CHAPTER 9
Over the next three weeks, the Bees men’s team managed to do something they hadn’t done in nearly a year: they tied three games in a row, which may not be deemed a huge success, but when wins counted for three points and ties for one, they were technically up for the first time in twelve months, and that had certainly boosted morale around the stadium.
The women’s team had lost the second game and tied the third, but as far as social media went, the city of Manchester was pleased with both teams.
Still, there was an argument to be had about practice times.
The men’s team practiced during the day, as they always had, which was exactly the issue Dawson and Marrero were arguing over in Scarlett’s office at the moment.
Dawson had her arms folded over her chest, leaning up against the wall, while the manager sat directly across from Scarlett, who was ignoring a series of vibrations coming from her phone as Marrero spoke.
“We’re only asking for two practices a week that take place in the morning. I don’t see why it’s so difficult.”
“I don’t know how they’re still trying to stick us with night practices,” Dawson interjected. “We’re the only ones with a win this year.”
“Look, I know it’s unfair, but that’s the schedule,” Scarlett said, glancing at her computer screen. “They have the pitch all morning six days out of the week. The away game this week frees up the pitch on Thursday. You want to call a practice then?”
“Come on,” Dawson said, pushing herself off the wall. “We can’t only practice on days they are away. We need at least two designated morning practices.”
Scarlett let out a breath. She agreed, of course, but having already broached the topic with Gary and Chard, both of whom threw up their hands when it came to pitch schedules, she knew she was going to have to talk to Theo about this, and she had been trying to avoid him ever since their impromptu excursion.
Not that there was any animosity between them.
On the contrary, Theo had become slightly less abrasive since their plane ride.
No, it was she who was trying her best to circumvent him, as she had started to picture him whenever Mr. Wrong Number texted her, and it was becoming an issue.
She had recently discovered during one of her late-night texting sessions that Mr. Wrong Number liked anise pizzelle cookies.
When she spotted them for sale at the café a few days later during her walk into work, she’d spontaneously bought a few dozen to give out in a job-well-done gesture for the teams and heard that Theo had devoured six at a single sitting.
That night, Scarlett had dreamed about Theo feeding her pizzelle on a black-and-gold-silk-sheeted bed. She had woken up smiling, until she realized how mortifying it was, and needless to say, she’d avoided him for the rest of the week. It was hard not to picture Mr. Wrong Number as Theo after that.
Scarlett pushed the memory from her mind and leaned back in her chair. “Listen, I can try to talk to Ross, but I wouldn’t expect much from it. Oh! Have we heard about the alternate jerseys yet? They were supposed to be in by now.”
“Supposedly, they’ll be delivered in another week or two,” Marrero said.
“Outrageous that we had to start the season without them. Listen, try your best with Ross, if you can. You might be able to catch them before the rain starts.” She stood as she pointed out the window.
Heavy gray clouds gathered in the distance.
“I’m not expecting much, but hopefully with Ross’s new attitude, he might be a little more open to change. ”
“You think he has a new attitude?” Scarlett asked.
“Seems so. Or rather, he’s less of a grump since they started tying their games.”
Scarlett nodded, realizing that was likely why the entire men’s team had been so chipper recently. Maybe that would work in her favor.
“See you later,” she said as Marrero left. Dawson dropped into the chair and smirked at Scarlett. “What?”
“Don’t what me. Business time is over. Now tell me what’s going on between you and Mr. Wrong Number.”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “You already know.”
“No, I don’t. The last thing you told me was about a possible date night…”
“It’s not a real date night. We’re not meeting up or anything. We were going to sort of… watch a movie together.”
“Together, separately?”
“Yes.”
“God, you’re old school.”
Scarlett folded her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re supposed to be sexting, and you’re setting up date nights?” Dawson gave her a disbelieving expression. “You’re literally dating him.”
“I am not, and we are sexting.”
“Really? What was the last thing he sent you, then?”
The back of Scarlett’s neck prickled. She had wanted to sext, liked the idea of it, but she was pretty horrible at it.
No doubt Mr. Wrong Number noticed, because he had shifted their conversations to other things, like movies, and to be honest, she was grateful.
She wasn’t the type to have an anonymous sexual fling, regardless how removed she was from the act.
