Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Scottie
Your coffee has arrived. Thank you for ordering from Pinnacle Perk.
Thanks to the time zone change, I’ve been up working for half an hour, but when I crack my door and grab the to-go cup on the ground, I smile for the first time all morning.
The hallway is quiet, beige and corporate, like nothing extraordinary could possibly happen here—like arranging a caffeine delivery isn’t peak romance.
Padding across the room back to the table, I take the drink out of the carrier when a neon pink sticky note falls from the bottom of the carrier, fluttering slowly to the ground.
It’s a handwritten note in an angled script that represents Lucas’s finest penmanship.
Itinerary: 5:10 am—think about Lucas
5:30 am—think about how Lucas is thinking about you
Alternate every twenty minutes as needed
I hold the paper between my fingers, smiling and taking slow sips of a deliciously silky flat white. It’s still hot. How early did Lucas place the order? How did he know I’d be up and needing this? The thought makes my stomach warm in a way not even coffee can match.
I breathe in the flat white, letting the smell linger in my lungs, looking at the note again and again, reveling in the feeling of being cared for.
I didn’t realize how tired I was of being the one doing the caring.
Or how disorienting it is to have someone think of me first.
A knock out in the hall makes me nearly drop the cup. I freeze.
Did Lucas deliver it? No, he can’t have. I got a text from the coffee shop. That means he must have been hiding in the stairwell to put the note on the bottom.
A moment later, I hear the thud of footsteps outside, moving fast.
Did someone see the delivery? Lucas? Did the front desk alert Doug?
You’re being crazy, I tell myself. It was a delivery, not Lucas himself standing in the hallway. No one knows he’s the one behind it.
I know I should go back to work, but I can’t help thinking of Lucas, and because I’m feeling uncharacteristically indulgent, I flip open our texts from last night.
Lucas
It’s ten and I’m already asleep. Aren’t you so proud?
Scottie
Are you sleep texting me? And should I be flattered or worried?
Lucas
Yes, sleep texting, and yes, flattered. Also maybe worried, not because I’m creepy but because I may have a sleep disorder.
Quinnitis.
Scottie
That sounds bad.
Lucas
Terrible. I can hardly sleep at all. The second I close my eyes, it’s all Quinn all the time.
Scottie
Poor Lukie.
Lucas
I don’t suppose you have Lukitis?
Scottie
Ew. No.
I may have Restless Luke Syndrome, though, but it’s mild. I’m sure it’ll go away.
Lucas
Nope. Sorry, Restless Luke Syndrome is a lifelong thing. You might think it’s going away but it’s just dormant, not something you can get over. Sorry to say you’re stuck with it forever.
Scottie
Do you frequently think of yourself in terms of a lifelong disease?
Lucas
Whoa, no one said disease. We’re talking sleep disorders here, missy.
Scottie
Right. Thank goodness. I’d hate to have an actual disease.
Lucas
Does “love sick” count?
Scottie
No
Lucas
You sure?
Scottie
Night, Lucas.
Lucas
Night, Quinn.
I reread the “love sick” line longer than I should before giving myself a shake and returning to my inbox. I start answering an email when my phone gives four sharp buzzes, a unique pattern I set for one number in particular. A number that makes me want to abandon everything else.
Lucas
How’s Pinnacle Perk’s finest flat white?
Scottie
Delicious. You have a sixth sense for what I’m craving.
And don’t make some dumb comment about how I’m craving you.
Lucas
Wouldn’t dream of it.
Now that I know you find it …distasteful.
Scottie
Ew.
Stop.
Lucas
Can’t stop won’t stop.
Can I admit something? I don’t know what half of the drinks I get for you are, but especially that one. What the heck is a flat white? Don’t get me wrong, the description felt like you, but also, what?
Scottie
WHAT?
How do you order for me?
Lucas
I usually tell Alma what I’m thinking, and she has a conversation with someone in a language I don’t speak (Spanish) and then she tells me if I’m right or not.
Scottie
…
Lucas
You okay over there?
Scottie
Just processing.
Okay, I’ve processed.
I feel so betrayed.
Lucas
Oh stop. Because I did such a bad job today?
Scottie
No you nailed it. That’s what I’m processing.
Lucas
Ha! You love everything I do.
Scottie
You’re pushing it.
Lucas
Nah. You love it.
Scottie
No, but I love this flat white.
Lucas
I won’t tell Alma that.
Scottie
You can. It’s good, but it’s not Meant to Bean.
I wish they shipped.
Lucas
I’d get it for you.
Scottie
I’d get it for my mom. She’s as obsessed as I am.
