Chapter 4 #2
“Yes,” she replies, her expression remaining indifferent.
“And although you’re trusting me, against any attorney worth his fee, I’ll give you the quick notes.
” When I glance at her, her eyes are already fixed on mine.
Before I have a chance to read anything more into it, she blinks and turns her gaze back to the paperwork.
“This is the part that states your appearance fee is waived in lieu of a donation being made in your name.” I sign while she keeps talking.
“And this paragraph says that the company will match that donation to double it. Two schools. Two donations. We really want to see these teams thrive and create the next generation of players.”
“I was raised on those fields and developed my skills on that diamond in Peachtree Pass.” I sign the other line and hand the pen back to her.
“I’m happy to support the teams in return.
That I get to play baseball while doing it seems like a no-brainer to give back to the town that gave me the opportunity. ”
When she looks up at me, only embers remain of the fire that was burning angry hot inside her eyes a few minutes prior.
Even the corners have softened as she turns away to study the paperwork.
I’m only given a flash of a glance before she smiles, tearing her gaze away again.
“Guess my job here is finished for the day.”
I recognize that smile when it was sprinkled throughout our time together and sandwiched between some unforgiving hour of the night and before the sun rose in the morning.
We didn’t know each other at all, but peace was found in our physical connection, and the comfort I felt while holding her in my arms. We had sex, but afterward, she was mine for a brief time. And I was so fucking hers.
Now, I hardly recognize her. It’s not her looks that have changed so much. It’s her openness, the calm she shared through confidence, and our bond. I shake the memories away because it’s best not to dwell on the past. I learned that after my mom passed away.
“Mission accomplished.” Wanting to try her name on for size, I add, “Cricket.” I’d never pinned one to her prior despite many crossing my mind over the years.
Cricket isn’t one I would have ever guessed, but seeing how she angles her chin to give me a full view of her face again, it somehow fits. “That’s a memorable name.”
“Too memorable on some occasions. That’s why I don’t always volunteer it.”
I’m still shocked she’s standing in front of me like it’s the first time, like we didn’t exist altogether in a different time and place before this. “I know.”
Somehow, that’s the thing that wins a genuine smile from her. “That’s my bad, habits and all that.”
“Cricket, huh? Like the bug.”
She arches an eyebrow as sharp as her tongue can be when I’m not more careful. “I consider it more like the sport.” She raises her chin even higher in defiance. “Since it’s another bat and ball game, like baseball.”
I laugh humorlessly. “It’s nothing like baseball, though I can see how some might be easily confused when they’re not as familiar with the ins and outs of the game.”
An emotional cold front blows in, returning the tension to her body, her back straighter, stiffer, the windows to her soul closed shut, and her smile on lockdown.
It happened so fast I didn’t see it coming, much less have time to say anything to stop it.
Though I’m fairly certain it’s what I said that opened the door for it to blow in.
And now she’s staring at me like I crossed a line. Again, though I wasn’t the one stalking her for a signature—for an autograph or a contract. She kneels to tuck the paperwork into her bag like it personally offended her.
She effectively shuts down further discussion, turning her back to me to speak to Coach. “You needed something, Coach Barth?”
Opportunity lost.
“Yeah, the feedback over the speakers from the announcers’ booth is still not fixed,” he says. “I called in the guys to take another look. I’m hoping to get this sorted before the game this week.”
“We need it working, but have them send me the invoice, and you keep me updated.” She only glances at me briefly, her armor back in place, shielding her from the possibility of this turning too friendly for her liking.
That’s too bad because the past four years have only made her more gorgeous than she already was, referencing my memories.
And although she wasn’t as—should I say—temperamental back then, it’s not something that would turn me away now.
But what will do the trick is her forgetting we’ve ever met, much less had sex.
Fan-fucking-tastic sex at that. It was unforgettable for me, but seeing how she hasn’t acknowledged our past, I guess we don’t feel the same.
That’s too bad, but I’m not going out of my way to remind her. I’ll be too busy nursing this blow to my ego for the rest of the night. “Anything else?” I’m ready to get on my way.
“Nope.” She spins on her sneakers, causing her hair to swing around her shoulders, and marches toward the parking lot, lugging that heavy-ass leather bag of hers. Waving over her shoulder, she calls back, “Good night, Coach Barth.”
Wow. Guess I’m chopped liver over here . . .
Two can play that game, sweetheart.
“Night,” he replies, looking at me like I fucked up. Shaking his head, he says, “It’s probably best to know who your bosses are.”
“First of all, I don’t have a boss. It’s a game I’ve volunteered for. Nothing else.”
Grabbing my shoulder, he squeezes it. “Let me give you a little advice, son. Don’t piss off a woman. She’ll make your life hell. But especially never piss off a woman with the last name of Dover. You’ll be paying that price for the rest of your days and nights.”
Dover? “Wait. Back up.” No. Fucking. Way. “As in Dover Creek Winery?”
“Yep.” He nods with pride as if he had a hand in it. “Family owned and operated for more than forty years.”
What are the odds I hooked up with a Dover in Costa Rica? Pretty slim, I’d imagine. If not nil. “Dover as in the town of Dover Creek?”
“One and the same,” he replies, starting back toward the door to the locker room.
I’m having a hard time piecing this together in my brain. How is this even possible that two people who met in another country, and did a lot more than that, just so happen to also be a Dover and a Greene from the same tiny part of the world? “Let me guess . . . Dover as in Dover County?”
Using his foot as a doorstop, he nods again. “The very ones. Owners of the Armadillos and this here stadium.” Sympathy structures his face to fall as if I’ve already got one foot in the grave. He adds, “It was nice knowing ya, Greene.”
“Come on,” I waver, which is not something I often do. “How bad can it really be? It was a simple mistake. How was I supposed to know she was part of the family who owns the team?” Throwing my arms wide, I plead my case. “She never told me.” He’s not the judge and jury I’m worried about, though.
“If you say so.”
“Way to have my back, Coach.”
He chuckles. “I value my job more, kid.” The guy is like twenty years older than me at most, and I’m still considered a kid?
I laugh as he disappears. But when I turn back to face the parking lot, I realize what this new information really means.
The issue at hand isn’t that she’s a boss over me, because she’s not.
It’s that she’s a Dover of the namesake county I’ve spent my formative years being told was the enemy by most folk in Peachtree Pass.
I head to the truck, wondering what mess I’ve gotten myself into by coming back here. Who would have ever guessed?
Of all the people in this vast world I could have hooked up with, it had to be Cricket Dover . . .
Fuck me.