20. CADE
CHAPTER 20
CADE
T here’s nothing peaceful and quiet about Spring Training—or the season, period—but we luck into having two days in a row with nearby games that allow us to sleep at home. It’s the perfect time to schedule this date between Garcia and one obnoxious catcher who acts like an actual decent person around her.
I try not to gag as I lean against my truck, waiting for Garcia.
It was shockingly easy to arrange this whole thing. Once Garcia texted me back saying that she wants to try it, I just had to confirm to Kim and we agreed on a restaurant for tonight. Lucky’s free like the wind, so the two of us will oversee the whole thing from a nearby table we already got reservations for. Garcia knows we’ll also be there, but she thinks it’ll be the three of us watching out for her like at the seafood place. I even lent her the PitchCom again to really make her think she’ll be on a date with someone she doesn’t know.
But before that, I’m going to give her killer armor and weapons.
Her bumblebee yellow Jeep pulls into the parking lot of a random pharmacy near the training facilities, where we agreed to meet so that no one else from work can see us together and assume shenanigans. Are we shenaniganing? Yes, but not like that .
She parks two spots from me and gets out. She’s still wearing her team branded staff uniform of purple jersey with yellow trim, including the white joggers. A guy walking out of the store literally stops and stares at her behind. I lift my eyes and fulminate him with all the power vested in me from simply being a full head taller than the damn creep.
None the wiser, Garcia says, “Here I am. Where are we going?”
I jerk my thumb behind me, attention still pinned on the asshole who just won’t stop staring. “Hop in.”
“Okay.” With a deep breath, she walks around the front of the truck until she disappears behind it. The sound of the door opening and closing is what snaps the guy out of his frozen state of stupefaction.
“Ya done?” I bark at him.
“I—uh. Sorry, man. Didn’t know she was taken.” If it wasn’t because of how fast he scrambles, I’d have told him to respect women even when they’re not taken, but with far more profanity.
I wait until he drives away to climb in my truck. “What took you so long?” Garcia asks me, fully fastened and having turned the A/C vents toward her. Her loose hair waves from the air blowing to her face.
“Nothing.” I turn away to grab my seatbelt and put it on before firing up the truck. Wanting to forget that gross little episode, I say, “Anyway, we’re going shopping.”
Garcia groans.
I’m glad I haven’t even pulled out of the parking lot. Slowly, I glance her way. The utterly pained expression on her face is very much at odds with the things that sound made me feel.
I clear my throat. “What?” The question goes both to her and to my body, to be honest.
“I hate shopping.”
“Of course you do.” My words come out garbled.
She doesn’t seem to notice because instead she folds her arms. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re always in training clothes, official or not.” After a pause, I add, “Well, I apologize for the assumption on my part. Maybe you do enjoy shopping for gym clothes a lot.”
“No, I hate it too.”
“Then I withdraw my apology.” Somehow that earns me a smack on my arm. “Hey, what’s that for?”
“I don’t know, I just have been bottling up a big need to do you bodily harm, but I really can’t satisfy that without getting fired. This is the least you could take from me.”
I jerk my face away lest she can read what’s going on in my mind. That groan of hers has really put me on a path that’s probably worse than the creep who was checking her out earlier. My logical brain knows there’s no real innuendo behind her words, but my lizard brain screams that I could take everything from her.
“All right,” I say a bit too loud and squeaky in an attempt to shut down that train of thought before it departs the station. I click on the radio and Shaboozey fills the quiet.
“You okay, Cowboy?” I can feel her laser beam eyes on the side of my face as I finally set the truck in motion and merge into traffic.
“Yep.”
That’s literally the last word I manage to say for the entire drive. Garcia tries to drill me about where we’re going and I don’t respond, which she thankfully takes to mean that I’m being mysterious, without having any idea that I’m just having a war with myself on the inside.
Since when does Hope Garcia make my skin feel like it’s on fire?
At a red stoplight, she’s saying, “—And that’s why I think dresses are a waste of time. Like, I get it, guys can see some gams or some other skin and that’s fun for them. But for me it’s no fun if I can’t move around freely or if I have no pockets, you know?” And her words barely register because all I can do is look at her.
Her skin is a light brown that doesn’t blush easily. What would it take to make it grow fully red? But the funny part is that her lips are naturally pink. And thick. I once dated a girl who had to see a plastic surgeon to get hers to look kind of like Garcia’s.
Shit, she’s still moving them. “Hmm?” I manage to ask.
“I said, I bet you wouldn’t like it if your clothes had no pockets, huh?”
I snort and turn back to the front when traffic moves again. I tighten my hands around the steering wheel. The radio shifts to a classic from Shania Twain and Garcia starts singing along under her breath, so I use the controls in my steering wheel to ramp up the volume. As she sings more freely, I relax on my seat.
