40. CADE
CHAPTER 40
CADE
I have a huge, massive problem now.
Every time Hope walks by, I can’t help but notice.
She just had to border the pitching practice area for my peripheral vision to pick her up. I catch the ball from Kim and raise my glove to my face, just in case I’m making that silly grin I’ve been catching on my face in the mirror since I officially graduated from being the world’s worst dating coach. Hope’s back is to me as she talks with Socci about who knows what. I burn through my timer by pretending to turn the ball to find the best grip, when in truth I’m staring at her thighs.
Whew.
I’m not an eloquent guy but I could write poetry about her thighs. She’s in black leggings today, the really sporty kind that are sewn around the thigh rather than just the sides of the legs. And whoa, shit. They’re thick with muscle and so strong that I can’t keep my mind from imagining things.
“Hey, dipshit.”
I startle when I find Logan Kim’s face an inch from mine. “Whoa, dude. Do you even brush your teeth?”
“My dental hygiene isn’t the issue here.” He smacks my chest with his mitt. “Are you getting paid to throw a damn ball or to stare at your new girlfriend?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I spit out from behind my glove. “Yet.”
Kim gives me an incredulous look. “Do I look like that’s the point I’m trying to make?”
I grin. “No need to be so jealous that I swept her away from you.”
“We both know I actually helped the two of you stop fooling around and get together.”
“True. Do you wanna be my best man?”
He blows a raspberry. “You’re thinking about marriage already? Are you off your freaking rockers?”
“You’re right, it’s way too early.” I bring my eyebrows together in a frown. “Besides, Lucky would kill me if I make you best man.”
“Starr, focus, for goodness’s sake.”
Hmm, I think I’m starting to learn how to play him back like he does to me, especially seeing how he genuinely grinds his molars in annoyance.
Grunting, he throws an arm around my shoulders and turns me away. “Listen, if you throw fifteen strikes in a row I’ll let you go early to get iced or massaged by your beloved.”
“Ten.”
We look at each other from way too close, but we’re in a battle I can’t back down from now that he has presented the possibility of Hope putting her hands on my skin ASAP.
“Fourteen.”
“Thirteen.”
“Twelve, final offer.”
I pin my glove between my elbow and ribs to free my right hand to offer it for a shake. Slowly, narrowing his eyes even more like he’s full of nothing but distrust for me, he deigns return the gesture.
“Twelve. All cutters,” he says, tightening his hand around mine.
Sure, my left is stronger, but c’mon—I work both halves of my body out. I squeeze tight enough to hurt too.
“Has anyone told you that you’re an asshole?”
Kim smirks. “Oh, yeah. I tattooed it as my tramp stamp.”
I make a face. The only tattoo I think he has on his back is a massive tiger, but I also don’t spend any of my time inspecting his behind.
Before he walks away too far, I declare, “One day, Logan Kim, you’re going to be so whipped that you also can’t focus at practice. Mark my words.”
He stops and turns over his shoulder. “You’re gonna grow old waiting for that.” Then he puts on his cage of a mask and stomps back to his spot.
Unfortunately, Logan Kim bests me. I manage to throw ten strikes in a row and screw up at the eleventh, which is when he decides to include a new clause in our handshake agreement: start over. I’m pretty sure this is pitcher abuse but Socci backs up the catcher, and that’s when I realize Kim was two steps ahead of me—again—and had previously got Socci on board with the twelve strikes little test.
By the time I’m done with practice, Hope’s already busy working with two of the younger catchers at the same time. It’s puzzling how she can’t see that the two of them look at her like she descended straight from heaven to grace them with her presence. Then again, she also didn’t notice the guy at the bar last night who kept eating her up with his beady eyes.
Like yesterday, though, I can’t do shit about it. People can’t know we’re starting to date, not when this is safer for her. Which means I can’t give us away by socking the two young bucks for the way they look at her.
Day one and it’s already this hard, man.
