17. Man Stuff
17
MAN STUFF
Zane
Baseball is a game of waiting. Wait for your pitch, wait for a chance to steal, wait for your turn at bat.
I’m used to waiting.
But after shooting that video for Maddox and Bespoke, I’m too amped up. These jittery feelings are not coming from the prospect of the deal, so close I can nearly grasp it. They’re coming from the man. I’m seeing him for dinner in a few nights with Priyam.
How the hell am I supposed to act around the guy I like?
Like I did at the golf course?
Or the rooftop party?
Or Venice?
No way. Those were BG—Before Gym.
Now that I’ve touched Maddox so intimately, pretending I’m not wild for him will be even harder. I’ll see him in forty-eight hours, and I can’t let on how much I want my agent.
As my teammates and I ride the subway to the Bronx early that afternoon—our choice, we do it to get in a New York state of mind—I do my best to publicly shoot the breeze with the guys while I privately try to plan a dinner strategy.
Declan’s leading a rousing debate on the best action movies of the last few years. “Grant and I have been catching up and making a list,” he says.
“Aww, you marrieds are so cute,” Gunnar teases him.
Declan rolls his eyes. “Yes, Grant and I are fucking adorable. Now, back to the debate.”
Gunnar gives his pick. I weigh in with Sebastian Lowe’s most recent flick, all while I ruminate on how far apart I should sit from Maddox at dinner. Next to him? A chair away?
As the guys debate the Oscar winner’s death-defying stunts, I tap my foot on the subway floor, knee springing up and down. Across the table—that’s the answer.
Declan’s gaze strays to my foot, my knee, then my eyes. “You good, man?” he asks quietly. Declan’s a good guy. He looks out for everyone, but if he noticed I’m off, that’s an issue that I’m getting too obvious.
I need to put on my baseball blinders. “Yeah, I’m great,” I say, shove aside my man plans, then dive back into the debate. “The jump from the side of the skyscraper was baller,” I say to the group.
I focus on the arguments for the rest of the underground ride.
But when we reach the ballpark, my mind is straddling two worlds. I need to sort out my head before we play, so I hang back outside the players’ entrance, waggling my phone at Gunnar and Declan. “Gotta call my brother. I’ll meet you in the clubhouse in a few.”
“See you there,” Gunnar says, turning toward the door.
“I need to give Grant a quick call too. But I’ll do it inside,” Declan adds, then heads into the ballpark. Briefly, I feel a pang of jealousy for Declan and what he has with his guy, but then I shove it aside.
Walking away from the doors, I take a deep breath and call Gage. Talking to him usually resets me.
Gage answers right away. “Hey! Aren’t you playing the Comets in three hours? Eliza and I are planning on making homemade pizzas and watching you.”
That makes me unreasonably happy. “You mean critiquing my performance on the field?”
“And at the plate.”
“That kid, she has major league scout written all over her,” I tease, walking past the ticket counters at the ballpark. They’re quiet now, but soon crowds will queue up and scalpers will try to fleece fans. “And what will she have on her pizza?”
“She asked for Twizzlers and gummy bears. We split the difference and settled on olives.”
I laugh, warmth spreading through my chest, and I don’t think it’s from the sun. “I didn’t know she liked olives. But she has good taste. Olives are my fave,” I say.
“I know, you knucklehead. I know,” he says, laughing too. “I grew up with you and your olive-obsessed self. Anyway, it’s a new thing for Eliza.”
“I can’t wait to take her out for pizza with olives next week.” I can picture the meal perfectly. “Anyway, got any pre-game hitting tips for me?”
“Ah, the real reason for this call. You want to tap into your secret weapon of a brother.”
“Always,” I say. He shares some of his thoughts on the Comets pitching staff, and his analysis truly is secret-weapon worthy.
“And when it comes to Cohen,” he wraps up, “keep an eye on his slider. Those fuckers are hard to hit, but when he leaves one hanging, man, you can whack that over the fence, and he’ll be hating life.”
“That’s what I want. Pitchers to hate life,” I say, then sigh deeply, feeling a little better already.
“But you didn’t really call for pitching tips,” Gage says, slipping into wise older brother mode.
Whoa. Am I that transparent? “Why do you say that?”
He laughs softly. “You don’t usually call from the ballpark at all. Unless something’s on your mind. Last time I got a pre-game call was maybe a year ago when you were trying to decide if you wanted a third date with some dude you thought was only into you for the number on your back.”
