Out of Bounds (Reedsville Roosters #5)

by Holley Trent

  If he’d been finding the exchange entertaining, she might have smacked him. Instead, though, he looked completely inconvenienced and maybe even a bit embarrassed. She certainly understood that first feeling, and pitied him for the second.

  “You know what?” she said into the phone, pulling her gaze away from the moody man. “I think you’re going to squeeze some money out of the team budget and you’re going to find my husband a room. Not only that, you’re going to pay him for meals while he’s here, and any other incidentals that might crop up. This isn’t a vacation for him, and if we have to dip into household finances for you to audition a player, I’m taking him home tonight.”

  Gary pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, shit.”

  “Pardon?” Wallace said in one of those who do you think you’re talking to? tones frazzled bullies at the airport always tried to use on her when she refused them something.

  She clucked her tongue. “Oh, you were doing so well before that. I was very clear. If you want Gary on the team as much as you claim to—and you certainly seem to be putting him through a hell of a song and dance routine to get on—then you’ll cough up some cash. Perhaps this’ll kill any motivation you might have to yank his chain, huh? The sooner you get him squared away, the sooner your team budget stops bleeding.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Wallace said in an undertone.

  “Don’t use Christ’s name in vain,” Lo snapped. She couldn’t help her reaction. Although she wasn’t much of a churchgoer anymore, she’d had enough negative reinforcement with hand smacks as a kid that every time people around her blasphemed, she convulsed. “Keep His name out of this, and I don’t think He can help you now, anyway. Do we have a deal?”

  “I don’t know what I did in my life to have deserved this kind of abuse from ladies lately, but hey. I’ll see what I can do about getting…uh, what’s his name?”

  “Dean.” Lo looked up at him and gave his chin a playful tweak.

  He smiled.

  Aw. “Dean Yeats.” She smoothed down Dean’s shirt collar and pretended not to see Gary’s nasty eye-rolling.

  “Okay,” Wallace said. “I’ll see what I can do about getting him some kind of stipend for as long as he’s here. I can’t do anything about the room, though. I mean we’re seriously tapped out of resources. Even if we were willing to spend a little more on lodging for the season, there’s no place to put the guys unless we’re gonna drive them in from Miami every day. That ain’t happening. I had to offer them all single rooms just to get half of them to come back this year, and I don’t think you’re going to get me to convince any of them to double up. Getting that one room was hard enough. We got lucky and the long-term guest who had been in there finally left and that’s the only reason why it’s open. And like I said, your Dean can’t really do a good job of chaperoning Morstad if he can’t see him.”

  “Just what kind of trouble do you think Gary is capable of that would merit this sort of attention?”

  Gary thunked his forehead against the wall a few times and muttered, “Shit.”

  “Ask Morstad,” Wallace said. “So, do we have a deal? Best I can do, really.”

  “I expect you to make the deal sweeter at your earliest convenience.”

  “Je—I mean, crap, woman. Ever considered a career in agenting? You could probably squeeze a fortune out of some guys. But, fine. I’ll do what I can to sweeten the deal as soon as I’m able to.”

  “Then you’ll see Gary at the field tomorrow morning. Goodbye.”

  She disconnected without waiting for Wallace’s sign-off and handed the phone over to Gary. “I expect you to behave yourself until I leave.”

  He twisted his lips up into a crooked smile. “What about after you leave?”

  “If you get my husband into any trouble, I will fashion your balls into tassels to decorate my next leather purse.”

  Gary winced and pushed the room door open again. “Yes, ma’am. After you.”

  Dean scooped up their bags and carried them ahead, stopping in front of the beat-up-looking dresser pushed against the wall.

  The smell of old carpet, old curtains, and old wood paneling on the walls wafted out to Lo’s nostrils and made her nose twitch. “That’s freakin’ nasty.”

