Chapter 16 #2
As Logan settles into the chair, I glance down and swipe my screen, deleting the recording from Lucas that I never hit stop on. As much as I’d love to listen to us flirting when no one’s around, that’s the kind of risk that would blow the lid on this whole operation.
Logan’s eyes flick from my phone to me. “Did you mean to delete that?”
“Shoot, no. Sorry, Lucas. Want to go again?”
Lucas shakes his head easily. “Nope. I’ve got it. Let’s switch to Logan.”
Logan leans back, folding his arms, looking too closely. “Actually, you’ve spent a lot of time with Lucas this week. Why doesn’t Lukie show me how it’s done?”
“You want to mock interview me?” Lucas asks, looking like Logan just gave him a pony. “Yes! Let’s do this!”
I watch Lucas get into “media mode” with too much confidence. Logan’s not the open book his brother is, but after six weeks of fake dating Jake with paparazzi hounding us, I know when someone’s setting a trap.
“Okay,” I say. “Remember, most reporters aren’t looking for analysis.
They’re looking for emotion, looking to make you slip.
And they’re experts at asking questions that make you feel defensive or responsible.
Or sometimes they’ll act like your friends so you feel like you owe them ‘transparency,’ when you don’t,” I continue, looking at Logan more than Lucas. He’s stone-faced. “Got it?”
They both nod.
“All right. With that in mind, picture this. It’s a long, blisteringly hot day, and you’re exhausted. You came into the eighth two runs up, walked the first batter, and then barely missed a two-strike pitch. Bam. Tie game. Everything went downhill from there.”
They both straighten.
I look at Lucas, in character. “Tough loss today, especially with you pitching right into that two-run homer. Why do you think you couldn’t hold the lead?”
“I give my best every game. I guess his stuff was better than mine today.”
“Too defensive,” I say. “Try something like, ‘I attacked the zone and made a mistake. All I can do is learn from it and do better next time.’”
Lucas nods, but before I can ask another question, Logan cuts in. “What about pressure? It’s your first season in the majors. Are you sure you have what it takes?”
“Pressure’s not a problem—it’s what makes me stronger. Helps me push myself.”
Logan’s eyes narrow. Then he asks, “And what happens if distractions in your personal life start affecting performance?”
Lucas cocks his head to the side. “We all have lives when we step off the field. Guys have sick kids. They lose a grandparent. Their wives get into accidents.”
“What if you’re not them?”
“I’m not them,” Lucas says. “I don’t know how anyone else deals with it, but all I can tell you is the moment I step on the mound, baseball’s the only thing on my mind.”
It’s a great answer, but Logan isn’t satisfied, and I wonder how much of this is about Lucas and how much is about him. “What if some of that drama spills over to your teammates? Aren’t you afraid of your personal life interfering with your team?”
Lucas holds Logan’s eye. “Not at all. Baseball has always been personal for me. My dad’s one of the most respected umps in the league—you all know Bruce.
” He smiles, as if he’s not talking to his brother.
“My sister works for the Firebirds. I’ve been playing ball with my brother at every level since I was in preschool. ”
He’s taken the question in a different direction—masterfully—but a reporter would sniff that out.
So does his brother.
“Family is one thing. What about other teammates? We’ve all seen how a single player can poison the entire clubhouse.”
“That’s not who I am,” he says with a smile. “Look at me. I’m a human antidote.”
I choke back a laugh, and Logan shakes his head. Lucas was born for the spotlight.
“Well, crap, looks like you really have been working,” Logan says.
“I’m not completely useless.” Lucas’s voice isn’t sharp, so why does it prick me?
I look at him—really look, for half a second. There’s something under the easy grin that I almost recognize. Like he’s been waiting his whole life for someone to take him seriously, and he’s learned to make a joke of it before anyone else can.
I know that feeling.
“I didn’t think you were,” Logan says. “I thought you were too busy flirting to get anything done.”
“And now I’m the one offended,” I say. “Are you accusing me of cheating on my boyfriend or simply being that bad at my job?”
Logan’s face reddens. “Neither. I just know my brother.”
“Do you have any idea how rude you’re being?” I ask, folding my arms. “First, he’s not a cheater. And second, he’s way too smart to squander the opportunity he’s worked for his entire life. What are you thinking?”
Logan’s red face has deepened, but he doesn’t look cowed the way he should. “I know that. I just—”
“Are you testing me?”
Lucas holds out his hands. “Okay, okay, I think this has gone far enough. Logan, I get it: I was amazing in that mock interview, and you’re a tool when you’re jealous.
Scottie, thanks for defending my honor. Whenever you get tired of Jake, I’ll be here.
” He winks at me, and it’s the perfect deflection. Decoy. Whatever.
Logan huffs. “Sorry, Scottie. And you, too, Lukie.”
“All good,” Lucas says, but I’m not sure I’m ready.
“I’ll forgive you,” I say, “if you do well enough in your mock interview.” I glance at the calendar on my monitor. “And since we’re all being professionals again, after this we’re going to talk Arizona logistics. Transportation, lodging, schedule, all of it. Sound good?”
They both nod.
“Then Logan, you’re in the hot seat. Imagine this …”
***
By the end of the day, I’m sort of over the Fischer twins.