I growl. “I remember that guy. Good thing I didn’t give him the time of day for number three.”
“You’ve always been smart when it comes to balancing work and romance,” he says.
I wince. He’s so wrong. I’m not in the least bit smart now. “Not sure if that’s true,” I say, tiptoeing near the vicinity of honesty.
“Well, you haven’t gotten serious with anyone. And you haven’t gotten distracted. You’ve given baseball your all.”
“Baseball deserves it. The game could be here today and gone tomorrow. You know that better than anyone,” I say, emotions stirring inside me, rising like a fast-moving storm.
“I sure do,” he says wistfully.
That sound hooks right into my heart, yanking it toward him. He’s been through so much. Losing his career, losing his wife, fighting for his own mental health.
Look at him now though. A great dad with a great kid.
Fuck waiting for the perfect moment to broach the topic. I love my niece, and I love my brother so damn much. “Gage, that’s one of the reasons I want this deal to come together. Whenever I think about the day you told me you could never play again, my heart hurts for you all over again. I wish I could find a way to fix your elbow. To give you back baseball.”
“Zane,” he says gently. “I’m okay. I’ve moved on. I’ve handled it.”
“I know,” I say, my throat knotting. “But I also know you lost something that mattered to you, and I’m lucky enough to still play. I never want to take that for granted. I want to do the most with my career that I possibly can. And that means not only protecting my future, but also yours and Eliza’s if you’ll let me. I want to start a college fund for her,” I say, my shoulders tight with the hope he’ll say yes. “One that I’d handle completely. She’d be all taken care of soon. Won’t take long, and you’d never have to worry about it.”
He’s quiet for several seconds that ratchet up the tension in my bones. “Ah, hell, Zane,” he says, choking up. “I don’t want to have to take you up on that.”
But I hear his reluctance to say no, and I seize the chance to make my case. “I know you don’t want to, but would you let me? I’m making a decent salary that covers all my bills and a whole lot more. I’m putting plenty away for my future. I want to do this. Just in case,” I say, imploring him. Gage may have to do the parenting himself, but I can pitch in with Eliza this way. “I want to help.”
Gage sighs deeply. “Of course I want her to go to school,” he says, clearing his throat like he’s trying to clear away the emotions. “But I also don’t want you to stress about me and my kid. Just focus on your job.”
He’s such a big brother. Wanting to take on the weight of it all. That out-of-control feeling bubbles up in me again. “But you’re why I have this job. Because you taught me to play. You threw to me. You practiced with me. You still give me pitching tips. I want to give back,” I say, pleading.
He takes a beat. “You’re so pushy,” he mutters, but there’s amusement in his voice.
I chuckle. Yes! I’m getting through. Demanding Zane is getting his way.
“And you like it. Because you’re not such a stubborn big bro all the time. Sometimes you let the little brother take care of things,” I say, finishing my closing argument. I bet Maddox would be proud of me.
“Then I’ll stop saying no.”
I grin from the center of my soul. “Yes, thank you!”
“No, thank you ,” he says, full of gratitude, and I’m so damn happy to put that feeling in his heart. “But I also noticed you said nothing about the guy…”
I hear the question in his voice— is there someone?
I wish.
“There’s a guy, but we’re not together, and I don’t think we can be,” I say, switching gears in a sharp one eighty. Now I’m the wistful one.
“Why not?”
But I promised Maddox I’d keep our secrets, and I want to be a man of my word. “It’s just…complicated. But I feel better after talking to you,” I say, deflecting.
A laugh bursts from Gage. “I did literally nothing. How did I make you feel better?”
I smile. “Turns out, I had a lot of things on my mind. You helped me solve one of them. The man stuff? I’ll have to keep working on that.”
“Well, I’m here if you need me. Happy to talk about your man stuff anytime.”
“I know.”
We say goodbye and I head into the ballpark, a little lighter. I’ll still need a poker face for the dinner, but I’ve crossed a big hurdle.
One that’s been weighing on me.
Somehow, I’ll find a way to survive dinner with Maddox LeGrande.
A fastball whizzes over the plate, and I take a big swing, sending it flying deep into the outfield. “Grand slam,” I call out, then I thank the batting practice coach and head off the field after a kick-ass batting practice.
The game starts in an hour, and I can’t wait.
I’ve always loved playing the Comets. This ballpark in the Bronx is steeped in history. So many legends have played here. These forty thousand mostly empty seats will be filled soon with rabid Comets fans who hate every other team.
