chapter 37
Cincinatti
Maybe it was because I’d skipped lunch. Or maybe it was because Forte had left his gold chain at the hotel and I had to get a driver to take me there, then back, missing batting practice, all so he could put that nasty thing around his neck and still error.
It hadn’t been ‘right on the dresser’ like he’d said.
It’d been in the shower, coiled up next to a used bar of soap with various old man hairs stuck in it.
Whether it was due to hunger, or Forte’s errand, I was grouchy. We were also down by two, which made me jittery, my palms sweating as I hung off the dugout and watched Fernandez whiff.
“Ty.”
His voice was low, but I heard it, pushing off the fence and turning to Chase. He sat on the metal bench, his hat pushed back on his head, one hand rubbing at his mouth.
I said nothing, just raised an eyebrow.
He lifted his chin, nodding his head back. “A few rows up, the brunette in the tight red shirt.”
I fought to keep my expression level. “Yeah?”
“Get her number.”
I glanced back, Fernandez still at bat. An oh-and-two count, two outs on the board. I could tell you, without even seeing the pitcher’s curl, what was about to happen.
There was the smack of a ball against leather, and Chase leaned forward, coming to a stand, his hand working into his glove. “You got a problem with that, Little League?”
It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked to scout girls from the stands.
It was practically part of the job description.
A player saw a girl they wanted, they sent one of us over.
It had never bothered me before. But now, after his kiss, after our talks, it burned.
It burned hot and red and made me want to launch myself at him, fists swinging.
I shouldn’t have sent that text. I’d thought it was cute.
Witty. I’d thought it would make him more interested. Instead, he’d just moved on.
“She’s a Reds fan.” I spat out the response that I should have kept to myself.
“So?” he shrugged. “I like the forbidden.” He grinned at me, and I looked away, the dugout suddenly crowded, traffic moving both ways as we took the field.
“Brunette. Red shirt,” he reminded me, his smile wide, grabbing a ball from the stack and tossing it my way, my catch of it automatic.
“He bothering you, Ty?” The hand that clapped on my shoulder was big and strong, and I turned to meet our catcher’s eyes, ones filled with protective concern.
“No,” I managed. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” He climbed the steps and paused, one foot on the field.
“I’m sure,” I said, more conviction in my words. “Now go and shut this shit down.”
He laughed, bright white teeth shining out from his dark skin. “You know it, baby.” I watched him jog off, the crowd on their feet, stomping and cheering.
Swallowing a groan, I moved to my bag and grabbed a pen and pad of paper.
I like the forbidden.
A Reds fan. Talk about terrible taste. I took whatever warm and fuzzy feelings I had about Chase Stern and let them flutter out, caught by the wind, into the night sky.