Lucas
So that’s where you got it from?
Scottie
Yep.
It’s kind of silly, but my brothers and Jake could take or leave it, so when I was in middle school, if she was going on a run, I’d ask if I could come along. She didn’t let me get anything caffeinated until I was sixteen, but she’d let me try sips, and I loved it all.
It became our thing—no brothers, no Jake, not even my dad.
Silly, huh?
Lucas
Not silly. Special.
What’s your mom’s favorite drink?
Scottie
She doesn’t have one, either. Coffee recommendations are our love language.
Lucas
Now that’s just adorable.
Your mom sounds cool.
Scottie
She is. She’s hilarious and super tough, which you’d expect raising three boys. And so self-sacrificing. Her wants are the last thing on her mind.
Lucas
Except for coffee.
Scottie
I said “wants,” not “needs.”
Lucas
I bet she’d be just as cool if she weren’t so self-sacrificing.
Scottie
Um, yeah, probably?
Lucas
It doesn’t make someone selfish to think about what they want from time to time.
Scottie
I’ll let her know.
Lucas
Am I being too subtle? I’m talking about you.
Scottie
Thanks, but I don’t need the pep talk.
Lucas
You need the pep talk.
Scottie
No, I need to get this email sent off before breakfast. See you down there?
Lucas
I’ll be the one in neon.
I put my phone down and go back to work, hoping he doesn’t push the whole let people in thing. And also maybe hoping he does.
I may not be craving Lucas, but something tells me he’s habit-forming.
***
True to his word, Lucas is wearing yet another branded neon hoodie when he shows up to breakfast promptly at seven, tray in hand, loading it with scrambled eggs, turkey sausage, a mountain of roasted sweet potatoes, and a bowl of berries like he’s fueling a small army instead of one six-foot-two reliever.
He drinks plain water, showing a kind of discipline I don’t understand and don’t want to.
He nods at the strength coach on his way past, claps another player on the shoulder, and somehow still finds me without looking like he’s looking for me.
He and Logan both join me at my table, and soon, so do the other few Mudflaps on the 40-man I’ve been assigned to work with.
But only one of them has his foot casually pressed against mine.
If anyone were to look under the table, they’d think the table was just cramped.
They’d be wrong.
Never have I been so aware of my own foot. I didn’t realize it could be so sensitive, even through a pair of sneakers. It’s not like Lucas is rubbing my foot with his, either. They’re both just there. Together.
So why am I sweating?
I try to turn my focus to the table, but it’s hard when no one here is as interesting as Lucas’s foot. But I force myself to look at them. Think about them.
Diego, twenty-three, electric arm and nerves that make Logan’s look nonexistent; Darius, quiet, observant, built like a freight train; and Arturo, who looks like he’s still surprised anyone pays him to throw a baseball.
All of the non-roster invitees and most of the 40-man guys are staying here at the resort—close to the complex with easy shuttle access.
The vibe is half summer camp, half corporate retreat, and the air is thick with what I can only call brozone.
I’ve breathed that air my whole life.
My group has a lot of questions, and once my attention is mostly off the fact that my foot is pressed against Lucas’s under the table, I get my bearings.
I go over the day twice, remind them that they literally can’t get lost, assure them there’ll be staff and coaches everywhere, and promise to physically walk them to every meeting.
If they end up stranded, it’s because they actively chose chaos.
Diego raises his hand like we’re in class. “What if media pulls us? Do we just … go?”
“You check with me or the clubhouse attendant first,” I say. “You don’t open your mouth to anyone without clearing it first, or we’ll have a chat.”
Lucas leans back in his chair, and his foot shifts against mine, causing a trail of tingles that shouldn’t be possible through leather. “What she means is, if you mess with her instructions, she’ll mess you up.”
A few of the guys laugh. I roll my eyes. “I prefer the term ‘redirect.’”
“Violently redirect,” he adds, his eyes flashing in a way that makes my chest go hot.
Darius clears his throat. “And if we say something stupid?”
“Don’t,” I say automatically.
Lucas taps his fork lightly against his plate. “But if you do, laugh about it. Pretend it was intentional and then say something better.”
“That’s not bad advice,” I say. “But better yet: don’t say anything stupid.”
“Scottie likes to ask the impossible of us,” Lucas says, leaning toward Darius. The movement makes our shins bump, and it’s about to make me dissolve into a puddle. “I think she forgets we’re literally dumb jocks. It’s endearing.”
He grins at me. I exhale what I hope looks like annoyance instead of amusement or, worse, attraction.