We make it to the Outlets, one of Orlando’s most touristy attractions. A lot of the hardcore shoppers have already left for the day and we manage to find a parking spot near the entrance. After watching for traffic, we cross the rest of the parking lot and I make sure to keep a friendly distance from her. Close enough that any other potential creeps will be deterred, but not enough that she’ll get weirded out.
However, the grounds are still teeming with people who speak all the languages under the blue sky, and it forces us closer.
Just as we’re rounding a corner, a tween boy runs by and I pull Garcia against me a second before the kid rams into her. The little jerk doesn’t even apologize.
“Whoa!” Garcia then says something in Spanish that I have no hope of catching.
“You okay?” I look down.
Mistake. When she leans her head back to glance up, it fully rests against my right pec.
“Yeah, thanks. You probably just saved me from needing new teeth.” She chuckles and I notice that her body’s still pressed against mine.
I release her arms and step back slowly but surely. Jamming my hands in the pockets of my jeans, I lift my chin in the direction we should continue on because again, I can’t speak for shit. My teeth gnash as we resume the walk. The feeling of her butt pressed against my hip hasn’t disappeared, but that’s not even as bad as the weight of her head on my chest.
Maybe I’ve been single too long. Rather, I’ve never had a proper girlfriend and maybe it’s time to consider that. I’ll sure need a big distraction once this whole saga with Garcia is over and she’s found someone to be happy with.
Finally, I motion toward the fancy store I chose for this. I heard one of the wives at a team party once mention that this was where she shopped when she wanted to impress Miller, her hubby. It was followed by a lingerie brand but my brain blocked out that part for my own self preservation. Besides, that’s not a stop we’re going to include in tonight’s shenanigans before I deliver her to Kim. I will also murder him in cold blood if he tries to take it that far on date one.
All that flies out of my head when Garcia stops, takes one look at the store’s display, and blurts out, “I can’t go in there.”
“Why not?” I manage to ask, proud of myself that I’m verbal again.
“That’s way too fancy. I can’t even afford it.”
I stretch my hand across the air and say, “Outlet.”
“But—”
“Don’t make me pick you up and take you in, because I will.”
Her shoulders droop and she drags her feet, but does walk in. She slows down to whisper to me, “See? The whole place is completely empty because it’s so expensive. Not even discounts can attract people.”
I grab her by the shoulders and steer her across the shop floor, bypassing elegant displays of mannequins with blank faces. At the back is where we find people—a single clerk who beams upon sighting us.
“Welcome, Mr. Starr. We prepared the selection you asked us for and have a dressing room ready.”
“Great, thanks.” As I gently push a now non-verbal Garcia toward the dressing room, I add, “Oh, and please put the dresses with pockets at the forefront.”
Hope Garcia glances at me over her shoulder with shock in her expression. “Wait, Cowboy, did you just?—”
Rent the whole store for an hour for her to shop their best selection of dresses for a first date that a woman who isn’t comfortable showing off her body could wear? Yes.
“I’ll wait here,” I say instead, lowering myself to the tiny loveseat that barely fits me. “Show me if you want. Or not. Up to you.” I shrug like I’m not interested at all.
“Oh. Um. Okay.” Garcia casts an uncertain look at the saleswoman who only smiles placidly in return, until she finally disappears behind thick white curtains.
The clerk turns to me. “Can I offer you both any drinks? We have red and white wine, champagne, beer, ice tea and water.”
“Red wine for me, please!” Garcia shouts from the dressing room. “Wait, no. What if I spill it? Water, please.”
“Red wine for her and sweet ice tea for me, please,” I say.
“Right away.”
Garcia waits until the woman’s steps fade away. “Starr, I can’t afford to pay for a stained dress here.”
“Then I suggest you drink carefully.”
“Ugh.”
The faint jazzy music in the store doesn’t mask the rustling sounds of the Orlando Wild’s only female athletic trainer changing out of her clothes. Fortunately my phone buzzes in my pocket and I thank the heavens for the distraction.
Catcher Brat
I know you’re dropping her off but am I taking her home?
I suck in air sharply. I hadn’t thought about that.
Her car is still at a pharmacy’s parking lot near downtown. I guess if the date goes well she’ll want to extend it as long as possible and have Kim drive her home. I could get Lucky to pick up her car and drive it to her place, or to the facilities. She could catch a ride tomorrow morning with Winters or Mena.
“Shit,” I hiss to myself. There’s something even more important than that.
Me
We’ll figure that out later
You better not take your bike though
She’s gonna be in a dress
I think Garcia wrapping her legs around Kim and hugging him from behind as they zoom through the city would be too much for their first date.
Catcher Brat
How do you know about that?
