
"Things are… new."
"Do I know him?"
"We never talk about your girlfriends."
Deflecting Dale was never that easy.
"That would be a yes," Dale declared. "Should I start throwing out names? Or, you save me the time and the aggravation by simply spilling the information?"
Brothers. Whoever thought they were a good idea had never been grilled by one. What good were secrets? At least she knew Dale would keep his mouth shut.
"Spencer."
Grabbing Blue's arms, Dale pulled her to a stop.
"Please tell me you've met a nice plumber who coincidentally happens to be named Spencer."
"I could tell you that," Blue said. "I'd be lying. But if a non-truth makes you happy, what the hell."
"Blue…" Dale took a deep breath. "Explain to me why dating the man who broke your heart is a good idea?"
"Forgiveness is good for the soul."
"Great. Forgive the overpaid pretty boy. But don't give him another chance to hurt you."
Because she understood, Blue didn't try to lighten the situation by pointing out that—in baseball terms—Cyclones were getting their money's worth from Spencer. And more.
"I don't know what will happen, Dale."
"If the jerk hurts you, I'll shove his teeth down his throat. That's what will happen."
"Awe." Blue patted Dale's hand. "That's sweet."
Sweet because Dale meant every word. And sweet because her brother was a lot of things. Smart. Funny. Handsome. But he wasn't a fighter.
Unless Dale hired somebody else to do the dirty work, Spencer's teeth were in no danger of going anywhere—no matter how he treated Blue.
"There's nothing I can say to change your mind?"
Shaking her head, Blue pushed at the service door. After nothing but muted sounds, the buzzing voices and wild cheers hit her like a punch to her senses.
The game must be going well. Time to join the fun.
"You'll have to trust me to take care of myself. But, believe me, I love you for caring."
"I have your back." Dale tapped Blue's nose, an affectionate gesture that always brought a smile to her face.
"And I have yours."
The door to the owner's suite was closed. A guard, dressed in a dark suit, sunglasses, and a stern expression, blocked the entrance with his big, solid body.
"Is he packing?" Dale asked in jest.
"Yes," Blue answered, completely serious.
"Well, damn."
Dale wasn't a fan of guns, but he understood the world that they lived in. Billionaires like Ross Burton traveled with personal bodyguards. Bodyguards carried concealed weapons. End of story.
"Hello, Anders."
"Ms. O'Hara." The man nodded, his dark hair cut military-grade short.
"This is my brother, Dale. He's on Mr. Burton's guest list."
Double checking—a good bodyguard never took anybody's word—Anders stepped aside to let Dale pass.
"You're not coming in?"
Thinking about Vance, Blue shook her head. Chances were good her boss was inside. Blue had a good reason for not going to the airport. And she doubted Vance would be foolish enough to bring up the subject. But he'd know that his plan had failed, turning him into a bigger sourpuss than usual.
If Blue wanted to enjoy the game—which was a given—she had to get as far away from Vance Sutter as possible.
"I have a few things to take care of. And Dale? Remember? Keep your mouth shut."
"About Lauren's secret? Or yours?"
"Both."
Blue waited until the door closed behind Dale. Thanking Anders, she started to leave, stopping when the crowd's cheers turned from excited to frenzied. Wondering what was happening, she hurried to get a look.
Down a flight of stairs, she jogged up the ramp until she stood in the center of the storm. On each side of her, fans were on their feet, eyes glued to the field.
From this distance, way up in the nosebleed section—Blue couldn't see the batter's face as he stepped to the plate. She didn't need to. Even if she hadn't glimpsed the number on his back—twenty-three—she knew him right away.
Spencer's stance was unique. At least to Blue. The way he shuffled his feet, finding just the right spot. The way he paused, staring out at the mound, before raising his bat. Daring the pitcher to try to get a ball past him
More often than not, the pitcher failed.
Game one. One hundred and sixty-one to go. Spencer would have a lot of at-bats this season. But this was the first one Blue had seen in person in over four years. That made it—the moment—special.
Holding her breath, she waited.
The pitcher made his windup. Released the ball. A second later, Spencer swung for the fences. And that is exactly where the ball ended up. Over the center field fence. Upper deck. Three rows below where Blue stood.
The crowd went crazy. A man—a total stranger—slapped Blue on the back.
"Kraig is our man," he shouted. "Worth every freaking penny."
Soaking in the unadulterated joy that abounded around her, Blue threw her head back and laughed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"WE WON."
"I know. I was there."
Spencer grinned. Blue grinned right back. An arm around her waist, he backed her through the door. From the garage to the kitchen, the lighting wasn't bright enough for her to get a good look around.
The first time in his home. The one Spencer had moved into and renovated well before Blue returned to Seattle. Naturally, she was curious.
She wanted the full tour. From top to bottom. Every nook. Every cranny.
But crannies—and nooks—could wait. Blue was too busy looking into Spencer's deep green eyes to worry about anything else. Smiling. Teasing. Shiver inducing. His attention was focused exclusively on her.
Blue would be a fool not to return the favor.
"Did you see my home run?"
Three hours later. After a celebration with his teammates. Dozens of interviews. Spencer still asked the question with the eagerness of a little boy. He played baseball with the passion of a kid.
The rest of the time? One hundred percent, full-grown man.
"I may have caught a glimpse."
"Won us the game."
"I know. You propelled your team into first place. Time to reserve my World Series tickets."
Blue teased. But the fans who had lived through every pitch. The ones who floated out of the stadium, bounced to their cars, only rehashed every moment of the game on the trip home.
She pitied anybody who tried to convince the loyal hordes that this wasn't the Cyclones' year.
"You're funny," Spencer said.
He had Blue trapped. Her back was to the poured concrete countertop. His hands braced on the surface, one on each side of her waist.
"You aren't the first man to tell me that today."
Inches from brushing his lips against hers, Spencer paused, his eyes narrowing.
"Anybody I should worry about?"
"I ran into Dale. I sort of told him about us."
Another time, Blue might have led Spencer on. Not to make him jealous. Light, playful fun. A game he'd recognize and eagerly join. But like the tour of his home, that would wait for another time.
When they were on firmer footing. If they made it past this get to know each other again phase.
For a Little While (One Strike Away Book 1) Page 12
