17. HOPE
CHAPTER 17
HOPE
“ D o you remember the pitches?” the cowboy asks me once he has stopped his truck at a secluded corner of the parking lot, but with the same seriousness he exudes during an important game play.
“I think so.” I tug at the sleeves of my cardigan, for lack of anything better to do.
“Run through them,” the catcher suggests from the backseat.
I swallow hard, audibly. Starr unbuckles himself to turn slightly toward me on his seat and rests his arm on the top of his steering wheel. It strikes me for the first time right now, years after working with him in the team, that he’s massive. He takes up so much space in this gigantic truck that feels like it’s swallowing me.
But I glance back and Kim and Rivera also look barely comfortable in the spacious backseat, so I don’t know why this would be a big deal.
I clear my throat. It isn’t. My mind’s just been momentarily addled by so much manly cologne wafting in the air.
“Pitch one,” I start, “Play with my hair—tuck it, twirl it, run my hands through it or whatever.” I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes.
Starr nods. “Good. Pitch two?”
“Lean forward,” I respond, folding my arms. This one’s gonna be a challenge because my floral dress has a cleavage that’s significantly deeper than I’m used to, which isn’t a lot anyway. The key part is that I’m not used to it.
“Pitch three?”
“Find some natural way to laugh.” I cringe a little. “Maybe let’s not use that one too frequently. I don’t have one of those cute little twinkling laughs that makes guys melt.”
From the back, Rivera says, “Unfortunately this is more about him than about you. Guys like to feel like they’re smart and funny, and getting a laugh is the way to know they’re on the right track.”
“Ugh,” I grouch.
“Pitch four.” Starr’s still staring at me. We’re only illuminated by the faint lights from the dashboard and the streetlights outside, and a beam from somewhere makes his eyes look almost unnatural. Like glass that shines from within. It’s pretty freaky and mesmerizing in equal measures.
It takes a moment for my brain to restart normal function. “Right. That one is about asking him a question.”
Starr bobs his head. “I’ll use this one in the odd chance I see you talking most of the time. But pitch five?”
“The opposite. If he’s talking too much, I should ask him if he doesn’t want to know something about me.”
“That’s right. Be bold, Garcia,” says Kim right behind me.
While I huff, Starr asks, “Pitch six?”
“Pretend to use the restroom to strategize with you weirdoes.”
“Seven?”
“That’s the wild pitch,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “The one about doing something absolutely bananas to get his attention. If you call for this one I will break both of your wrists.”
Starr’s lips twitch. “Eight?”
I relax in my seat. “This one is you asking me for a sign in case I need to be bailed out.”
“And what’s the sign?”
“I’ll tug my ear.”
“Last but not least, pitch nine,” he finishes.
“A heads up that you’re bailing me out no matter what I think.”
“Good girl.” Before I can react, Starr reaches over and ruffles my hair like I’m a dog.
“Hey! My roommates spent hours getting me ready.” I bat his paw away and comb my hair with my fingers, glaring at him all throughout.
“Is the receiver secure?” he asks as if nothing’s amiss.
“Yes,” I grumble, still glaring at him. “Rose used a million bobby pins to hold it in place just above my left ear and you almost ruined it with your greasy paw.”
“Greasy? I’ll have you know I showered.”
Yeah, I know. They had a game today and no doubt showered before even hopping on the plane back. It’s why their colognes have smelled so strong since they picked me up in Starr’s truck.
“Ready?” Kim asks. “Like, no pressure but I really need to breathe fresh air.”
“Me too.” Rivera straight up opens his door.
Starr’s face morphs into annoyance as he looks back at his bestie. “I told you to stop roughhousing while I was getting ready.”
“Not my fault you spilled your aftershave all over yourself, butter fingers.”
“Ohh, so this is why I’ve been almost choking,” I say, also opening my door.
Kim grunts. “I told you, you should’ve showered again.”
While turning off his car, Starr says, “Do you want me to turn into a prune like you, old man?”
I snort. As if Kim isn’t barely a year older than him.
I slide off the seat and my feet land on the asphalt before my dress skirt settles back down. Twirling around quickly, I find that Starr’s attention is still fixed on the backseat where more barbs are shooting his way. I exhale in relief, because it means he didn’t see my comfy boy shorts underneath.
“Well, wish me luck, you guys.” I clutch at the strap of the little purse Audrey lent me, but it gives me no strength back.
“You got this, mami,” yells Rivera from the back.
