Dream Girl Drama (Big Shots #3)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sig had learned to block out fear a long time ago. Fear that his mother wouldn’t be able to make ends meet and they wouldn’t have dinner on the table. Fear that he wouldn’t get drafted, be able to provide for her. Fear of serious injury while playing hockey. Fear had ceased to be part of his emotional vocabulary—until Chloe.

Since meeting her he’d learned what it meant to be scared. Of something happening to her. Of losing her. But right then, as she stood at the end of the dugout, nervously playing with the end of Pierre’s leash, he could admit to full-on terror. Because he’d been walking around with no pulse for the last week, and it had only started beating again when he saw her reading Elton the riot act. Oh, thank God. There’s my girl.

She wasn’t his girl now, though, and he was too scared to face the rest of his bleak existence in this new reality.

Pierre plopped down and rolled over at Chloe’s feet, offering his belly to her with his tongue hanging out the side of his panting mouth... and she made this adorable h’awww sound, shooting Sig an amused look. And at the same time, a gust of wind slapped him across the face with her scent and he swore his lungs started to cry. To shut down out of self-preservation.

Was it possible for love to be so severe it caused organ failure?

“All right,” Sig said, hoarse. “What’s the lineup?”

Everyone looked at Burgess.

“You clowns think I’m risking another back injury for baseball?” Burgess spat. “I’m just here to break up the inevitable fight. Ask Sig for the lineup—he’s your new captain.”

“Not yet,” Sig responded automatically, feeling Chloe’s gaze on him. There hadn’t been any communication with the front office since his initial meeting with Reese, but David had called this morning to inform Sig the Bearcats wanted another sit-down. Sig’s agent even predicted that an offer was on the horizon. Sig definitely should be more excited about that, right? “Either way, I’m going to go ahead and take the lead on this. Since I’m here and everything.”

“ Captain. Captain. Cap— ”

Sig shut down Mailer’s chant with a glare. Then he scanned the rest of his assembled teammates. “Has anyone here ever played this godforsaken sport?”

Two hands went up near the rear of the pack. “All right, one of you lead off. The other goes second. Just get on base and I’ll bat you in.”

“Gauthier with the baseball lingo,” someone said. “I think I just sprouted wood.”

“Really?” Mailer adjusted himself. “Because I fucking lost mine.”

Corrigan punched him in the shoulder. “There’s a lady present, jackass.”

“Sorry, Chloe,” Mailer said automatically.

“What? No, Chloe is used to our bullshit.” Corrigan rubbed the back of his neck, his attention glued on the field. “I was talking about the pitcher.” He sniffed, rolled a shoulder. “She’s obviously feeling me.”

“No, I’m not,” called Skylar, tossing up the baseball and catching it without looking.

“You will be,” Corrigan shouted back, grinning.

“Only if I have to check for a pulse after the game. Because we’re about to murder you.”

“Trust me, I’ve got a pulse, sweetie. You’re making it race.”

Was the pitcher blushing ? Unbelievable, but yeah. Appearing to be of Mexican descent, her skin tone was already a natural burnished brown, but the furious deepening of color had the young woman pulling down the brim of her cap to hide her face. Apparently, the bar was low these days when it came to pickup lines. “Are you just trying to psych me out?” asked the blushing pitcher. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Holy shit,” Corrigan muttered, frowning. “It’s almost like... she doesn’t know she’s hot.”

Sig clapped a hand down on his shoulder. “You better marry her before she finds out she could do way better.”

Corrigan was already nodding. “I know, right?” Then to the pitcher, “Can’t wait to tell the grandkids how we met, Skylar.”

“Hey.” Elton barked while striding to first base. “Stop talking to my sister.”

Corrigan unleashed a groan toward the overcast sky. “Why does every attractive woman have to be somebody’s sister?”

Sig and Chloe traded a sideways glance. “All right, let’s get this over with.” He jerked his thumb toward the batter’s box. “Jorgenson, lead us off.”

“There goes my boner again.”

“Shut up.”

Jorgenson swaggered out to the batter’s box... without a bat. “Shit.” He looked back over his shoulder. “I think we forgot something. Like... bats?”

Sig massaged the bridge of his nose. “Go borrow one from them. Jesus Christ.”

“This is off to a fine start,” offered Burgess, from his casual lean against the dugout wall.

Mailer came up beside Sig. “Speaking of gear we neglected to bring, I forgot to bring a cup. Do you happen to have a spare?”

“If I did, do you think I’d share it with you?”

“If my grapes get crushed, I could be out for weeks. I’d really hate to have that conversation with the new GM.” He cleared his throat. “Not because my broken testicles would put me on the injured reserve list, but because I’d like her to know they’re fully functioning.”

“Please tell me you’re not hot for the new GM.”

“I won’t. Because that would be an understatement.” Mailer sighed, before giving Sig a subtle elbow in the side. “Look on the bright side. At least I won’t hit on Chloe anymore.”

Fire encompassed the back of Sig’s neck.

He’d been fighting the urge to turn and look at Chloe for the last five minutes and he finally gave in now, finding her watching him, too, her expression open and vulnerable and... missing him. Yeah, she missed him. Maybe even half as much as he missed her. And that was going to make staying away infinitely harder. God, it might kill him, but he had to respect the decision she’d made. The hard one he didn’t have the ability to make himself.

