Chapter 15
Reese
“What’s up with Monty today?” my grandfather asks from the seat next to me. “I’ve never seen him like this before.”
From up in the owner’s box, I watch as Emmett returns to the dugout after spending a few minutes on the field, getting in the umpire’s face. To be fair, the ump has blown too many obvious calls, but Emmett typically handles that kind of thing with a bit more of a level head.
I attempt to keep my tone uninterested when I say, “Not sure.”
But the problem is that I’m very much interested in just about everything regarding that man.
It’s an abnormally hot day in the city, and we just so happen to have a game smack-dab in the middle of the warmest afternoon hours. And because of it, I fear the heat is getting to everyone.
Emmett.
The umpire.
Me.
Regardless that I’m sitting in my air-conditioned suite, every inch of me is on fire from just watching the game.
Well, if we want to get specific, it’s from watching the field manager.
Thankfully, my grandfather is too oblivious to notice that I haven’t been able to pull my attention away from the dugout. And I’m lucky this suite is situated above the stands off the third baseline, where I’m granted a bit of privacy unless someone knows to look for me up here.
Anyone who saw that rumor online, the one about me leaving Emmett’s hotel room, would quickly learn it wasn’t just a rumor by the way I can’t tear my eyes off him.
I kind of . . . missed him this week.
A sentiment I swore I’d never feel when it comes to Emmett Montgomery.
I missed the shit-talking. I missed knowing he had my back. I missed being able to talk to the one person in the entire franchise who truly sees how hard it is for me to be a woman in this industry.
I just missed him, and yes, I know I brought this on myself. It took everything in me not to respond to his text or answer his call, but I know I’m doing the right thing by keeping our communication professional and putting a safe distance between us for now.
To him, maybe our flirty banter was no big deal. Maybe to him, me cutting off any personal communication was a drastic move because he never felt the danger of coming too close to crossing a line.
Maybe that’s why he’s so upset with me.
But for me, I felt myself getting too close. I felt myself realizing I liked things about him I swore I never would.
Sure, of course, I find Emmett physically attractive. Just take a second to look at the man and you’d understand. But it’s what’s inside I thought I was safe from. His personality was what I believed I couldn’t stand. Unluckily for me, his heart is now the thing I find most attractive about him.
Or is it? Because my view during this game has been unreal.
Emmett’s got his baseball pants on today as per usual, but instead of the uniform top, he’s wearing a white team-issued shirt made from a thin athletic material.
It’s practically see-through in the way it clings to his wide back and rounded traps.
He’s held the same position the majority of the afternoon, standing at the edge of the dugout and leaning his forearms over the railing, pants stretched over his thighs and ass.
“You know who’s been asking about you?” my grandfather asks, and holy shit, I forgot he was here.
Am I drooling? My freaking grandfather is next to me and I’m drooling over my employee.
The picture of professionalism, I swear.
“Reese’s Pieces,” he says, almost singing my name to gain my attention.
“Sorry.” Shaking my head, I focus on him and not on the man in the dugout. “Who?”
“Ed’s son. Michael.”
“Asking about me how?”
My grandfather’s bushy brows lift, as does that knowing smile on his lips.
“Okay, matchmaker.” I chuckle. “You know I’m not looking to date anyone.”
“Yeah, yeah. And I don’t believe you.”
This sweet old man has a hard time fathoming that his granddaughter could be happy and content all on her own.
“I enjoy being single,” I remind him. “It’s nice not having to think about anyone other than myself.”
“But wouldn’t it be nice to have someone thinking about you? And trust me, honey, you wouldn’t mind the right person occupying all your thoughts. It’s quite nice, actually. You just need to meet someone new.”
My grandfather, bless him, has been on about me finding someone since I became single.
And granted, he knows a bit about that. My dad’s mom passed when I was a baby, and a handful of years later, my grandfather met the woman I now refer to as my grandmother.
He spent some time alone but now has been happily married for almost thirty years.
But not everyone is so lucky to get a second chance at love.
Some people only get one. Like me.
I’ve been on my own so long now that I couldn’t tell you what it feels like to have someone think about me.
There’s no one around to witness my every day—my mundane moments or my biggest accomplishments.
