Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Olivia POV
N othing about 'date with Tanner' was a solid plan. Unless I add “stupid” into the mix. It was a solidly stupid plan. Maybe misguided? Either way. There’s a reason pitchers aren’t my thing. Arguably, no one could ever convince me they’re “better” than Curt. So, sorry non-existent boyfriend, you'll always be second best.
They also have a bad habit, usually, of being players. Not of the baseball batting and fielding variety. They think they’re kings of that pitching mound—the kind of kings that have . . . harems. Not that pitchers have a lock on that kind of behavior. Or maybe Tim Gratton didn't get the memo that starting shortstop wasn't the same 'king-like' caliber. Ass.
You tell the guy the truth: sorry, a .220 batting average is barely even considered mid, much less scholarship material, and no, my brother won't be coming to the game to 'scout' you. The next thing I knew, dearest not-quite-boyfriend was sucking face with Madison Castelhoffer behind the bleachers. I rolled my eyes and groaned out loud. I was proud of junior year me, though. I'd put on my game face and said in the most calm voice a sixteen year old could muster: “You should've told me, Tim. I'd have gotten you a nice parting gift.” I didn't waste one tear on Tim Gratton.
I tried not to look like I was waiting outside the locker room while . . . waiting outside the locker room. I still hadn't had my 'chat' with Coach about whether I was still interning as a scout. As if printing off and filing emails— Nope, it counts . The same as scrubbing grass stains and fetching lattes counted during my summers with the Sabers. I took a deep breath and wandered toward the exit.
So far, Tanner's the only one who knows about my family connections to baseball.
As if those were the magic thoughts that could conjure the man himself, I caught sight of him—the left-handed pitcher could apparently use both arms to keep his little harem close. I held onto my gag reflex, glancing around for a place to hide? I didn't want to be there. Or found there. Or have to—Ugh, I darted across the hall and pressed my back against the wall. Waited a couple of breaths. I peeked around the corner just in time to see him lean down and— Nope. Time to go. I shoved open the exit door, ready to leap through it, intent on my escape. It came to a jarring stop.
“Ow! Fuck.”
I collided with the door and almost fell into Breslin, er, Coop, oh hell, Coop. I seethed and cringed. “Did I hit you?”
“Milline.” He flipped up his sunglasses. I found myself caught in blue eyes with those long, dark lashes. They looked brighter, he was freshly shaved. A small sprinkle of very light freckles dotted one side of his nose. My insides warmed, and still he stared—at me, through me, good God he was beautiful. I swallowed and stepped back.
“Why are you here? You can't practice. You're supposed to be on rest, remember? Three days and I know you were counting Sunday but I don't think you should.”
“Gotta report in. Trainer.”
I blinked. Pinched my arm, nope not asleep. “Wait, you said words to me other than “no comment”. Do we need to go back to the ER? Did you forget who I am, again?”
He grinned that smirky, confident half smile. “Can't forget my girlfriend. Did you come to cheer me up?”
Wait, what? “You can't be serious.”
“Never was that good at lying.” He moved through the doorway. I stepped back as he approached.
“Wouldn't make sense that I'd lie to my Coach.”
My insides went from toasty-melty warm to unbearably hot. “No.”
“And you can't break up with me so soon after we went the distance in the bedroom . . . all weekend long.” My back hit the wall. He leaned close to my ear. “No one would believe you.”
“Nooo.” Stars sparked in front of my eyes and I had to remember to breathe. “Oh my God . . .” I grabbed his arm. “How long are we going to have to do this?”
“Do what?”
“Ugh, seriously, how long do we have to pretend to like each other?”
He tipped his head to one side and shot me a dark look. “You mean “date”.”
“Yes, fine, whatever. How long does it have to be . . . before we can break up?”
His lips pursed together, and then twitched. He covered his mouth with one hand.
“What?”
Heavy-lidded eyes met mine. He put his hand on my waist and leaned closer. My whole body tingled and trembled.
“You're on the clock, Coop. Say bye to your girlfriend. She'll still be here when you're done.” Eberhardt crunched into an apple as he walked by.
Coop bent at the knee and met my gaze. I was no doubt turning strawberry-pink. My stomach wobbled as he tucked a piece of hair behind my ear.
“Two minutes, Cooper!” Coach shouted an instant before the locker room door clattered shut.
“Seriously, how long?” I said with a gasp.
“So, you're asking me how long before a couple can break up after having sex?”
And I was a tomato. “Yeah.”
“So you've never broken up with someone after having sex?”
I stared at him. And that smug sonofabitch had the nerve to chuckle. My face was on fire and I wanted to slide to the floor. Under the tile. “That's not . . . it isn't?—”
“I can fix that for you. Seems like the least I can do. But not until day four.”
Before I could hit him, Eberhardt called out: “Time's up, Cooper!”
He bent and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Should I call you Sugar? Or Baby? Maybe Honey?”
“You could try calling me by my first name, ass.”