You okay, Chlo? Sig mouthed at her.

There was a long hesitation, followed by a series of too-quick nods.

She’s not okay. We’re not okay.

“Play ball,” shouted someone from the opposing dugout, dragging Sig’s attention back to the field, though his awareness never detached from her. Not for a second. Not even when the first pitch came whistling into the strike zone at what appeared to be at least eighty miles an hour.

“Son of a bitch,” Corrigan intoned, looking dazed. “Did I just meet my future wife?”

“No,” everyone shouted back, including Skylar and Elton.

Corrigan just grinned. “Can’t wait to prove everyone wrong.”

It came as no surprise that Jorgenson struck out.

The second batter managed to get on base, but only because Sig advised him to bunt—but it was not pretty. In fact, Sig wouldn’t freely admit to anyone who listened that he did not want to try his hand against Skylar, because, yeah, she had an arm like a fucking cannon and she hadn’t even broken a sweat. Outwardly, though, he kept his cool and approached the batter’s box, taking a couple of practice swings along the way. And he reverted back to the fake mind bets he used to make with himself as a kid for motivation. Such as, if you score today, you get to meet Sidney Crosby . If you practice for one more hour, you get drafted in the first round.

Man, the stakes were a lot different as a twenty-nine-year-old man.

If you hit this ball, you get to marry Chloe.

It was a ridiculous bet to make with himself, since the outcome was impossible, but hell if he didn’t lock in on the baseball as Skylar wound up and... threw a pitch that was slightly off—and he didn’t swing. On instinct. “Ball,” called the baseball player acting as the umpire.

Skylar rolled her eyes, accepting the ball her teammate threw back.

Rolled her shoulder, scuffed the dirt with her cleat.

Leaned forward.

Much later, Sig would admit he got lucky. Or maybe getting to pretend the impossible dream of marrying the love of his life could come true caused him to smack the ball out into the right outfield, over the heads of the players who were clearly not expecting him to connect. Dazed, Sig stood watching the ball sail into the trees, but Sir Savage shouted at him to run and his legs took over, instinctively following the directive of the man who’d been his captain since rookie year. But he only made it past first base when all hell broke loose.

Because of course, Pierre chose that moment to come alive.

To discover a resource of energy that perhaps he didn’t know existed inside himself.

Yes.

The bulldog went sprinting through the field after the ball, like his very life depended on retrieving it. Which obviously meant Chloe went running after him in visible distress, her blonde hair coming loose from its bun, her squeals of the dog’s name echoing across the park.

Sig didn’t even hesitate—he ran after Chloe, envisioning all manner of heinous ankle breaks or violent murderers lurking in the woods, just waiting for a beautiful girl to come running straight into their trap. Nope. Not on his watch.

“Chloe!”

“Pierre! Stop!” When the dog officially vanished into the trees, his leash sailing out behind him, she made a desperate sound and ran faster. “Sig!”

Yeah, he’d be lying if Chloe reflexively calling out to him for help wasn’t the balm he needed over his aching wounds, but he’d savor it later. He passed Chloe in the race to reach Pierre before he became unfindable, breaking into the trees, winded—

Only to find the bulldog rolling around in a puddle of mud. No, sludge .

With the baseball in his mouth.

Sig had never seen the dog look happier.

“Oh no, Pierre !” Chloe panted, jogging to a stop beside Sig, planting her hands on her head. “Look at you! You’re all covered in filth. What am I going to do with you?”

The problem at hand sort of slipped to the wayside as Sig looked at Chloe, her face contoured in shadow and sunlight, her hair a windy mess, cheeks flushed. The most incredible sight he’d ever seen—at least, since the last time he’d looked at her. On top of the morning glow she was sporting, she was wearing a Bearcats sweatshirt he’d given her.

You can’t have her anymore.

You shouldn’t have taken her to begin with.

Chloe looked up at him, slumped a little. “You didn’t even get credit for your home run, did you?”

If you hit this ball, you get to marry Chloe.

If only.

“No, it counts,” he said, throat hurting. “I’ll make sure it counts.”

After a moment, she nodded. “How am I going to get him home like this?”

“In the back of my truck?” he suggested.

Their gazes collided. Heated. Tried to break free, but came right back. Fired up even more. Driving Chloe home was a Very Bad Idea. They both knew it.

“I’ll just get him inside, then go,” he said, adding, “It’s been almost two weeks since those pictures were taken. I doubt they’ve been staking you out this long.”

Chloe swallowed. “Okay.”

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest at the news that he’d be spending time with her, no matter how short. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I can’t think of any other way to get him home without getting mud on everything and everyone he passes.” She wet her lips. “Can you?”

“No,” he said, way too quickly. “Let’s go.” Before you change your mind.

They walked out of the trees and back onto the field, stopping in their tracks when they saw the brawl taking place in the baseball diamond. Everyone was embroiled in the knock-down, drag-out fistfight, except for Burgess who was patiently peeling men off one another and tossing them down on the ground like yesterday’s trash.

And Corrigan, who was marching away from the fray with a struggling Skylar over his shoulder. “Let me save you!” he growled at her, while she pounded on his back.

“Let’s just pretend we never saw this,” Chloe whispered.

Sig was already ushering her toward the parking lot. “Good idea.”