Bring it on.
Tanner Sloan bounds up the home team dugout’s steps and gives me a chin nod and an important look. “Archer. Just the man I’ve been looking to see.”
“Aww. You miss me, Sloan,” I say to the Comets star shortstop. “Don’t worry. I’ll blow you a kiss when I whizz past you a few times while I’m scoring.”
He rolls his dark blue eyes. “Maybe you forgot who has the better record,” says the cocky asshole. Man, I love this guy. He backs up his bravado with his big bat. We played in Triple-A together a few years back. Birds of a feather, since his brothers play baseball too.
I scratch my head, ready to smack talk him back, when… fuck it . I don’t feel like talking trash anymore. I’m still in a good mood from that call. “How the hell are you, Tanner?”
He closes the distance between us, knocks my fist in greeting. “I’m good. Pretty good. But I heard some shit about how they’re treating the Mud Dogs down in Bakersfield,” he says.
My heart sags a bit. “Yeah, they’re barely paying a livable wage.”
He shakes his head, huffing out an angry breath. “I don’t like it, man.”
“I don’t either. But what can you do?”
“That’s the thing—I want to do something. I need to work on some plans. Maybe rattle some cages. Can I count on you for help?”
I’m not sure what I have to offer other than support. But maybe that’s what he needs. “I’ll do what I can when the time comes.”
“Thanks, bro,” he says, then heads to the field to stretch.
I continue toward the visitors’ dugout, breathing in the scent of fresh-cut grass, savoring the late afternoon sunshine. But I stop when I catch sight of a gorgeous man parked casually in a chair along the first-base line.
My heart slams at the sight. Maddox is here, and he looks so damn good. He wears tailored slacks and a crisp white dress shirt I want to rip off him. No tie for the ballpark. Maddox’s casual game-wear is so very him, and I love it.
But the best part?
That satisfied grin. I want to jog over to him, take his chiseled face in my hands, and kiss him in front of anyone.
I want to declare all these wild, crazy feelings for him.
But I won’t. Since Maddox shared his fears in San Francisco, I’ve been worried sick about what might happen to him if we were caught. I always knew he faced the bigger risk, but I didn’t know how dangerous I was to him till then.
I’ve got to keep my feelings in check. I vow to do that as I drop my bat and trot over to him.
But it’s hard to rein in my emotions. His smile undoes me. It simply unravels my heart.
When I near him, he stretches and moves to the edge of the stand, parking his elbows there as he looks down at me. He sure as shit looks like a man who just pulled off the heist of the century.
His grin is downright infectious. “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, hoping it’s to share good news. But as I lock eyes with the stunning suit who came all the way uptown to tell me something, I realize the good news I want is just one more chance to see him. However I can. Even if it’s this brief encounter here at the ballpark. My heart’s sprinting from being near him, but it’s not for the money he might come bearing. This too-big feeling is all for him.
“Oh, I just had something to tell you,” he says, all cool and casual.
“Stop being so secretive, man,” I tease. “Tell me.”
He shrugs, blows on his nails, then laughs. “The deal’s done, Zane. I just emailed the document to you for your signature. It’s everything you wanted,” he says, then rattles off the terms.
Wow. He pulled it off. Every. Single. Term.
I am awestruck. I want to yank him onto the field and hug the fuck out of him. I want to pop open a bottle of champagne and celebrate all night long. I’m elated and blame all those fizzy feelings for the next words that come from my mouth: “Can you stay for my game? I really want to see you in the stands tonight,” I say. But that’s only the beginning of my desires. I take a chance and finish the thought. “And I want to take you out afterward and celebrate.”
My entire body is strung tight as I wait for his answer. One more chance to see him. One more moment to be in his company. I am on edge, waiting, hoping.
Maddox is quiet, his smile disappearing slowly till it’s just gone.
Shit. Did I push him too much? I hold up a hand. “Just as agent and client. That’s all. I didn’t mean to pressure you,” I say, backpedaling.
His gaze holds mine, his eyes resolute. “I’ve never felt pressure. And I’d take any of my clients out to celebrate. So let’s do it, Zane.”
A few weeks ago, I might have bristled at the super agent attitude. But I see through him today. Any of my clients is a safe cover-up for the truth. He’s stealing a chance to spend time with me too.
Even if it’s just drinks.
I can’t wait for the game to end.