He paused, squinting one eye as he looked up. “Later, Livvie!” He called out over his shoulder with a wave and hustled toward the half-opened door and Coach Eberhardt. I waited until the door was closed, took a deep breath as the room spun in a wide circle. I dropped like lead to the floor.
“So what’re we doing? Drop a contact lens? Looking for clues” Antonio appeared from somewhere and extended a hand toward me.
“No, just maybe looking for an escape hatch to a parallel universe.”
“Don’t think you'll find one down there.”
I accepted his hand and he pulled me to my feet. “Thanks.”
“You ok?”
“Yeah, of course.” I tucked my mouth up on both sides in some attempt at a smile. I'm not an idiot who lied to the police—and the head baseball coach—about fictional bedroom antics between me and Coop. Oh God. “So . . . great. I'm actually great.”
He shook his head. Pointed a finger at me, then sighed. “Come on.” He slung his arm around me and started walking. I took a few steps, then realized we were nearing the locker room door, and stopped.
“Uh, no.” I turned, but he caught my arm.
“Come on, you've got work to do, right?'
“No, I'm good, really. I have some uh things and this other thing and?—”
He crossed his arms. “You can't run away, chica. That never works.”
“You only say that because it never has before. But this time . . .” I dropped my head into my hands.
“It can't be that bad. Right?”
“It feels . . . that bad. I don't think Coach wants me hanging around, anymore. He was pretty mad I accessed his mail and cloud account.”
“Believe it or not, most of the guys in there thought you and Cat did a good thing. I'm sure Coach does, too.”
I shrugged and looked away. “Yeah, but, they were pretty pissed about Coop, too. From this weekend. And Hilda's still mad.” And now I'm Coop's pretend-girlfriend. Who's real-life kissed him and, ultimately, a complete idiot. “Maybe I'm the one who needs a knock to the head, so I can forget the past week or so of my life.” I tried to laugh. I meant it to be funny, and yet, to my horror, I ended up doing some combination of sobbing, laughing and hiccuping. It was truly pathetic.
He turned and let me duck my head into the crook between his chest and arm. One hand patted me on the back. “You can cry on this shirt. Once I change into my practice shirt, that one’s off limits.”
I tried again to laugh. It was a little blubbery as I broke away and smeared tears across my cheeks.
“I don't think Hilda's happy you two are fighting, either,” he said and held up both hands. “I can listen, chica, but I know better than to step in the middle of women's business.” He grimaced. “Worst Christmas of my life, trying to get my older sister and my mama to stop fighting over, I don't know what.”
I smiled. “You're a good one, Antonio. And no, I won't bother you. I think I've just had . . . too much lately.” I sniffled and wiped under my eyes. “I'm glad that if one of us could get back on Hilda's good side, that she's at least still speaking to you.”
“Yeah, helluva weekend.” He shook his head. “Ended up having the enlightening experience of a half hour, maybe? With your friend Dublin.”
“Oh. Yeah, Dublin is . . . an experience. No doubt.”
“She is right about a few things.” He held up one finger. My stomach tightened. Dubby being right was definitely something to be concerned about.
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“In the first place, I am the cinnamon roll hero that Hilda deserves. Mark my words. I will cheer for my woman from the top of any hill.” He gestured like her name was going up in lights. “She’s going to do amazing things.”
I took a deep breath. “And I'm genuinely glad . . . for you both.” And I was.
“She’s also right that you’re more powerful than you give yourself credit for.” Dark eyes met my gaze. “When Liv Milline gets it in her head to change something or move something? I for one, don’t want to be the one in her way.”
“Ah, thanks, I?—”
“Be you. Who you are. Bring your own shine, everywhere you go.”
I stared at him. I think he's actually serious.
His face dropped. “Too much?”
“You had me up until the ‘shine’ part. You’ve got work to do before hitting the motivational speaker circuit.”
“Well, either way. Come on, I’ve got practice. And you have to go do your whatever thing with Coach.” He yanked my arm. I stumbled to keep upright and sputtered as I tried to protest. But the man was too fast and he had a grip on my arm that was no joke. We finally halted at the window to Schorr and Eberhardt's bullpen office. The blinds open, both men huddled over a desk.
I hissed at Antonio. “I take it all back, you're a traitor.”
He grinned and gave me a quick, two-finger salute. “You'll thank me later, chica.”
Before I could kick him in the shins, he knocked on the window and took off. Oh that sonofa ? —
“Milline! Get your keister in my office, now, missy. Jesus, Milline's. What is it with?—”
Several pairs of eyeballs turned my way. My entire . . . everything ducked inside my stomach. I fortified my game face, squared my shoulders and grabbed the doorknob.
“Ain't getting any younger, Missy. And we've got a fuckin' problem?—”
I pushed open the door. Those piercing hazel eyes in leathery skin met my gaze. “With my four.” His lips curled up into a sneer. “You may have heard about it.”
Yeah, may have . . . I glanced away. Then stopped. Wait, what? “You were planning to start Coop at second?”