This would be a lot easier if he weren’t so attractive.
At ten till eight, I notice the community relations coordinator, Gabriela, getting up from her table near the windows, so I get the attention of my group.
“All right, guys. You ready for your first big day?”
They all share nervous looks. Diego and Arturo look like they’re going to be sick. Only Lucas looks at ease as he gets up and gathers his dishes.
“I’ll be at the stadium at lunch after your morning workout, so we’ll go over your media-availability schedule and the social clip going live tomorrow then. It’s all going to be fine.”
My pep talk doesn’t seem to be making an impact, so I add, “You wouldn’t be here if they didn’t believe in you. You got this!”
Lucas gives me the smallest wink, like I’m the one who needs convincing. And the tingles that were only at our points of contact spread over my whole body.
The others all walk toward the porte cochere entrance, where the buses will be arriving any minute. Lucas hangs back.
And there are sparks. Tangible, probably visible ones. Definitely forbidden ones.
“You look absurd in that hoodie,” I say.
“Absurdly good looking, you mean?” he mutters. “Besides, you should talk. You have no idea how hot you look in a blazer and jeans.”
“Now that I know how much you like it, I’m not sure if I should wear it every day or never again just to mess with you.”
“I win either way.”
“How’s that?”
His eyes glint with mischief. “You thinking of me when you decide what to wear? That’s a win.”
Heat travels up my body. “You’re impossible,” I say.
“Entirely too possible,” he counters.
Gabriela calls my name from behind us right then. I don’t jump. I refuse to. But my pulse spikes like I’ve been caught doing something far worse than standing too close to a man in neon.
“Time to go,” I say.
We reach the curb. Lucas holds out his hand for a high five. I slap it, and he pulls it down, sliding his fingers over my palm until our bent fingertips catch.
It’s a standard high-five-handshake move—my brothers do it all the time—but not like this. His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist in a way that sends a wave of goosebumps up my arm.
The contact is brief, explainable—too much and not nearly enough.
But then I feel eyes on me, and I catch a glimpse of Logan climbing onto the bus.
Watching. Not smiling. Just watching.
I drop my hand first.
“Good luck this morning,” I say.
“You too.”
He steps onto the bus without looking back. Logan follows, but not before flicking his gaze at me one more time.
He didn’t see anything. There was nothing to see.
But Logan doesn’t need to see something to know it. That’s the problem.
And if he knows, he won’t be able to keep himself from doing something about it.
That's the bigger one.
***
After a marathon strategic planning discussion at Doug’s gorgeous rambler home, I have more direction about what he wants from me and way more stress. He’s one of the most well-liked GMs in baseball, and the fact that Kayla thinks highly of him makes me want to impress him even more.
He leans back in his chair. “I watched the videos you sent of media training with the Fischers. They handled themselves well.”
“They did,” I say, sitting up straighter. “They’re coachable.”
Doug steeples his fingers. “You think you could double up and run a few of those sessions with Jake while he’s down here?”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I say, clearing my throat so he doesn’t pick up on the wobble in it. “It’s hard enough separating work and personal with him.”
Doug studies me. “To hear Kayla talk about you, you’re way too competent to let that blur. And we both know he needs the extra help.”
His nostrils flare, but he’s too decent of a guy to rant about the man he thinks is my boyfriend in front of me.
There are still a few ops people in the room, so I lower my voice. “About that party last fall. I just—I want to say how sorry I am about Jake.”
Doug exhales. “I know he didn’t realize she was married. I still wanted to punch him, but that’s not the issue.”
“What is?”
“He doesn’t think about other people.” Doug shakes his head. “I don’t know how you’re dating him.”
“I know him too well not to be there for him,” I say, loyalty flaring in me. Doug could forgive Jake of almost anything if he knew what he’d been through. “I’ve seen him go through more than any person should have to.”
Doug studies me. “I get that. But he’s got to care about his teammates more. I want my guys to respect each other enough that they don’t even get close to crossing lines.”
Crossing lines?
My phone buzzes in my bag right then—four quick buzzes that tell me without checking exactly who it is. I flatten my hand against my bag and leave it there. Doug’s eyes flick down toward the sound and then back up to me.
“I think you’ll be a good presence during Spring Training, Scottie. Glad to have you on board.”
I give him a weak smile before packing up.
What would he think if he knew Jake and I were dating for show? Would he thank me? Or fire me?
And what would he think if he found out Lucas and I are sneaking around because of that exact same show?
Would he tell me to break up with Jake? Or to stay away from Lucas?
I don’t know what I’d do either way.