6. CADE
CHAPTER 6
CADE
I stop in my tracks to yawn so hard that my jaw makes a popping sound. I rub my eyes, trying to clear the second wave of sleepiness that wants to crash over me thanks to my disrupted morning. Finally, I take the last step to hop on the treadmill to warm up.
Usually I catch the sunrise above the roofs of fancy ass houses while jogging around my neighborhood. My neighbor two houses down is this power suit middle-aged man, who usually walks his dog at a similar time. I say hey, he says hey back, and we ignore each other every other time we bump into the other again. Often, I also see this young mom jogging with her baby in a carrier. She always wears headphones and doesn’t even go as far as power suit dude to say hey—straight up ignores me. It’s a perfect arrangement for everyone involved.
Not today. Or yesterday.
Both days, I left my house in my training clothes, ready to do my circuit around the lake, and saw an unknown woman stretching around the corner.
That’s not a big deal until the strange woman starts following you.
At first I thought I was being weird. Pfff, a woman, stalking me ? What the hell for? I’m not a Hollywood star or even a household name in the league. I go to places in town and the vast majority of people don’t recognize me. In fact, the handful who do are usually male baseball fans of the kind who can recall verbatim what my average was last year, the year before, and even in my last year in the minors. Even I don’t know that shit, so we both get to enjoy flattering each other.
But women only ever approach me because I’m decent looking, and usually when they’re imbued by liquid courage at a bar.
So I ignored her yesterday and finished my route. Except she was there again this morning, same spot, and with another friend. And this time, they were brave enough to make sure that I knew they were watching me. I’ve seen enough weird ish happen to other players to not chance it, so I made a stellar U-turn back into my house, grabbed my duffel bag and came over to the team facilities to train indoors instead.
I set a good pace on the treadmill and sigh, already missing the fresh air and natural light. But at least there are no weird women here.
Steps echo behind me. It’s before seven and the place was empty until this point, but I wouldn’t be surprised if staff starts arriving now. What is surprising is that the other person to join me is none other than Hope Garcia, and that she hops on the treadmill right beside mine.
Never mind, there are weird women here.
“G’morning, darlin’,” I say with a voice raspy from disuse, but amused that I seem to have summoned her with my thoughts.
“Cowboy.” She tips her head at me as if she was wearing a cowboy hat, and sets out on a jog. I kinda wonder why she chose the treadmill beside me and not one of the other dozen or so, but I’m not curious enough to ask.
For a peaceful moment, the only sounds come from our heavy steps falling out of sync and our breathing that turns heavier the more we increase speed, and in my case incline. I catch a little beep that comes from her bumping up her speed one more notch, and before I know what I’m doing, I do the same. Her eyes zero in on it, then on my face, and they glint like honey against the sunlight that hits us through the window. I’d never noticed that her eyes are so big or that maybe I should’ve nicknamed her honey instead of darlin’.
She snaps me out of that reverie by turning up her speed one more point.
My jaw slacks. Are we competing right now? Because if so, it’s futile for her.
I run every morning just to wake up, and my actual workout follows after that depending on what I’m supposed to focus on each day. Today is leg day, and I’m happy to go harder at the run. I turn up the speed by several levels and give her a quick look that clearly says stop trying to mess with me, darlin’ . I wish I could say it aloud but my lungs are busy.
Her eyes narrow and she jams a stubborn finger at the control buttons, speeding up until she’s running like a gazelle. Her mouth arcs with stubbornness even as her nostrils flare with breathing that’s as hard as a truck.
I snort a laugh.
We keep running like we’re behind, bases loaded, bottom of the ninth, and we just batted a hit that could decide whether we win the World Series. However, we end up running the distance around the diamond several times over. I’m winded but I could keep going at more or less the same pace if I had to. Garcia finally gives it up and once she starts slowing down is when I follow suit.
“Breathe through your nose and not you mouth, darlin’.” I’m panting like a dog but still land the sarcasm, if I go by her glare.
She’s on firm ground now, hands on her knees as she catches her breath. “It’s your fault.”
I resist the urge to snort again. I slow the machine all the way until I can step down. Reaching for two clean towels from the basket, I ask, “How so?”
“You kept turning up your speed!”
“So did you.” I toss a towel so it lands over her head, casually drying my face with the other one while I watch her struggle with the cloth.
“Ugh, you’re insufferable. Here I was working up my nerve to apologize.”
I stop. “What?”
She huffs so hard that it makes her sound like a horse. Yanking the towel around her neck, and with a frown as deep as the Gulf, she says, “I’m sorry for being such a weirdo the other day when clearly you were just being nice about my horrible date.”
For a moment, I don’t react. Then I start blinking hard. “Huh. Okay.”