“We got you,” Kim says in contrast.
All Starr does is drag the sleeve of his bomber jacket up to show me the transmitter of the PitchCom around his waist.
This is the single most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done in my life: have someone else give me instructions on what to do in a date—and even more when they come from a guy .
But this is exactly what I’ve needed all along. I’ve sat paralyzed with fear of failure and fear of being hurt in too many dates. I admit freely that I don’t know how this game works, and the only reason I ever had one boyfriend was because I already knew him. Or thought I knew him… semantics.
I take a deep breath that brings more of Starr’s aftershave into my lungs and shut the passenger door. After smoothening the wrinkles off my dress, I make my way through the parking lot and walk into the restaurant.
A hostess immediately greets me with, “Welcome! How can I help you?”
“Um, reservation under Frank?” I hate the uncertain tinge in my voice, but I have actually come into a date in these exact circumstances, only to discover that the guy never made a reservation and of course didn’t show up at all.
“Of course,” she says in a peppy way, to my utter relief. “Please follow me.”
Welp. Like it’s a magic trick, my heart rate immediately rises as we walk across the restaurant. The hostess is taller than me and hides the view until we’re close enough, and I recognize Frank the high school chemistry teacher sitting at a table, head bowed down while he reads something on his phone. Props to him that his thumb isn’t swiping right or left while waiting for his date.
“Here you go.” The hostess stops by him, motioning at the free chair that will have me sit with my back to the door. I won’t be able to see the arrival of the three baseball stooges, but it is what it is.
“Hi.” I try for a smile and a wave of my hand as the hostess abandons us—me, abandons me —but there’s no reaction from Frank, other than blinking up at me. Slowly, I lower my hand. “Um…”
“Oh, hi! Of course. Hi.” He jumps to his feet and offers his hand for a handshake like this is a business meeting.
I shake it because what else can I possibly do? But I don’t like his hand. Not because it’s clammy with the same nervous sweat that’s coating my own, but because it’s too smooth. More than mine. It’s just so unfamiliar.
We both take our seats in uncomfortable silence. Audrey’s purse falls over my thighs and I lift the strap over my head, twisting to hang it from the back of the chair. And I don’t know how or why, but I lift my face and make direct eye contact with Cade Starr.
He has his chin propped on his hand, watching me. They’ve found a table clear across the floor plan, slightly farther up so my dating coach can catch all the action easily. I don’t know if that’s more unnerving or relieving, knowing that I’m not alone. But I really wish he was looking at the menu right now like the other two are doing.
Like it’s no biggie and he does this everyday, Starr tugs at his sleeve and presses a button. Even though I know it’s coming, I still stiffen at his recorded voice softly whispering the word one above my ear.
I tuck my hair behind my tingling ear and turn to my date. He’s still blinking at me like he’s seeing a ghost or something.
“So…”
That snaps him out of the trance and a slow grin takes over his features. He’s cute in a boy next door type of way and the smile does him justice. “Sorry about that,” he says while clearing his throat, “I was just stunned by how beautiful you are.”
“Uh, thanks.” My face twitches and I force a smile out. That is such a canned phrase that of course I only receive while I’m wearing a dress that’s a bit too revealing. I wonder if he’d notice if I try to close the cardigan over my chest and over the open triangle that shows a sliver of stomach.
“I’m sorry if this is forward of me but I can’t believe you’re single.” He leans forward and props to him that he keeps his attention on my face. “Can I ask why?”
“Why I’m single?” I repeat, my hand sliding towards the napkin I want to use for blotting the sweat of my brow.
“ Two .”
A tiny gasp escapes from my lips at the instruction. I abandon the idea of the napkin and instead prop my elbows on the table to lean forward. Frank’s eyes fly to my chest for a second too long, and I don’t give a shit about Starr’s instructions anymore. I lean all the way back against my chair.
“Hi, my name is Mandy and I’ll be your server tonight,” a woman says appearing beside us. “Are you ready to order or do you need a few minutes?”
I open my mouth but Frank is quicker. To me, he asks, “Since this is a seafood restaurant I assume you don’t have any allergies, right?”
“Oh, yeah. None.”
“Great.” He turns to the server. “Then we’re going to start with the oysters for two and the white Zinfandel.”
Mandy gives me a quick look but I’ve turned into a statue. “Good choices, sir. Please call me if you need anything else.” She retreats quickly.