“Looking real good out there, Starr.” I turn to Otto Berger as he heads toward me with an ice pack in his hands.
Well, this is a downgrade.
I straighten up as I start unbuttoning my uniform shirt. “Thanks, Berger. I appreciate that.”
“You’ve really come a long way from last summer,” he says as he stops beside me, using the bench to undo the straps of the ice pack.
“Sure have,” I mumble, my eyes straying to Hope again.
This time she’s also got her attention on me. And she doesn’t look away. Interesting.
I keep my attention pinned on her as I finish unbuttoning my shirt all the way and take it off, dropping it behind me on the bench. I prefer to have full contact with the ice pack because I tend to run really hot. I dig into my pants for the hem of my undershirt and peel it off slowly.
Hope’s still watching.
Well, shit. My skin breaks into goosebumps—just from her watching me half undress.
How the heck did I do this in front of her before?
But then Berger puts his hands on my shoulders and I do my very best to not grimace.
“Any pain?” He frowns.
I clear my throat. “Not at all.”
I have to behave after that because I really don’t need Berger or anyone to know my engine’s revving right now. He fits me with the ice pack in a businesslike way and runs a checklist of questions through me, noting answers on an iPad.
When he’s done, I lean back against the bench to wait for the ice to do its thing. Practice is still going for the fielders and the coaching staff’s attention isn’t as intent on the resting pitchers anymore. I grab my shirts, make quick eye contact with Hope, and walk over to the tunnel. Hopefully my hint was strong enough.
I take my sweet time sorting through a cooler with drinks in the middle of the clubhouse, and end up taking an allegedly strawberry flavored one. I’m uncapping it when light steps sound behind me.
“What?” Hope asks, breathless.
Slowly, I turn to her. “Hey, darlin’.”
“Cowboy.” She folds her arms. “Didn’t we agree to keep it professional at work?”
“Yes?” I bob my head.
“Then why are you flirting with your eyes?”
“I am?” I bring the bottle to my mouth and she zeroes in on it, making me smile into my drink. After swallowing it down, I say, “Because just so we’re clear, you’re the one undressing me with your eyes.”
“Ugh. I’m not the one who literally undressed in front of you.”
“Well, thank goodness for that or I’d have to beat up the whole team.” I think about it and shrug. “Starting by myself, actually. I’d be the first one to lose his mind.”
“Cade.”
I grin at the clear tone of warning behind my name. “Anyway, what are you doing tonight?”
“I—Nothing, I guess. Going home after work.”
“How about we try a date instead?” And just to be very clear, I add, “With me, I mean. No PitchCom. No swiping. No pressure. Just good ol’ Cade Starr.”
Her jaw slackens. For a good moment all she can do is blink.
“No pressure?” Her voice shakes and she takes a step closer to me. “All the pressure, Cade. I really don’t want to screw this up with you.”
Well, shit. How is that simultaneously softening me up and increasing my body temperature?
“Trust me, there’s no way that’s happening.” I lift my hand and hold her chin, freeing my thumb to lightly touch the border of her bottom lip. Somehow this makes her lose her balance and she leans into me, her hands on my bare stomach.
“Oh.”
My eyebrows rise. “Well, well, well. Aren’t you a bit sensitive?”
Sucking in air, she pushes me away until there’s plenty of distance between us again, and folds her arms. “At what time?”
“Seven?” A corner of my lips rises.
“I’ll give you my address so you can pick me up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She bites the lip I touched, her eyes drifting low to where her hands were a second ago, burning my skin just from their intensity alone. If only she knew that I’m sensitive too, and if she keeps looking at me like that I’m going to get us in a world of trouble right in the middle of the empty clubhouse.
Sensing this, she finally returns her gaze somewhere more PG. “Dress code?”
“Comfortable.”
“Very well,” she says in an extremely professional way. “See you later, Cowboy.”
I salute because it’s all I can do to keep my free hand from reaching for her. How the tables turned, huh?