The Perfect Game: A Complete Sports Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by Samantha Christy

  “Drew, this is Aspen Andrews and Sebastian Briggs. They are both good to have access until further notice.”

  Drew shakes their hands and pulls some business cards out of his pocket to give them. “Good to meet you. If you have any issues, call or text me at this number.”

  “I’m gonna go sign a few autographs,” I tell Aspen. “You can wait right here and I’ll be back in a minute.”

  When I head over to the fans, the reporters bombard me with questions.

  “Are you dating Aspen Andrews?” they ask.

  “Yes,” I say, trying not to make it seem like a big deal as I sign a few hats and programs.

  “How many times have you been out with her?” one yells.

  Normally I wouldn’t bother to answer these sorts of questions, but in this case, these are exactly the ones I want to answer. “I don’t know. I don’t keep count. A few.”

  “How is she different from the others?” one asks.

  I look back at Aspen and smile when she gives me an awkward wave. I’m milking this for all it’s worth. Damn, I wish Rick were out here to see this.

  “Have you seen her?” I ask.

  “Are you in love?” a reporter shouts.

  I have to keep from laughing. I couldn’t have scripted this better.

  “Come on, guys,” I say, trying to look disgusted that he even asked. I do have to make it believable, after all.

  A minute later, I’m back at Aspen’s side. “They are putty in our hands,” I say.

  I lean down to give her one more peck on the lips now that I know all the cameras are on us.

  “I’m very happy for you,” she says, looking up at me the way we discussed she would. Like she’s a woman in love. She pulls me close and whispers in my ear. “What happens now?”

  I throw my head back and laugh, like what she said was funny. Then I brush a hair behind her ear and run my thumb down the side of her jaw.

  “Now we’ll go out. Just you and me. Our first solo date. That will have them salivating.”

  “What about Bass?” she asks.

  “We can’t always have a chaperone,” I tell her. “People will talk. We need to keep this about us. You and me. Not a threesome.”

  She nods. “Right. So, where are we going?”

  “I hope you didn’t eat too much at the game, because I’m taking you for a late dinner.”

  She looks down at her clothing. At the jersey that looks great on her, and her jeans. “But I’m not dressed for dinner.”

  “You don’t need to be. You like pizza, don’t you?”

  “Sure, who doesn’t? But won’t we get bombarded?”

  “That’s kind of the point, Aspen. Consider this our coming out party.”

  She looks scared.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t let it get out of hand. I know the owner of the place I’m taking you.”

  “Okay. Let me tell Bass we’re leaving.”

  While she’s talking to Bass, I share a few parting words with some of the other guys who hung around to sign autographs. Then I have Drew get us a cab.

  “You do what you have to do to protect her,” Bass says, walking with us to our ride.

  “That’s a given,” I tell him. “You don’t have to keep reminding me every time you see me, Briggs. It’s part of the contract.”

  “And I’m not about to let you forget it,” he says.

  I shake my head and laugh. “Duly noted.”

  I put Aspen into the cab and climb in after her. She looks back at everyone who followed us to the street. “Is it always like this, or is this because of me?”

  “There are always fans waiting for us outside the clubhouse, if that’s what you mean. They can get pretty boisterous sometimes. But considering we lost the game, there were more than I expected – and that’s because of you.”

  “How long do you think they will make a big deal out of it?”

  I shrug. “Don’t know. Weeks maybe. Or months. I’m not really sure.”

  “What do you think will happen now that they know my name?” she asks.

  “Some might find out where you live and hang out in front of your apartment building.”

  “The lease is in Bass’s name,” she says.

  “That’s good, but I’m sure it won’t be long before they find out his name, too. And everything else about you.”

  She puts her head in her hands. “Oh, God. Why did I agree to this again?”

  I lean into her so the cabbie doesn’t hear. “Because I’m paying you a shitload of money.”

  She looks up at me and takes a deep breath.

  I study her face. “That is why you’re doing this, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes the way you look at me, it’s just—”

  “Sawyer, I have to look at you like that,” she whispers. “It’s in the contract.”

  “Good. Because I realize all this pretending might seem real and I don’t want you thinking … you know.”

  “That you like me?” she says, sardonically. “I wouldn’t dare.”

  “Come on, Aspen. I do like you. I think you’re a cool chick. It’s just that I don’t—”

  “Do girlfriends. Yeah, I know. You’ve said that like a thousand times. I think I got it by now.”

  “Are you mad at me?” I ask.

  “No. Sorry.” She nods to the street behind us. “I’m just not used to this yet.”

  “Do you have any questions I can answer to make things easier?”

  She looks at me thoughtfully. “Yeah, why do they call it a clubhouse? Isn’t it just a locker room?”

  I laugh. Of all the questions she could ask, she asks such a benign one. “It was a locker room in high school. Now it’s a clubhouse. Makes it seem more professional I guess.”

  “What did they call it in college?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Don’t know. I didn’t go.”

  “You didn’t go to college? Then how are you playing professional baseball?”

