“Table for Murphy Brown,” I say to the hostess.
She smiles at me knowingly before she escorts us to the back corner of the restaurant. It’s private, but not so much that people can’t photograph us. Which is good. I want to be photographed tonight.
“Murphy Brown?” Aspen asks. “Is that really her last name? Isn’t there an old TV show with that title?”
“It’s not her last name. It’s Caden’s nickname for her. And we use it to make reservations when we go out together.”
“Do you have a name you use for reservations?”
“Yeah. Sawyer Mills.”
She laughs. “Of course you do. But then why pull your hat down low when you’re out in public, like the day we met or earlier today when we were shopping?”
A woman squeals at a table we pass. “Oh, my God!” She stands up to the embarrassment of her teenage daughter. “Can I get a picture with you?”
“I’m sorry, Miss,” the hostess says.
“No, it’s okay,” I tell her. “I can pose for a quick picture.”
The woman shoves her phone into the hand of her daughter who looks mortified. “Mo-om,” she whines.
“Just take the picture, honey. Your father will be sorry he was late.” She turns to me. “He’s your biggest fan.”
The girl takes our picture and then we continue to our table, loud whispers of recognition from restaurant patrons following us as we walk.
“I don’t mind being recognized,” I tell Aspen. “I just don’t want to be mobbed. Don’t worry, you’ll see the difference when we leave.” I nod back to the woman. “That was nothing.”
“Great,” she mumbles. “I can’t wait.”
Chapter Twelve
Aspen
I’m relieved to see Murphy and Caden sitting at the table already. Caden stands up and kisses my cheek.
I find it interesting that they are all treating me like I’m actually Sawyer’s girlfriend. Well, all but Sawyer, that is. Because I’m not. So he shouldn’t.
But still, it’s nice that his friends are being so accommodating and supportive.
“Did you get spotted yet?” Murphy asks me.
“There weren’t any photographers out front, if that’s what you mean.”
She nods to the people in the restaurant behind us who are staring at our foursome. “There will be.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Caden says. “You’ll do fine. Just like you did the other night.”
I shake my head. “I thought it was all over when Conner sent me a drink. I ran into him outside the bar before I went in. And then when I saw he was with you, I about died.”
“It’s a good thing those girls came over when they did,” Sawyer says.
“I sent them.”
“You did?”
“I promised them each a drink if they would distract Conner. I’m sure they would have gone over to you guys anyway. I guess they were just waiting for the right moment.”
“Good thinking,” Murphy says. “You’re better at this than you think you are.”
The waitress comes over to take our drink order. She fawns over Caden and Sawyer.
Fawns over.
That’s what I’m supposed to be doing. And he’s paying me a lot of money to do it. After the waitress leaves, I glance around to see that people are still watching, so I give Sawyer my most seductive look while biting the edge of my lower lip.
He gives me his sexy half-smile and moves his chair closer to mine, draping his arm across my bare shoulders.
Murphy appraises us thoughtfully. “You two make a very attractive couple.”
“That’s what Bass said,” I tell her.
“He said we make a hot couple,” Sawyer says.
“He didn’t say that, you did. But either way, same difference.”
“It’s not actually,” he says. “Two ordinary-looking people can make an attractive couple. Two good-looking people like us, make a hot one.”
“I don’t recall the contract saying anything about not bitch-slapping you when you say stupid things.”
“No. No, it didn’t. That’s a different kind of contract. But I’m sure if that’s what you’re into, we could have Sarah write something up.”
“Oh, my God. You’re incorrigible,” I say, laughing.
“Yeah, but you like it. In an I’m-paying-you-a-shitload-of-money kind of way.”
I roll my eyes at him.
“So, are you excited to go to the games?” Murphy asks.
“I guess so. I’m sure the more I learn about baseball, the more exciting it will be. Bass, on the other hand, is simply beside himself. He can’t wait to go.” I turn to Sawyer. “When exactly are we supposed to start coming?”
The three of us look at Murphy. She seems to have all the answers when it comes to our arrangement.
“I think you should wait another week or two. Wait until the pictures have come out. If you’re seen at the games before your relationship is established, you might be pegged as just another groupie. It will help his reputation the most if you are seen as someone who didn’t go after him because he’s famous. Believe me, the public will accept you more if they think you’re a nice girl who he met outside of his profession.”
“Is that how the two of you met?” I ask her.
“Yes and no,” she says, laughing. “You really don’t follow baseball, do you?”
I shrug. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Murphy says. “I didn’t follow it myself until I met Caden. We met because of baseball, but not by choice. His home run ball hit me.” She points to a scar under her eye. “I have a metal plate where my cheekbone is. It messed me up pretty badly.”
“Oh, no!”
Caden smiles and puts a hand on Murphy’s arm. “And I went to the hospital thinking I’d hit some guy named Murphy. Imagine my surprise when a beautiful woman was lying in the hospital bed.”
“Ha! Beautiful my ass,” Murphy says. “I was hideous. My cheek had swollen to the size of a grapefruit.”
“I love this story,” I say. “It’s like a fairy tale. Did you ask her out right then?”