When Logan isn’t being a patronizing goober, he’s a decent guy, and he and Lucas start speaking their own language that consists of weird looks and inside jokes that I can’t begin to follow.
“Logan, what were you thinking when Rodriguez’s ball turned foul—”
“Foul ball!” Lucas interrupts.
“‘Oh no!’” Logan cries, clearly quoting someone from some time or other. “‘That’s my Hyundai!’”
And they both crack up.
“All right, we’ve clearly passed any semblance of productivity,” I say, although if I were being truthful, their schtick would be charming in interviews. Should I tell them that?
It’s your literal job, a super lame part of me says.
Ugh.
My eyes zip between them. “Annoying as it was, though, it’s the kind of thing reporters will tolerate and fans will absolutely love.”
They look at each other with nearly identical grins.
Goobers. Both of them.
I stop recording and shift my monitor so they can see the calendar I have on it.
“Now let’s talk logistics. You two are leaving Sunday.
Driving together, correct?” They nod in unison.
“Great. Get in some media practice every day. I’ll send you more videos, but ask each other the toughest questions you can think of and practice until you nail every one.
And make sure you go over the rules we talked about on Wednesday.
Doug’s going to be watching you two closely on and off the field.
You’ll have mandatory curfews and room checks.
No alcohol or partying allowed, and no guests in your hotel room. ”
They give me identical faces of disgust.
“What do you take us for—” Logan starts.
“—a pair of idiots?” Lucas finishes.
I stare at them both.
Then Lucas smiles. “So how are you getting to Arizona?”
“All of ops is flying. The organization rents cars for staff.”
“So fancy,” Lucas teases.
“Putting up with you two has to come with some perks.”
“We probably deserve that,” Logan says. He stands up and holds out his hand. “Thanks for the help, Scottie. And sorry again about earlier. See you in a few days.”
“See you, Logan.”
He walks out of my office, leaving me alone with his brother, as if he isn’t worried I’m some man-eater.
He’s not worried because he doesn’t know what to worry about.
And that’s exactly the problem. I know Logan well enough now to understand that his protectiveness isn’t malicious—it’s just total.
If he knew Jake and I were fake, he’d stop treating Lucas’s feelings like a liability and start treating them like a cause.
And a cause is the last thing either of us needs right now.
One wrong word in the wrong room—to Coop, to a teammate, even to Liesel—and suddenly the story isn’t “Jake Rodgers and Scottie Quinn called it quits.” It’s “front-office staffer manufactured a relationship to manage a player’s reputation. ”
That’s not a headline. That’s a career ender.
For more than just me.
I’ve spent years being the person who makes problems disappear quietly. I can’t become the problem.
And Lucas—if Doug hears his newest prospect is tangled up in a fake-dating scheme before he’s thrown a single pitch in the Majors, Lucas’s time with the organization is done.
So Logan doesn’t get to know. Not yet. Not until Jake’s agent signs off and the exit is clean.
Jake said beginning of March. Just a few more weeks. I can handle it.
Because Lucas is here.
“Hey, I wanted to run one last thing by you,” Lucas says. “Mind if I close the door?”
“Go for it,” I say, unplugging my laptop from my monitor and sliding it into my bag.
He closes the door and then walks around the desk, where he holds a hand out to pull me up.
I take it.
And then he wraps his arms around me, holding me close. “I hope you don’t mind,” he says in a rough voice.
“What’s this for?” I ask, sinking into the feeling of his arms around me, something I’ve wanted for longer than I care to admit.
“Definitely not because I’m into you,” he says.
“Noted.”
“I just always hug people who help me with media training. You help me get my mental makeup straight? Instant hug. It’s a thing,” he says, overplaying the bit.
I don’t mind. His chest is solid and warm against my cheek, and his arms are secure without being tight. He smells clean from his shower, but the warm, smoky smell of leather from his glove seems to cling to him. I let myself breathe him in, and when I exhale, my shoulders drop.
He’s worked so hard for this. Harder than anyone gives him credit for, including his brother. Maybe even me.
“I’ll miss you,” he tells me. “Who’s going to fuel your addiction?”
“Funny enough, an anonymous admirer bought me a coffee maker,” I say, not letting go.
“Did he? Huh. He must be crazy about you.” He’s swaying now, shifting us from one foot to the next. It makes me breathe deeper.
“He’d better be,” I say.
“He is.”
We pull apart slowly, like we’re both reluctant to let go. He clears his throat. I smooth my blouse. And then we leave the office.
We don’t say a word about the hug, but it follows us through the halls, out the doors, and into the early evening air.
We walk side by side to the parking lot—not touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him, aware of every inch of space between us.
He stops at his truck. I stop at my car.
We look at each other for a beat too long, both smiling like idiots.
“Text me,” I say. “You know, to check in. Tell me how your mock interviews with Logan are going.”
“I will,” he promises.
With a small wave, I get into my car, excited for Spring Training for the first time since Jake and I—
Jake.
Jake is going to be at Spring Training.
My excitement dries up faster than rain in Phoenix.
I’m going to be fake dating the wrong guy in front of Mr. Right.
I put my hands on the wheel and sit there for a second, frozen.
I don’t know if I’m driving toward something or driving away.