  “It’s not like football,” I explain. “Plenty of players get drafted right out of high school. Unlike football, we don’t need the extra years to beef up. We’re practically at our prime during the college years, so why waste that?”

  “Waste that? You think college is a waste?” she asks, looking all judgmental.

  “I guess not for some people. But for me it would have been. I was never an academic.”

  “But what about after?” she asks. “You can’t play baseball forever. And what if you get hurt?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not going to get hurt. Playing shortstop is not as dangerous as some of the other positions, but it is one of the most demanding positions on the team – and the most important one.”

  “I’ll bet Caden and Brady would argue that point.”

  I laugh. “They would. But they’d be wrong.”

  “Still, even if you don’t get hurt, how long can you realistically play?”

  “The average MLB career lasts five years. But that’s only because a lot of guys can’t hack it in the majors. Some guys play into their upper thirties. I plan on going even longer. I’ve got fifteen good years ahead of me. Maybe more.”

  “You don’t have a backup plan?”

  “Why would I do that? A backup plan assumes you’ll fail. Do you have a backup plan?”

  She shakes her head.

  “So you were going to Juilliard no matter what? That’s pretty ballsy considering they don’t take just anyone.”

  “Not as ballsy as thinking you’ll grow up to play baseball for the New York Nighthawks.”

  “So, I guess we’re two confident people then. We know what we want.”

  The cab stops, but we don’t break our stare. I’m not sure what passes between us, but it makes me uncomfortable as shit.

  “Your stop, sir,” the cabbie says.

  I snap out of it and we get out of the car just as my phone rings. I look to see who it is. “Sorry, I have to ta
ke this. I’ll just be a second.”

  I leave her by the entrance to the pizza place and walk over in front of the next store.

  “Hey, bud. How are you?”

  “I did something bad,” Danny says.

  “You did? What did you do?”

  “I left the water on and it got all over the floor. Mommy’s mad at me.”

  I look over at Aspen to see her watching me. I turn my back and try to wrap up the conversation.

  “I’m sure she’s not mad at you, Danny. It sounds like it was an accident. Once she cleans it up, she won’t be mad anymore. Maybe you could help her. Why don’t you get a towel or a mop and soak up some of the water?”

  “Okay. Are you coming over today?”

  “No. I can’t come over today. But maybe next weekend. I have a whole day off. Maybe we could go back to the beach.”

  “Yay! I have to go. Mommy’s calling me.”

  The line goes dead before I can say goodbye.

  I spin around and come face-to-face with Aspen. “Ready?” I ask.

  She points to my phone. “Who are you planning a beach outing with?”

  “None of your business.”

  “I’d say it is my business if you’re violating the contract by taking out another woman.”

  “I’m not taking out another woman.”

  “It sure sounded like it to me. You have a day off and you want to take her to the beach? I heard what you said, Sawyer.”

  “Why are you eavesdropping?”

  She points behind me. “Because people are starting to gather. They are noticing you. I walked over to tell you since you seemed oblivious to anything but the person on the other end of the phone call.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Then why don’t you explain it to me?”

  “I don’t have to explain anything. I’m not cheating on you and I won’t cheat on you. That’s all you have to know.”

  “But even meeting another woman somewhere could give people the wrong idea.”

  “I told you, I’m not meeting a woman. Now can we please go eat,” I say, walking over to hold the door open. “I’m hungry.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Aspen

  The waitress brings our beers and almost spills mine in my lap while she’s slobbering over Sawyer.

  I study him, wondering what that phone call was all about. Who else would he be taking to the beach? And why is he being so secretive about it if it’s not a woman?

  I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t care one tiny bit, because if he does violate the contract, I still get my money and I get to walk away. That should make me happy. But for some reason it doesn’t. And that reason nags at me in the pit of my stomach when I realize that even though this is all for show, I still don’t want him with another woman.

  And that realization makes me just one more pitiful woman in his long line of pitiful women.

  I hear a tapping noise behind me, so I look over my shoulder and out the front window to see a crowd gathering and watching us. “Did you have to request a table in the front?”

  “It’s the best way to be seen,” he says.

  “But everyone will be watching me eat.”

  “So don’t eat. Most chicks don’t eat on dates anyway.”

  “This isn’t a real date,” I remind him. “And I’m hungry.”

  “So eat.”

  I roll my eyes at him.

  “I’m not most chicks, either.”

  He cocks his head to the side and appraises me. “No, you’re not, are you.”

  “Listen, maybe you’re used to this by now, but I’m not. I’m not used to people watching my every move.”

  “You don’t play the piano in front of people?”

  “I do, but that’s different. They watch me play. They don’t watch me everywhere else and take pictures of me when I get into a cab. Or when I drink my beer. What if I get spinach in my teeth?”

  He laughs. “You’d look great even with spinach in your teeth. But if it makes you feel any better, I promise to tell you if you get spinach in your teeth. Deal?”

  I shrug.

  “Let’s talk about something else to get your mind off it.”

  “Okay. Tell me why you kiss your fingers and then touch your rib cage every time you go up to bat?”