“No,” he says. “It was months before we started dating. But we did immediately become friends.”
“Friends?” Sawyer says. “They were practically joined at the hip – in a very non-sexual, non-fun way.”
“I guess we both felt something from the beginning,” Murphy says, looking at Caden with admiration. “But it took us a while to realize it.”
We have drinks and dinner, being interrupted a few times by people at nearby tables wanting a picture or an autograph. Sawyer keeps some kind of contact with my skin the entire time he’s not eating. He puts his hand on mine, clasping them together up on the table for everyone to see. Or he has his arm around me. He even leaned in and kissed my cheek once.
Every touch has my breath hitching. And every hitch of my breath gets me angry. Angry, because even if I weren’t being paid to be here, even if his touches and his looks and his kisses were genuine, he’d still be an arrogant ball player. He’s not anything like the guy I met that first night. I have to keep reminding myself that this is the real Sawyer, not that one.
“When will you two go out again?” Murphy asks. “We should start planning it.”
Caden laughs. “Sweetheart, I think you’re getting into this just a little too much.”
“No way,” Murphy says. “I’m having a lot of fun. And Rylee will kill us if we don’t bring her and Brady along next time. She was bummed they couldn’t come tonight.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess it depends on when they go out of town next.”
“Tomorrow,” Sawyer says.
“Tomorrow? But you just got back this morning.”
“Nature of the business,” he says. “We play half of our games on the road. Sometimes we don’t even get to come home for a week at a time. We were lucky to have a day off today.”
“Do you play every day?” I ask.
&
nbsp; “Not every day, but most days. We play one hundred and sixty-two games a season.”
My jaw drops. “I had no idea you play that much. Don’t football games only happen once a week? Why do you play ten times more?”
“It’s the great American pastime, baby,” Sawyer says. “Baseball, hot dogs and apple pie.”
“Football is a different beast,” Caden tells me. “It’s much harder on the body. They need a week to recover.”
“Do people actually go to all your games?” I ask. “How do they have the time? Uh … you don’t expect me to go to all of them, do you? I mean, the contract says one game a week.”
“Nobody goes to all of them,” Murphy says. “I’m sure if you go to a game a week, that will be fine.”
“But you have season tickets,” Sawyer says. “You know, in case you wanted to come to more.”
Caden and Murphy laugh and give each other a look.
“I guess we’ll see. But if I can’t go, is it okay if Bass takes a friend?”
“Of course. The tickets are for both of you, not just you. He can take whoever he likes, as long as he doesn’t say anything about how he got them.”
“You don’t have to worry about him saying a word. He’d do anything for me.”
“Is that so?” he says.
“Your bill, sir,” the waitress says, handing Sawyer the check. “And just so you know, there is quite a crowd gathering out front. Would you like us to fetch you a cab and have it waiting?”
“Yes. We’ll need two cabs please,” Sawyer says, as he puts enough cash in the sleeve to pay my utility bill, cable bill and phone bill combined.
“Our pleasure,” the waitress says before leaving.
Sawyer turns to me. “Here we go. You ready?”
“Do I look okay?” I ask Murphy.
“You look stunning,” she says. “Doesn’t she look great, Sawyer?”
“I told her that when I picked her up.”
Murphy gives him a disapproving look. “That doesn’t mean you can’t tell her again, you baboon.”
Caden looks sternly at Sawyer. I get the idea Sawyer could learn a thing or two from him.
Sawyer holds up his hands in surrender. “Geez, yeah, she looks great.” He turns to me. “You look great. Can we go now?”
Caden shakes his head and closes his eyes. Maybe he thinks Sawyer is a lost cause. Maybe he is. But part of me thinks Sawyer must be the way he is because of something that happened to him. Maybe he had a bad breakup. Maybe he was dumped by his high school sweetheart and now he never lets himself get close to anyone for fear of getting hurt.
I don’t know what makes this man tick. But I have six or seven months to find out. And he doesn’t know it yet, but whether he wants to or not, we’re going to be friends. Because I’m not spending the next half a year with someone I don’t like. And if he ends up a better person because of it, I’d say that will be money well spent. His money.
I follow him to the front of the restaurant. “How do you want to do this?” I ask.
He holds out his hand for me to take. “Hold my hand. Stay close.”
Murphy pulls us aside before we reach the outer door. “Maybe grab onto him like you’re scared of the press. Don’t smile and pose for the cameras like the other girls do. You’re not with him for the fame. You’re with him because you love him for who he is underneath all that.”
I find it hard to keep a straight face, as do Caden and Murphy, and we all end up cracking up.
Sawyer looks at each of us, one at a time. “You think the idea of someone falling in love with me is funny? Tons of girls love me.”
“You’re right, sweetie, they do,” Murphy says in a motherly tone.
“What? You think people only like me because I’m rich and famous?”
The three of us remain silent.
“You’re all full of shit,” he says, pouting. “Come on.”
Sawyer grabs my hand and we walk out of the restaurant ahead of Caden and Murphy, only to be blinded by hundreds of flashes.
“What’s her name?” someone shouts.
“Pick me instead!” another screams, while restaurant security has to hold her back.