But it hadn’t made her like Mr. Wrong Number any less. On the contrary, the more they spoke about things—personal things, their likes and dislikes—Scarlett found herself becoming more interested.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Pfft!”
“We’re also talking, okay? Movies came up, and it sort of evolved into this thing…” Dawson scoffed again. “Hey, there aren’t any rules about this sort of thing, okay? If I want to text some guy while watching an old movie, I think I’m entitled to.”
“So, when is your date? Tonight?”
“No. Tonight, I’m going out with my roommate, Maxie, and her friends. We’re supposed to have our movie night Sunday.”
Dawson’s mouth curved. “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh what?”
“You like him.”
“Of course I do.”
“No, I mean, you like him like him.”
Scarlett’s brow lifted. “Yeah,” she said sarcastically. “I know.”
“No,” Dawson said, shaking her head. “What I mean is, you’re actually interested in him, as, like, potential boyfriend material.”
“What? No. No, this is strictly a texting thing. It’s not serious.”
“What movie are you going to watch?”
“Some Like It Hot.”
Dawson frowned. “Which one’s that?”
“It’s a Billy Wilder movie from the fifties,” Scarlett said, waving her hand in the air. “It’s streaming, and it’s one of my favorites, so—”
“So, you picked it?”
“Yes.”
Dawson sat back, smiling triumphantly. “See? You do like him. You want him to share one of your favorite movies with you because you like him.”
“Okay. You can leave.”
“Tell me this: did you at least try sexting him?”
Scarlett’s cheeks warmed as she remembered their little session late last night.
To be honest, nothing had ever turned her on more, and while she had initially sought out Dawson’s help, she now felt somewhat strange sharing such personal goings-on between her and a man whose name she didn’t even know.
Wow. She was pathetic.
Dawson, however, appeared gleeful. “You hesitated.”
“It’s going fine,” Scarlett said. “But I really do have a lot of work things going on, so if you can get going…?”
“Damn. You’re proper smitten with this guy.”
“I am not.”
“Fine,” Dawson said, holding up her hands. “Don’t admit it. It’s no big deal to me. But be cautious. You don’t know who this guy is.”
“I’m aware of that, yes.”
“Seriously. He could be married. Or have a brood of children.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Because he told you he didn’t?” Dawson asked, brows raised. “Don’t be too sure about it. People can hide all sorts of things, you know.”
Scarlett had been cautious in the beginning, even asking him point-blank, but his answer about believing or not believing being her choice, well, it had come off as sort of inconsequential.
It didn’t bother him if she believed him or not, and because of that, she believed him. But maybe she was being too trusting?
“Listen, I’ve got to go, but be careful, okay?” Dawson said as she stood.
Scarlett stood too, hoping to reach the pitch before the last half of the men’s practice. Pocketing her phone, she walked out of her office with Dawson.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said as they made their way down the hallway. “It’s sort of like a game. You know, like the ones on your phone that get addictive until they stop being entertaining. That’s what it’s like.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. I don’t actually think there’s any sort of future between me and Mr. Wrong Number. It’s for fun. Besides, it can’t be anything serious.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I might not be here at the end of the season. I’m only contracted for one year. If the Bees fail to win or Chard finds that the team no longer requires me, I’m out of a job.”
“Chard isn’t going to let you go. You’ve already convinced Ross to rearrange his team, which has led to three ties, and the social media presence is wild.
It’s like the entire city finally realized they had another team in their backyard—well, a Championship League team, anyway,” she said with a wink.
Scarlett was pleased to hear that. She had been anxious after the first men’s game that there wasn’t room for the Bees to find a following, but since the women’s win and the men’s ties, the official team account had generated a hundred thousand followers.
Added to their previous seventy-five thousand, the team almost had two hundred thousand followers now.
Splitting from Dawson, Scarlett headed down the staircases that led to the locker rooms. As she reached the landing, however, she could hear the familiar clanks and bangs of iron.
Curving to her left and walking a ways down, she saw the large glass windows that walled off the stadium’s training facilities.
It was a gym with dozens of treadmills, bikes, weight machines, and massage areas where the team would sometimes work out of when the weather was bad, and evidently, they had decided to use it today.