  “I’ve been in worse. Go on in,” Gary said. “I’ll stand out here for a few minutes to give you some space. In case you want to chat or whatever.” He hopped up onto the barrier wall between the sidewalk and the parking lot and pushed his mirrored sunglasses onto his nose.

  Lo furrowed her brow. “Don’t you get sunburned playing baseball?”

  “Why, because I’m extra-blanco?”

  She shrugged and shifted the strap of her heavy purse to her other shoulder. “You said it, not me.”

  “I have good sunblock. Usually does the job. I’m glad you care, though.”

  “Who said I cared?”

  “You asked, so obviously you do.”

  She clucked her tongue and cocked a hip. “You make me not want to care. I mean, here I am in Florida, and not even close enough to a beach to make the trip worth my while.”

  “You can always rent a car and take daytrips while I’m out being broiled on the Roosters’ field.”

  “Maybe I will. I need a tan or something to show for this trip.”

  “You mean besides a good story to take back to Olivia?”

  “With you around, I’m almost certain I’ll take one back.” Lo leaned her forearms onto the wall next to Gary and looked up at him. “Can I ask you something?”

  “You can ask me anything.”

  “Clint said that you get distracted sometimes. What did he mean by that?”

  “Ugh.” Gary shook his head and clucked his tongue. “He could have just told you. He probably thinks he’s doing me a favor by beating around the bush, but I don’t really care unless people make a big deal about it.”

  “About what?”

  “My brain doesn’t work like other peoples’. My attention drifts off unless I’m being stimulated.”

  “You’re chronically impatient? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “If that’s a medical condition, I probably have that one, too. What’s one more?”

  “What are you—”

  The door of the room neighboring Gary’s pulled inward, and a black-haired man wearing a backward baseball cap and a scowl stuck his head out.

  “Fuck,” he said. “I told myself, ‘that voice ain’t Morstad.’ I had to open the door just to convince myself it wasn’t you.”

  “Surprise, motherfucker,” Gary said softly.

  The guy in the doorway stepped the rest of the way out. He was wearing long shorts and shower shoes with athletic socks. His lack of a shirt allowed Lo to plainly see the large tattoo on his chest: hands held together prayerfully with rosary beads twined atop them. Printed over them in gothic lettering were the words, “Only God Can Judge Me.”

  “No way,” she whispered. “¿Lo dice en serio?” She didn’t mind tattoos, but in her experience, men with his particular choice of phrases inked onto their bodies tended to be the biggest rascals a woman could ever encounter.

  “Wallace didn’t say you were coming back,” the stranger said. “You’d think he would have told the captain.”

  “Yeah. You’d think,” Gary said.

  “You got a spot on the team, or are you on probation?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “I think I have a right to know. I do have a say on who gets a final spot on the roster. I know you, man. You burn bridges like paper. We don’t need any more guys on the team who can’t get along.”

  “Oh, yeah? If you had that much of a say, Wallace should have said something to you before he flew me down here. And I seem to recall that the last time I was on the team, the only person I was having a hard time getting along with was you.”

  “Wasn’t just me. Nobody else spoke up, is all.”

  “And you don’t think they would have said something to me dire
ctly if they really had a problem? They’re not little boys. They’re grown-ass men and they know how to work their problems out without running to Wallace like a bitch-ass snitch like you did the last time I was here.”

  That made Lo straighten up. Drama was like candy for her. She suspected she should have been doing something to diffuse the situation, but she kind of wanted to see Gary punch the smug bastard in the mouth.

  Good thing Dean’s babysitting him and not me.

  And then she remembered Dean.

  She hurried into the room and found her husband fiddling with the broken blinds. “Problem outside.”

  “Fuck, already?” He picked her up, sat her on the bed, and started for the door. “Stay here.”

  “Hell no.” She darted after him just in time to see Only God Can Judge Me shove Gary.

  Gary shoved him back, harder.

  Dean got in between them and put up his hands. “Gary.”

  That was all. One bluntly enunciated word.