Right. I didn’t tell him or Lucky about this stop first. Rather than fess up, I double down.
Me
Take your damn car, you prick
His three dots appear on the screen but that’s when the curtains swish and Garcia walks out.
The first thing I notice is that it’s funny that she’s still in her sneakers. But then I see the bare skin of her legs and they’re tanned, like maybe she runs in shorts everyday. How did I not know that?
I shake my head. Of course I wouldn’t.
I force my eyes up. And up some more. That’s a hell of a lot of leg. Finally I see the yellow dress she’s in, it’s tight around her torso but goes all the way to her neck and flares out down her waist.
She scratches the back of her neck and my eyes catch on her bulging bicep. “I really appreciate you for figuring out that yellow is my favorite color, but this is too short for my taste.”
“In my defense, I didn’t know it’d be too short,” I say, my voice thick. I guess that if I can see the inner curve of her thighs, a dress is considered too short. “Try the other options, then.”
“Ugh, we’re going to be late to this date,” she says at the same time as she turns around and gives me a heart attack.
The dress has no back. It’s all skin and no bra straps as far as the eye can see.
Of course, this is when the clerk returns with drinks. “Here you go, sir.” I don’t even know how I find it in me to accept the glass of tea without toppling it over. The woman heads over to Garcia saying. “Oh my gosh, you look stunning!”
“Thanks.” Garcia accepts the wine glass from the edge of the dressing room and leans forward in an exaggerated manner to make sure she can sip as far away from the dress as possible.
“Mr. Starr.” I freeze as the saleswoman addresses me. “You must be so happy to be taking this beautiful woman out on a date.”
Garcia and I choke at the same time.
The good news is that she does it gracefully without ruining the dress she’s not going to buy. The bad news is that I spew black tea on my shirt.
Garcia snorts, laughter dancing in her brown eyes. “Serves you right.” With that, she disappears back into the changing room.
“I’m so sorry! May I help you?” The poor clerk is the human version of Munch’s The Scream. It’s almost funny, except my stomach is cold from the spill.
Plucking the fabric between my fingers, I say, “I may need a new shirt.”
“Of course. I can help you select one. On the house,” she adds waving her hands.
It’s going to be easier if I don’t fight her on this, even though I fully intend to pay for it. “Thanks.” I set the tea on the table beside me and try to stand, but she stops me.
“Please, I will bring you some samples. Would you like one in a similar style to what you’re wearing?”
“Er, sure.” It’s a simple button up, so we can’t go wrong with this. “I’m usually a size M, sometimes L.”
“I think you’ll be L from our slim fit with your muscular frame.”
I try not to grimace because Garcia’s hearing all of this and I’m sure she’ll find some way to tease me about it. “Great, thanks.”
A minute goes by while the woman is hunting in the men’s section, but there are no signs of life from the dressing room. My phone is also quiet. Kim didn’t respond in the end.
“Hey, are you alive?” I ask.
“U-Um.” The curtains shift but she doesn’t come out. “I can’t show you this one.”
My perverted mind runs through a host of possibilities why, all of which make me squirm.
“Why not?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“Because I look like a potato sack and you’ll laugh.”
I expel all the air in my lungs and uncross my legs to lean my elbows on my knees. “Listen, I must see this now as payment for all my efforts.”
Shit. She groans again. I know it’s supposed to be in complaint but I don’t know what’s happening to me, because it hits me very differently.
But then she slides the curtain open and?—
I blow a raspberry and burst out laughing.
She huffs and folds her arms. It makes the thick, burgundy puffy dress deflate against her body. “I told you.”
“Wait, wait.” I grab my phone from the sofa. “I need to immortalize this.”
“The hell you do.” Quick as a rabbit, she hides back behind the closed curtain and prevents me from saving digital proof. It’ll live forever in my mind, though.
“I found a couple of more casual button ups you can try,” the saleswoman says, reappearing from my left.
One of the shirts is white and the other light blue, closer to the one I’m wearing. This time I do rise to take them. “Thank you. Can I use the dressing room next door?”
“Of course!”
I trod over and also hide behind some curtains. This store is so swanky that the dressing rooms are the size of my bathroom, complete with another little sofa, floor to ceiling mirrors on two walls, and more brass hangers than any other dressing room I’ve seen since I can afford to go to stores with them.
As I unbutton my soiled shirt, I can hear the slide of fabric against skin right next door. I lift my eyes to my face on the mirror. The stark hunger reflected there scares me—I didn’t even know I had been suppressing it until it shows itself right this moment.
I run my hands down my face, forcefully rearranging my features to literally anything else. Garcia has trust me to be her coach, her glorified wing man. The last thing she needs is for me to betray that trust by trying for something else.