That’s when I notice my mouth has been hanging open this whole time. I snap it shut and glance down at the menu that I haven’t even had a chance to touch.
Is it too early to tug at my ear? Because a guy ordering for me with no consideration for what I want is a red flag the size of Texas. And like, yeah, at least he checked that nothing here could send me to the hospital. But maybe he could’ve taken a second to ask if I even like the goopy things. Better yet, let me order for my own damn self.
I slide my hands below the table so he can’t see how hard I’m squeezing my fists.
“So, why are you single?” he asks again, holding his chin like he’s ready to hear my life story.
Not only do I not owe him that, I also have zero interest in sharing it.
“It’s just how things shook up. How about you?” I ask in return, without even waiting for the pitch four call.
With a chagrinned expression, he says, “I’m just coming out of a long relationship that didn’t work out…” He trails off, giving me an expectant look I can’t decipher. “Aren’t you gonna ask me why it didn’t work out?”
“Oh.” I squirm, trying to find a more comfortable spot on the plush chair. “No, I wasn’t going to. That’s private.”
He laughs. “But isn’t that what we’re here for? To get to know each other?”
“I guess but?—”
“She cheated on me.” Frank sighs, shaking his head of thinning dirty blond hair. “With another teacher at my school.”
“Oof, that’s rough.” I stretch my lips in a cringe of sympathy. I can relate more than he knows.
“Would you like to taste the wine, sir?” a different server says, holding a chilled white bottle wrapped in a white linen cloth, completely ignoring me. He must think I don’t like wine, which is a mistake, or that I don’t have a discerning palate—which isn’t the point.
So what if I can’t tell apart notes of oak barrel casket or grapes from California versus Chile? I recognize tasty versus yuck, so why am I being dismissed here?
While the male server and Frank do their tasting dance, I toss a glance over at the table with baseball boys. Kim’s the first to react and smacks Starr’s arm with enough force to make the guy wince while he’s drinking water. He turns his attention to me and sees something in my face that has him pressing a button on the transmitter.
“ Six .”
I shake my head slightly, like I’m the pitcher rejecting her catcher’s call. It’s not time yet to regroup.
“Excellent, very rich,” Frank says in a way that feels rehearsed, and it occurs to me that he was here earlier than me. Who’s to say he didn’t rope the sommelier into this little theater to appear cultured and worldly?
I bite my lips, almost appreciating the effort. Literally not one of my other dates tried anywhere this hard for me.
I glance down. Is this the power of a little boob?
No, he couldn’t have known I was going to wear this dress.
I wonder if he might’ve changed tack if I showed up in my usual sport polo and windbreaker, with joggers smeared in dirt from a baseball field or grease from some exercise machine. Probably not.
What if other dates also meant to make an effort and decided that I wasn’t worth it based on how I looked? Like, obviously that means they weren’t the right person for me all along. But I also don’t want a guy who tries extra hard just because I’m wearing clothes that show off what my momma gave me.
The server pours two generous cups for us and the second he goes away, I take a healthy sip of the wine.
“So, Hope. What do you do for a living?” Frank asks, apparently not recalling that we already had this conversation via chat. Then again, he must be talking with twenty other women at the same time and can’t get facts straight.
Annoyed but trying to replicate Rosalina’s beauty pageant smile, I say, “I’m an athletic trainer for the Orlando Wild.”
“Wow.” His eyes sweep down and up my frame again. “No wonder you’re so stunning. You must work out a lot.”
This is dangerously close to a territory other guys have shown me they dislike. It’s like they love a hot woman, but she can’t be more dedicated to her fitness than they are because then she’s self absorbed.
“Ah, yes. Nowhere near the level of elite athletes, though,” I say carefully, trying to steer him away from delving deeper into my exercise regime.
“Anything going on with any of the players though?” he asks with a too-loud laugh. “Just want to know if I have competition, you know?”
“No, I’m a professional and so are they.” Ish. He doesn’t have to know that.
“ Three ,” whispers the recorded voice of one such professional athlete over my ear. He must’ve guessed it was the timing, based on Frank’s laughter. The last thing I want to do is pretend like this is a hee-hee-ha-ha moment because I’m so annoyed, but whatever. I drop an awkward chuckle to flatter him.
“Oysters for two.” Mandy settles the whole paraphernalia on the table, a wide plate of oysters sitting on ice, two little plates with lime slices and some kind of sauce. A second server places a basket with steaming bread and butter cubes sliding down the crust slopes as well.