“Over here!” multiple people say, trying to get us to look at them.
“Are you tonight’s girl?” a photographer asks. “Where did he get you, Sluts R Us?”
Sawyer stops in his tracks and I run into his back, holding onto him for dear life as I feel claustrophobic with all the people around. Murphy told me I should act scared, but there’s no need to act – I am scared.
He puts his arm around me and pulls me against him. He singles out the photographer who shouted and yells, “Apologize to her, you prick!”
The guy puts up his hands. “Sorry, Miss,” he says. “But really, what number is she? Twenty? Thirty? And that’s just this year.”
Sawyer shakes his head. Then he leans in close and fake-whispers in my ear, after which he holds my eyes with his seductive stare as cameras flash all around us. Finally, he belts out loudly enough for some reporters and fans to hear, “Ignore them, babe.”
This puts them into a frenzy. More questions are fired from every direction as Sawyer plows our way to the cab while onlookers try to touch us. A woman bursts through the crowd, tripping and falling at my feet. She claws at my leg as she’s pulled back by security.
Sawyer puts himself between the woman and me, then he holds the cab door open for me and climbs in afterward. When we’re safely inside, he wraps his arm protectively around me and gives me a tender kiss on the forehead before the cab pulls away.
“That was perfect!” he says, looking back at all the people still taking pictures of us as we’re driving down the street. “Rick can take that and shove it up his ass.”
He has no idea that I’m shaking. That the last sixty seconds were terrifying. That I’m thinking maybe no amount of money is worth doing what he wants me to do.
Chapter Thirteen
Sawyer
I stand up and shake out the top of my pants, piles of dirt falling onto the ground next to second base. I love sliding head-first. The sound of the ball hitting a glove a microsecond after I touch the base with my fingers is the best sound in the world.
“Eighteen,” I say to nobody in particular.
Sometimes I like to taunt them by shouting out how many bases I’ve stolen this season. But I say it mostly for myself.
I take my lead off second, stretching it to the limit as the pitcher keeps me in his sights.
Do it, I think. Throw the ball back here.
I love the game between the pitcher and me. It’s a battle of wills. Will he throw the ball? Will I get a big enough lead to make it to the next base?
But he doesn’t do it. Maybe because that was my third steal today and I’ve already broken his will.
Caden’s up at bat and I’m the winning run. A deadly combination for the other team.
He doesn’t disappoint and hits a line drive to right field allowing me to score and end the game.
Caden runs over and we bump chests. “You sure earned your name today, Speed Limit. Nice job.”
“It helps when you have hits like that, Kessler.”
I smile as I look down at my dirty uniform on my way back to the clubhouse. There are a few reporters standing outside the door. One holds up a tabloid with a picture of Aspen and me on it from the other night. It looks like someone snapped it just as I was yelling at the photographer after he made that petty remark about Aspen. I was holding her protectively. It’s exactly the kind of picture I was hoping for.
“Who’s the brunette?” a photographer asks.
“Is she the same one you were shopping with?” another asks, holding out a photo of Aspen and me walking down the street carrying bags.
Even better.
“She’s just a friend,” I tell them before I duck inside the clubhouse.
“What was that all about?” Conner asks. “And, was that the girl from the bar last w
eek?”
I shrug.
“Oh, shit. It was. You called her?”
I shrug again.
“You fucking called a girl?” he asks. Then he turns to the rest of the team. “Guys, Mills has a goddamn girlfriend.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I say defensively.
“You met her at a bar. She shot you down. You took her shopping and then out to dinner?” Conner says. “I’d say you’re a piece-of-shit liar, Speed Limit. You have a girlfriend.”
“Shut up, asshole,” I say, stripping off my uniform and heading to the showers with a huge smile on my face. “You don’t know shit.”
Conner has no idea how much I love him right now, because on my way to the shower, I pass Rick. And I’m one hundred percent sure, based on the look on his face, that he heard every damn word Conner said.
After my shower, I hear the guys making plans to go out. Cleveland is not exactly my favorite place to go, it’s nothing like L.A. or Miami, but there are a couple of good places we like to hit when we’re here.
Several of us end up at a club. It’s no secret that this is one of the hangouts of visiting teams. And there are plenty of beautiful women here to greet us.
Other than the night Aspen and I ‘met’ in the bar for show, this is the first time I’ve been out with the guys since starting our arrangement. In San Diego, I blamed jet lag for why I didn’t go out. I realize this puts me in a unique situation. And I’m fully prepared to take a lot of shit for not taking home a woman.
What I’m not fully prepared for is how easy it is not to want to do just that.
I shake my head as I look around at all the gorgeous women trying to drape themselves over a professional baseball player. Ordinarily, I’m the one who has to have the prettiest one. The sluttiest one. The one who’s a sure thing.
But tonight, I find myself shooing them away. There are cameras going off everywhere. Girls taking photos and video of us. Of them with us. And I do my damnedest not to get photographed in a compromising position. After everything I’ve been able to pull off this last week, I’m not about to fuck it up now. Despite how gorgeous they are and how much cleavage they show me.
The Perfect Game: A Complete Sports Romance Series (3-Book Box Set) Page 67