I only have me, and though others might find that discouraging, to someone who’s been with the wrong person, it’s rather hopeful.
Sure, I may be alone, but at least I’m not questioning anyone’s motives for being in my life anymore.
As if he could read my mind, my grandfather adds, “They’re not all Jeremy, you know.”
Maybe. But why risk finding out?
My focus drifts back to Emmett in the dugout.
This week, I had a hard time ignoring that comment I saw online.
The one about him getting close to me so I’d renew his coaching contract at the end of the year.
It’s hard to fathom it being true, but I’ve been wrong before, and keeping a distance between us not only keeps rumors from circulating, but it also takes that concern off the table.
It’s the bottom of the seventh and we’ve got Harrison Kaiser on second with two outs, when Isaiah Rhodes strikes out at bat. Down 4-1, with two innings to go, we’re not playing our best today.
Blame it on the heat. Blame it on the travel. Blame it on any one of the million possibilities there could be to having an off game. It’d be impossible to play a perfect 162.
What I don’t expect to blame it on is player dynamics, but two of them are practically getting into a fight on their way back to the dugout.
Harrison is in Isaiah’s face, saying something to him, which I assume is about Isaiah’s not so pretty at-bat or the fact that he couldn’t bring Harrison home.
Isaiah shakes his head, continuing to the dugout and trying to shrug him off, but Harrison doesn’t let up.
He keeps talking shit, pushing his chest against Isaiah’s shoulder.
I can tell you right now, he picked the wrong fucking guy.
And not because I think Isaiah Rhodes is going to do anything about it.
He’s laid-back and just wants everyone to have a good time.
But his field manager views him as part of his family, and I know how Emmett gets when someone he cares about is disrespected.
And just as I suspected, Emmett’s protective side comes roaring to life when the two players near the dugout. He reaches over the railing, stopping Harrison at the top of his stairs by grabbing the front of his uniform and pulling his attention to Emmett instead of Isaiah.
Then he lays into him.
I mean, he fucking lets him have it.
I, obviously, have no idea what he says, but I can tell it’s working by the fear on Harrison’s face. It doesn’t hurt that Emmett’s practically towering over the guy.
This little interaction is going to be all over the sports networks tonight, and I have a feeling Emmett could not care less.
I also have a feeling that the verbal lashing he’s giving his player is not only about protecting Isaiah, but it also has a little something to do with what he overheard in the gym last night.
Emmett says one final thing and gets a tense head nod from Harrison. The force with which he was holding on to his jersey has the opposite effect when he releases him, and Harrison practically falls down the dugout stairs.
“Kaiser might be a problem,” my grandfather says.
I love my grandfather, but yeah. No shit. It’s exactly what I’ve been saying since I took over.
“And wow,” he exhales. “I have no idea what’s gotten into Monty.
I’ve never seen him this riled up before.
Plan to get questions about that interaction in any interviews you have coming up this week.
Go in prepared with a way you can spin that so it doesn’t look like our field manager has a personal vendetta against one of his players. ”
But he does.
With the conviction in which he told me to trade said player last night, I can promise you it’s personal.
I hate to admit it, but the protective thing is kind of doing it for me.
And by kind of, I mean completely. It’s completely doing it for me.
“I hope everything is okay with him,” my grandfather adds.
I huff a laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “Of course you’re not upset that he just created a PR nightmare for me. Emmett has always been your golden boy.”
“I don’t know that I’d put it like that.”
“Oh, come on. You threw money at any and everything he ever asked you for. I think the title is almost an understatement.”
My grandfather’s gray brows knit in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Emmett.” I gesture toward the dugout just as the players begin dispersing to their positions in the infield and outfield. “You let the club pay for anything he wanted. Things we didn’t exactly have the budget to cover. Whatever his star player needed, he got for him. From you.”
“Hey now.” He holds a hand up. “You’re as big a Kai Rhodes fan as any of us.”
True. But not the point I’m trying to make here.
“When Emmett asked that Kai have a nanny to travel with the team, you paid that salary. When Emmett asked that two of the plane seats get removed and, instead, have a crib installed for Max, you also paid for that.”
His confusion only deepens. “No, I didn’t.”
“Well, then who did?”
“Monty.”
I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.