Sighing, I toss my shirt on the sofa and grab the nearest one of the options. More rustling sounds from next door as I slide my arms in the new shirt.
“Oh!” The inflection in Garcia’s voice is weird. New. “I think this is the dress.”
“Yeah?” I stop moving. “Let me see.”
Unlike any of the previous times, she slides the curtains resolutely and I follow in her example. We walk out of our dressing rooms at the same time and both of us turn into statues.
Her long hair is swept forward over her shoulder, looking even softer than the fabric of the fancy dress.
But that’s what she wanted me to see, so I shift my attention lower. I have no idea what this kind of dress is called but I’d define it as Oh Shit. It’s tight. Everywhere. Every single of her curves is demanding attention and yet, the dress wraps her from her neck all the way to her knees. It’s even long-sleeved. It only has one flaw, though.
“It doesn’t seem to have pockets.” Once more I’m proud that I can get clear words out, even though my mouth desperately needs another sip of that tea.
“That’s not what’s important here,” Garcia says with an odd pitch to her voice. “Why the hell are you like that?”
“Huh? Like what?” I look up at her face.
The answer is in her pointing her finger at me. I look down again. “Oh.” Right, I was in the middle of trying on this shirt and didn’t even button it. I grab the bottom button and start working my way up without meeting her eye. “Anyway, is that the dress or do you want to try the others?”
She clears her throat twice. “No, I think this is the one. And the price tag didn’t make me want to faint.”
“Good.” Once I’m done with the buttons, I work on tucking the shirt in my jeans and look back up at her. “Then, stay wearing it. We need to get you shoes now.”
Her eyes fly from my hands, one holding my jeans so they don’t droop and the other one doing the tucking, back up. “But doesn’t it look okay with my white sneakers already?”
More than okay, but I still answer, “They have flats too, not just heels.”
“Whew.” She puts a hand on her chest in relief.
“You two look phenomenal,” the clerk says as she walks back up to us. To me she says, “The stylist has also arrived.”
“Stylist?” Garcia parrots.
“Great. Also, I think I’ll just take this shirt,” I say as I pop open the sleeve buttons and work on rolling it up. It registers after a long moment that there is absolutely no noise other than the fabric rustling of my sleeve, and the jazzy music.
And it’s because both women are staring at my arm.
I stop moving. Yet they still don’t react.
What’s the deal?
“Uh, we’ll also need shoes for her,” I say tentatively. “Garcia, what’s your shoe size?”
“A ten.” She jerks. “What? No. I don’t know why I said that. I’m an eight. Size eight—not me. I’m not an eight.” Then she drops the world’s most awkward laugh.
The clerk also unfreezes. “What style would you like?”
“Nothing with heel, please.”
“I will bring you some options in a quick moment!” The clerk races back out to the floor.
Meanwhile, Garcia approaches closer. Her eyes get diverted for a second as I start rolling the other sleeve, but then she wraps her arms around herself. “Starr, are you getting me a full makeover?”
“No, I know you don’t want any of that.” I push both of my sleeves as far up as they can go, and walk back to my ice tea for a healthy sip. “You’re not gonna get your hair cut and a full head of makeup or whatever. Just tell her what you want and she’ll do it.” Once I finish my little speech, I sit back down on the sofa where I don’t intend to move until it’s time to pay.
Garcia opens and closes her mouth, but the clerk returns not just with several options of what seem like sensible shoes, but also with a second woman in tow who carries a large case. They walk Garcia back into the dressing room to fit her with the shoes and makeup.
The saleswoman heads back out and I motion at her to take me to the register. I insist on paying for the men’s shirt because it’s not like it was her fault that Garcia stunned me so much that I couldn’t keep the drink in my mouth. After completing the transaction, she hands me over a bag containing Garcia’s work clothes and I do my best not to stare, even though my mind’s eye can clearly picture Garcia taking them off in that dressing room.
I’m back on the sofa finishing my tea when the stylist comes out, her packed case in hand and tossing a daring wink at me as she leaves.
I glance around, searching for an explanation about that when Garcia follows.
I don’t even pay attention to her shoes or the dress, and she doesn’t look drastically changed. Maybe her hair’s fluffier at the top. But there’s something about her face that glows even more than usual, and her lips are redder than before.
I could kiss them.
I could also drop kick myself in the ‘nads for thinking that.
“Well?” she asks expectantly, bouncing a little on her feet. Like she’s excited to go on this date.
A date that will be with Logan Kim.
There’s no hiding that I’m choked up as I say, “You look beautiful, darlin’. Do you feel like it?”
And of freaking course, this is when she chooses to blush all the way from her neck to the root of her hair. “Actually, I do. Thank you, Cowboy.”
And of freaking course, this is the moment when I realize I’m absolutely, thoroughly screwed.