  Gary’s nostrils were flaring and cheeks flaming. He had his fists bunched at his sides, but he didn’t try to get to the other guy again.

  He walked past Lo into the room, calling over his shoulder, “Stay the hell away from me, Moreno. I swear, I will make you regret fucking with me.”

  Dean closed the door and put his back to it, saying nothing.

  Gary paced in front of the bed nearest the door, sweating and muttering, and obviously agitated.

  Lo got in front of him, grabbed his wrists, and stilled him. “Hey.”

  He laid head to one side of his shoulders then the other, popping the cartilage.

  A knock sounded on the outer door, and Dean stepped away from it. Before he could answer, the man out outside—Moreno, apparently—shouted, “If you’ve got a chick in there, I’m calling Wallace.”

  Gary wrenched his hands away from Lo and started for the door, but Dean yanked the knob, stepped outside, and shut the door behind him.

  Lo grabbed Gary by the back of his pants and gave him an ineffectual tug. “Okay. I see now why you get a babysitter, bratty.”

  He turned and pulled his sunglasses off his face. “I am not a brat. That guy…” He stabbed an index finger toward the door. “That guy, he’s always on my fucking case.”

  “Okay. Okay.”

  Lo guided him to the bed, and had him sit. She climbed up beside him and draped her arm over his shoulders, buddy-buddy style. “Tell me all about why he sucks, besides the tattoo.”

  Gary rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and let out a breathy laugh. “All about him, huh?”

  “Seems like you could probably make a laundry list of items. I know guys like him. His type is pretty easy to peg.”

  “I feel sorry for you, then, if you know that many.”

  “Eh. I cope okay. I find ways to deal with people.” She pinched his right shoulder between her fingers and kneaded, rubbed until he laid his head to the side and gave her a little more room to work.

  “We just…never got along. Most folks learn to ignore me when I get a certain way, but he just couldn’t.”

  “What kind of way?”

  He laughed. “Like this. Can’t shut off compulsion to move around or to talk back or to stir the pot, I guess. He always took that shit personally. Everyone else, they just—”

  “Ignored you.”

  “Yeah. Ignore me, and I eventually stop. My compulsions taper off. I swear, he had it out for me from the moment I joined the team. Was constantly looking for ways to get me in trouble for shit nobody else was bothered by.”

  “Why’d you leave the team the first time?” She smoothed her hand down his arm and chafed his bicep, and some of the tension seemed to melt from his body. He slumped a bit, closing his eyes and dropping his head.

  “Um…mutual separation is what they called it,” he said. “I guess Wallace had too much of all the drama, he got the guy holding the purse to buy out the rest of my contract. I accepted because I didn’t want to be anywhere I wasn’t wanted.”

  “Are you going to have a problem with him? With Moreno, I mean.”

  “Probably. I’d hoped he wasn’t still here. Can’t believe I fucking forgot to check. Had it in my mind to check the roster, but I forgot. I always forget shit.”

  “You’ll be all right.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I work with difficult people every day. I’ve found that if I want to keep my job I have to develop coping strategies for engaging with them.”

  “What do you do?”

  She shrugged. “Mostly, I just wait until Olivia gets off a plane and then I tell her everything that’s been bothering me because I know she’ll understand. Once I get the words out, I usually feel a lot better and can get back to work.”

  “I don’t have anyone like that.”

  Dean slipped back into the room, closed the door, locked it, and then turned to face them. “I’m…not sure that went the way I would have liked. I hope I didn’t make things worse.”

  “I doubt you could make anything worse,” Gary said. “Thanks for trying anyway.”

  “I guess half your job will be keeping them separated,” Lo said. “Like two cats who shouldn’t be in the same room together.”

  “Moreno needs a little more than a squirt gun filled with cold water to back off, though,” Gary said, and then snorted.

  Dean’s eyebrows darted up, and then quickly down as he stepped into the bathroom. He closed the door.

  Gary straightened up and fixed a bashful gaze on Lo.

  “What?”