  A smug smile creeps up his face. “Oh, you noticed that?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” I say. “It is kind of my job to get to know you.”

  “I guess you could call it one of my rituals.”

  “Rituals?”

  “Yeah. Baseball is a superstitious sport. Just wait until we get on a winning streak, none of us will shave.”

  “Really? How many do you have to win to be on a streak?”

  “Usually five or six in a row.”

  “And nobody will shave until you lose?”

  “Nope.”

  I cringe. “I’d hate to be the one to clean up the clubhouse sinks after a loss.”

  “Yeah, it can get pretty nasty in there.”

  “So, why kiss your fingers and touch your ribs?”

  “It’s not so much my ribs I touch, it’s my tattoo.”

  “You have a tattoo?”

  “Yup.”

  “Can I see it?”

  He laughs a throaty laugh. “You want me to show you my tattoo with those people out there waiting to pounce on anything we do that’s newsworthy?”

  I turn around to see the crowd outside that I forgot about for a minute. “No, I guess not. But why do you do it – touch your tattoo?”

  “Just something I started back in high school,” he says sadly.

  “Do your teammates have any rituals?”

  “Every single one of them.”

  “They do? What are they?”

  “Some of them will eat the same things before every game. Some listen to specific music or wear a particular article of clothing. Caden plays every game with his wife’s engagement ring in his back pocket.”

  My jaw drops. “Really?”

  “Whatever it takes to make us play our best.”

  The waitress brings our pizza and then a few restaurant patrons ask for a picture on their way out the door. Sawyer stands up and obliges them. Before he sits back down, he picks up his chair and moves it closer to mine. So close that our outer thighs touch.

  He puts a slice of pizza on each of our plates and then he puts his arm around me. He leans in and whispers in my ear. “It’s hot as shit. Let it cool or you’ll burn your mouth.”

  I turn my head to ask him why he’s whispering to me, but when I do, I see he hasn’t pulled away and our lips are inches apart. My breath hitches when I look into his eyes. His eyes are what I’d call icy blue. They are so light-blue, they are almost white. It’s a contrast to his dark hair which makes him even more striking.

  I take a moment to imagine him with a beard. I wonder how many games they would have to win for him to be able to grow one. Then I imagine what it would feel like to kiss him after he did.

  “I’m kissing you now,” he announces right before his lips find mine.

  He doesn’t give me a passionate kiss, but it’s not exactly a chaste one either. When he pulls away, I ask, “Why did you do that?”

  “How could I not when you were looking at me with those fuck-me eyes?”

  “I was not,” I pout.

  “You were. Did Rylee teach you how to do that? I’ll have to tell her you were spot on.” He nods to the window. “I hope they’re getting all this.”

  I look at the people outside with their cell phones and cameras and I’m reminded why we’re doing this. Then I get upset with myself when I realize I wasn’t acting. When I was looking at him, I wasn’t thinking that I had to look a certain way because someone told me to or because it was written in a contract. I was looking at him because he’s a gorgeous man who, despite his arrogance and crassness, seems to have me under some kind of spell.

  I push my chair
back and quickly stand up.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “Bathroom. I need to wash up before I eat,” I lie.

  And as I’m walking to the back of the restaurant, I think about just how good I am at lying. Maybe practice makes perfect.

  I stare at myself and shake my head at my reflection. “You can’t feel like this,” I tell the girl in the mirror. “He’s not yours. He’ll never be yours. And you don’t want him to be.”

  I hear a toilet flush and I close my eyes. How could I be so stupid?

  A woman comes out of a stall and looks at me in the mirror as she washes her hands. “Honey, you’re crazy if you don’t want that man,” she says. “But I wouldn’t object if you sent him over to me if you don’t.”

  “I’m just being ridiculous,” I say, walking into a stall and locking the door.

  I stay behind the door until the woman leaves, giving myself a pep talk. A silent one this time. Then I walk back out to Sawyer, making a vow not to fall for him.

  He’s eating when I return. “It’s good,” he says. “I ordered you another drink.”

  “You didn’t want to wait for me?” I ask, ready to give him another lesson on dating. Then I remember the pep talk. “Forget it. Let’s eat.”

  He nods to my phone, not caring in the least about what I was going to say. “Bass called.”

  “What did he want?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t answer it. I just saw his name pop up. He texted you when you didn’t answer. He wants you to look at some website.”

  I stare him down. Does he know no boundaries?

  “What?” he says. “You left your phone sitting on the table face up, are you saying I’m not supposed to even look at it?”

  I pick up the phone and read the text. I click the link to the website and my heart falls into my stomach when I read the article.

  My face must go ashen.

  “Are you okay?” Sawyer asks.

  I shake my head. I’m not sure what I thought would happen, but I didn’t think it would be this.

  I give him my phone and let him read the screen.

  He looks up at me and laughs. “You have a brother named Denver?”

  “My parents were big fans of skiing. And Colorado.”

  “Were?” he says.

  I nod.

  “I guess I don’t know very much about you,” he says.