“Excellent!” Frank tucks in right away, grabbing an oyster and squeezing some lime on it and sucking it with gusto. I end up using a host of muscle groups in an effort not to cringe visibly.
Instead, I grab some of the warm bread and start with that.
“You need to try the oysters, they are truly incredible. Here.” He takes one, squeezes lime juice on it, and offers it to me.
I guess it would be rude if I reject it right away. Leaving the yummy bread on my plate, I take the oyster. Maybe if I look at the ceiling instead of at the slimy insides I won’t hate it as much. Bracing myself, I bring it to my lips and suck like he did.
Oh my word. I hate it. We should’ve gone to a burger joint or something. I thought I’d order some fancy ahi tuna, not this .
I set the empty shell on my plate and swallow without even attempting to chew. The quicker the feeling and the taste disappear from my mouth, the better. I reach for the wine to wash it all down.
Frank leans back, sighing. “Damn, you’re so sexy. I could watch you eat oysters all night.”
I choke slightly. It takes me a second to comprehend how his words can even relate to me eating a disgusting oyster. And then I realize it’s because it requires sucking and my skin crawls to the point where I break into goosebumps. The really bad kind.
Calmly, I set the wine glass down and tug at my ear. When nothing happens right away, I tug twice more for good measure.
Like he doesn’t notice my discomfort, Frank continues talking. “Did you know that oysters are an aphrodisiac? I never really believed it until this moment.”
The oyster must’ve been alive because it’s climbing up my throat—fast.
“Hope?”
I snap my face up. Never has Cade Starr used my first time, and never has it sounded more beautiful than in this very moment.
Behind him are Logan Kim and Lucky Rivera, and I’ve never liked these guys as much as I do right now.
“Guys!” I exclaim in a very exaggerated way.
“Fancy running into you,” Rivera says, hands on his hips like he can’t believe the surprise.
Frank gasps. “Wait, Cade Starr? And Logan Kim?”
Rivera points at himself but Frank pointedly ignores him, like he doesn’t know who our shortstop is. If I wasn’t sufficiently annoyed before, I’m even more so right now. Lucky’s one of the best shortstops of the league right now and doesn’t deserve the snub.
“Sorry to interrupt your date,” Starr says with the kind of smile that could see him through presidential elections. “We couldn’t help but saying hi to the best trainer in the Wild organization.”
“Why don’t you guys give Frank your autographs while I head to the restroom?” I say while pushing my chair away from the table.
“That would be amazing.” Frank starts looking around for something they can sign, and Kim comes to the rescue.
He pulls out a small notepad from his back pocket and opens it to a blank page. “What’s the name?”
I stand up and take my borrowed purse. Just as I’m side stepping around the towering baseball players, a hand shoots out of nowhere and grabs my wrist. I recognize the callouses even before I look up to find our starter pitcher, turned sideways from the table to slide his car key into my hand. I grip it tight and nod my thanks, and he lets me go.
I’m more relaxed than I’d have imagined for someone who is trying to escape a bad date. But then I get to the restrooms and start panicking because this is the stark opposite direction from the door.
How am I going to escape without Frank noticing me tiptoeing up to the front? There’s only so much distraction three autographs will grant me.
“Can I help you, miss?” Mandy, our server, appears right behind me.
“Oh my gosh, yes. I need to escape that creepy guy.”
She cringes. “Yikes, bad date, huh?”
“He said he could watch me eat oysters all night and did I know they’re an aphrodisiac?”
“Sis, say no more.” She casts a furtive glance around. “Come with me. I’ll sneak you out of the kitchen.”
I waste no time in following her, but the fact that none of the staff balk at some random chick walking between them through the kitchen tells me this is probably not the first time something like this happens.
Sure enough, Mandy leads me out of an exit that opens directly to the dumpsters in the back of the parking lot.
“Did you bring your car?” she asks me and I show her Starr’s key in my hand. “Good. And don’t worry, I’ll pretend like I know nothing.”
“Thank you so much.” I widen my eyes, reacting a second later for my purse. “Wait, please let me give you a tip.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“No, trust me. You’re saving me from a big mess.” I pull a Cade Starr and hold her wrist, leaving a twenty on her hand because that’s all I have on me in cash. If I had a Benjamin I’d give her that. “Thank you.”
“We need to have each other’s backs.” She reaches out for a hug that I return enthusiastically and we part ways—her back to the kitchen, and me to furtively sneak into Starr’s truck to wait for them.