Garcia presses her lips together, nods to herself, and swivels on her heels. After three steps away, she repeats the motion and comes back—closer than before. I jerk away in surprise.
“What now?”
She narrows her eyes up at me and shakes her head before leaning back. “No, nothing.” I almost think this is the end of today’s interaction with her, when she speaks again. “Actually, there’s one more thing. I, uh… I have something of a wild pitch for you.”
“Okay…?” My eyebrows rise.
“Wouldyoubemydatingcoach?”
“What?” I do a double take as if that could help me understand the weird barrage of words that spewed out of her mouth.
Garcia takes a deep breath. “Would you be my dating coach?”
It turns out I did understand her words, even if they make no sense.
“If he won’t, I will.”
We both turn to the third voice and have the opposite reactions. I relax seeing Lucky stride into the training room in his black joggers and a T-shirt with the flag of Puerto Rico emblazoned across his chest like graffiti. Garcia tenses instead.
He and I shake our hands, complete with fist bumps to our backs, and he turns to her. “But what do you need a dating coach for? Like, no offense but estás dura.” I’ve heard him say this expression to women enough times to know it’s a compliment.
If anything, it seems to make her more sour. “Can you please pretend like you heard nothing?”
We both know that’s not gonna happen, though.
Lucky confirms this. “No can do, this sounds like way too much fun to pass up.”
“Should I pretend I heard nothing?” I ask, shaking my head in confusion. “Because I have questions yet honestly don’t need the answers.”
Garcia ignores me. “Rivera, I feel like it’s very pertinent for you to know that I worked part time at a steakhouse for a while when I was in college.”
“What does that have to do with you wanting a dating coach?” He frowns.
“That I know how to use a knife on meat very well, and you’ll discover that firsthand if anyone finds out about this.”
Silence.
Slowly, he raises his hands and starts backing away. “I guess this conversation never happened, then?”
“That’s right.” She folds her arms and jerks her head, conveying that he should go away or else . And sure enough, dude backs the hell off to the treadmill on the opposite end. Her attention turns back to me and I kind of wonder if maybe I should’ve just put up with the stalker instead.
I spread my feet wide and stand straight. “No.”
“Why not?” she whines.
“Why yes?” I run my hand through my damp hair.
“Because you got the dating thing down pat?—”
I cut her off before she continues. “When have you seen me with a girlfriend?”
Garcia waves that away with her hand. “You’re a smooth talker and women flock to you without even making an effort, which is exactly what I need.”
“Oh, so you want women to flock to you? I didn’t know you batted that way.”
“I do not.” Her brow darkens even further. “What I want is the equivalent. Men flocking to me without me having to suffer so much for bread crumbs of attention.”
I hum from deep in my throat, considering all this random information that I didn’t have on my bingo card. “I still don’t think I’m the right person for the job, especially because I don’t want to.”
“Yes, you are! You just said noncommittal things to Rose and that video has gone viral. Thousands of women on the internet want your babies.” Her hand closes in a tiny but powerful fist and she adds, “I need some of that.”
My little jock brain puts two and two. This must be why I’ve suddenly earned a stalker.
I scrunch up my face. “Wait, what? Women want my babies and you want some of that?”
“No!” The horror in her face almost makes me laugh. I have to stuff my hand against my mouth to stop myself. “What I want is some of your easy charm.”
“So I have charm,” I repeat, cocking an eyebrow.
“Do not make me find my steak knife.”
“Still no.” I sidestep her, swinging my towel around my neck and holding onto the ends, heading to the mats to start some lunges.
“I’ll pay you,” she says, following right behind.
“The Orlando Wild organization pays me a pretty fair compensation already,” I toss over my shoulder.
The hardheaded woman persists. “I’ll do your laundry.”
“You really don’t want to do that.”
All the way across the room, Lucky says, “Word.”
“I’ll ice you before everybody else.”
“That will get you in trouble with your boss.” I whirl around and she stops in her tracks an inch before colliding against me. She has to crane her neck back to look up at my face. I lower my voice so the eavesdropper doesn’t hear. “Listen, you don’t need any help, least of all mine. The right guy will come along when you least expect it.”
“I don’t need ‘the right guy,’” she says with air quotes, startling me even though I school my face not to show it. “What I need is options and I need them quick.”
I take a giant step away. “I still can’t help you. I don’t know if you’ve heard but something called Spring Training starts in a week and I’ll be busy with it.”
“But—”
“Good luck, darlin’.” I toss my towel to a hamper basket and get in position.
To my surprise, instead of insisting once more, Garcia expels a breath that deflates her shoulders and walks away toward the weights wall. I watch her for just another second, wondering if she’ll come back to keep pleading her case, and I’m oddly disappointed that she doesn’t.