  “I don’t wanna ask.”

  “You’re shy all of a sudden? Wow, that Moreno guy must really be getting to you.”

  “Nah. I just don’t want you to think the request is stupid.”

  “Tell me. Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

  “Can you hug me? Tight?” He rubbed his eyes again. “I mean, that usually makes me less anxious.”

  “Really?”

  “I told you it’d sound stupid.”

  “No, no. Not stupid.” She was just surprised. Of all the things he could have asked for her, she wouldn’t have guessed that in a thousand years. She’d honestly been expecting a request of a far more lascivious nature, and she wasn’t sure what that said about her.

  She crawled around to his back on the bed, looped her arms around his torso, and laid her head on her shoulder. She squeezed, and whispered, “Like this?”

  “Yeah.” He pressed his hands atop hers. “Just like that.”

  Dean stepped out of the bathroom, and Gary jerked in her embrace, but she didn’t let go.

  She met Dean’s shocked stare and tried to convey soothing thoughts to him—tried to explain everything in just one look.

  They hadn’t done anything wrong. She was just offering comfort, and she’d never be ashamed of that.

  When he didn’t say anything, she waved him over.

  “Group hug,” she said.

  “Nope, that bruiser’ll suffocate me,” Gary wriggled out from her embrace and power walked to the window. He paced for a few seconds, and then looked over at them. Then he shook his head.

  Dean sat on the bed’s edge in front of Lo, and instinctively, she put her arms around him, too. “Plenty of hugs to go around.”

  She peppered his cheek with kisses until he smiled, and her stomach grumbled. “Ugh. I’m starving.”

  “Well, your options are limited,” Gary said, pacing again. “There’s a gas station nearby that has a sub shop, a seafood place that’s dirty as fuck but has delicious everything, and of course, there’s pizza.”

  “I don’t want to leave.” Lo flopped back onto the bed, spread-eagle, and tried not to think about how gross the bedspread probably was.

  “Want us to bring you something back, or do you want pizza?” Dean asked.

  “Let’s just order the pizza,” Gary said. He kicked off his flip-flops, dropped his watch on the dresser, and picked up the remote control. “I don’t want to risk r
unning into Moreno again tonight.”

  “I’ll call.” Dean said, his phone at the ready. “What’s the name of the restaurant?”

  “Alligator Bites,” Gary muttered. “Tell them you don’t want the alligator. If you don’t, they put chunks on by default. Contrary to what some people say, alligator does not taste like chicken.” He flopped onto the other bed and hit the power button on the remote.

  While Dean talked to whoever picked up the phone at the pizza place, Gary stared over at Lo, his expression inscrutable.

  “What?” she mouthed.

  He shook his head and looked away, fluffing the pillows behind him.

  “Nothing,” he said maybe a minute later.

  A word on its own, connected to nothing. Disjoined from the conversation and out of place.

  It seemed a bit like Gary.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Rude,” Gary muttered, and pulled his pillow over his eyes.

  He didn’t know what time it was, only that the room was still a little dark and that he didn’t need to roll his sluggish ass out of bed yet. He’d had a hard time nodding off, as always, and felt like he hadn’t slept. He must have, otherwise he wouldn’t have been woken by the sound of soft moans.

  One glance over, and his eyes had confirmed what his ears had been hearing.

  Lo was on top of Dean, but under the covers. Gary would have had to have been under a rock for the past fifteen years of his life to not know that when a woman rolled her hips like that, she probably had a dick in her.

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “Thought you were asleep.”

  “And you just couldn’t help yourself?”

  She giggled. Moaned again.

  He groaned into the pillow and tried not to think about what his own cock was doing. He felt like he was in a middle of a sing-along where everyone around him was shouting out the tune, and since he didn’t know the words he couldn’t pipe in.

  “You’re killing me.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll be…be done in a second.”

  “Don’t rush on my account.”

  “Thanks. I won’t, then. I appreciate the…the consideration.” Another moan.