Chapter 20
“I keep waiting for Kordell to make me get my ass up to start throwing,” Kamron says while spitting out a wad of sunflower seeds.
Lounging back on my chair, I kick my legs up and press my feet to the wall in front of us.
It’s almost like we’re in a time out. Beneath the bullpen, the other relief pitchers who have even a slim chance of going into the game today and I have been, for lack of a better word, gossiping. For an entire two hours.
It’s almost endearing how badly these guys love hearing themselves talk. They’d never admit to it, though. Not to their wives, husbands, girlfriends. That only makes it more hilarious when I spill the beans for them. My lack of filter keeps them young, I think.
Kamron O’Neill is my usual set-up man, but tonight, I think it’s safe to say neither of us is playing.
The Havoc are losing by a score of nine to two, so there’s no use in wasting our arms for a sure loss.
We’ll hear all about how frustrated the team is once the ninth finishes, and while I usually love a good ranting session, I’ve got better plans for my night.
“Nah, we’ve got the night off.” I blow a bubble with my grape-flavoured gum before popping it between my teeth. “Take advantage of it. I won’t be complaining.”
“I get antsy.”
“Want a soother to suck on for the last couple innings, you big fucking baby?” Mateo, a recent pitcher we’ve pulled up from our AAA team a week back, pokes with a gruff laugh.
Kamron flips him off, his fist in my face. “You got that many spares on you, eh?”
“Boys, boys. C’mon.” I tsk.
Mateo narrows his eyes on me. “Oh, shove it, Starboy.”
“I love when you call me that.”
“You fucking would.”
Kamron drops his hand to drape his arms over his spread legs. “You’ve got too much confidence for a young guy. I’ll drive you back down to Seattle myself.”
“When’s the last time you even got behind the wheel? Doesn’t your girlfriend play chauffeur for you?” I chuckle.
The home crowd tonight is quiet. It’s unusual, given how loud they always are, but that’s the thing about getting absolutely whomped. I’d be shocked if half the seats weren’t empty by now.
These are the types of games that I’m grateful to rarely play.
While I’ve got an ego big enough to take a lot of damage, I can’t say I love getting booed every time I throw a bad pitch.
It’s different than when we’re away. Those boos are music to my fucking ears.
They may as well be cheers or chants of my name.
At home, nobody wants to disappoint the fans.
That’s a feeling that takes a while to shrug off.
Kamron makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “I’ll have you know that she loves driving me around. It’s a good way for us to spend time together.”
“Is that what she said?” Mateo laughs.
“We already know the truth, man. You don’t have to hide it from us,” I tease.
My set-up man gives us both a vicious glare that turns his brown eyes a shade darker. “It was one time. And I had an excuse!”
I cock my head. “How much did it cost to get the dent out, by the way? You never did share that with us.”
“For your information, it was free.”
“Flashed your name, did you?” I almost choke on the words, too close to letting a howling laugh escape as his face tightens with annoyance. “Was there an NDA signed, too?”
As big a dude as Kamron is, he’s a total suck, and I’ll never let him forget it.
When he came late to a game last month, I expected him to give us some harrowing tale as to why.
The last thing I was ready for was his tale of swerving into the gate of a country club on his way to work so he could avoid running over a family of geese that had gathered on the edge of the road, preparing to walk across.
Supposedly, the mom was still ushering her babies into a straight line, and he wasn’t thinking of anything but protecting them when he swerved.
I think that’s him laying it on a bit thick, but who am I to argue?
It’s a good story to tell when he wants to make a group of women swoon, that’s for sure.
His girlfriend probably heard all about it the first time they met. It’s only been a couple of weeks since they started seeing each other, and yeah, the more I think of it, the more I believe that was his winning line.
“You’re both assholes.” He twists to face me. “Maybe if you had a story as heartfelt as mine, you’d already be dating that coffee chick.”
“I don’t need a cheesy story about geese to win a woman’s heart,” I argue.
“Well, you need something.”
I shake my head at Mateo, forcing my expression into one of disappointment. “What a shame. I was going to take you under my wing and nurture you like Kamron wanted to do with those geese. But now? Maybe I’ll hitch a ride with him when he takes you back to Seattle.”
Kamron scoffs. “You know what, maybe toss one of those soothers over here, Mat. Beck here needs something to busy his mouth so he stops speaking.”
“I don’t actually have any fucking soothers, jackass,” Mateo grunts.
“Shame. Now we have to listen to Starboy for another forty minutes.”
I lean back in my chair and drop my legs, staring out the fence wall.
It’s clear that the team is struggling a bit with Asher taking time off.
The guy they pulled up from Seattle is having a hard time gelling with the infielders, but at least he can hit fine.
It’s just a shame his batting average doesn’t matter when the team is letting up multiple runs an inning.
Mateo knows more about him than I do, and I’ll admit I haven’t tried to get to know him all that well.
I’m partial to Asher, and I don’t like getting attached to the players who are only here for a few weeks.
The rookie beside me is different because he’s with me in the bullpen every game, and it’s impossible not to bond in such close quarters night after night.
It’ll fucking suck when he goes back. It always does.
The urge to grab my phone so I can see if Quinn replied to me is jarring.
Discomfort bites at me as I focus back on the game and not the inevitable goodbyes and roster changes that are going to come soon.
She’d be able to take my mind off it. Even if she was just insulting me or brushing off more of my jokes.
Quinn has the ability to fill my cup like no other, and I haven’t been stupid enough to complain about that.
Having her in my place last night was surreal. She stayed in her room, and I stayed in mine, yet just knowing she was there had me sleeping like a goddamn baby. Even with barely any sleep, I was more awake than I’d been in ages when my alarm went off.
She was still in the guest room when I left for the stadium, which I hope means she was sleeping and not worrying too much. If I know her as well as I think I do, then that’s a useless wish. I’d bet she was up before I was and on the phone making calls before any places had even opened.
Independence is sexy as hell on its own, but in addition to everything else Quinn has going for her? I never stood a fucking chance.
My teammates can give me a hard time for being so taken by her. It’s not going to embarrass me or force my hand into taking a step back. The only person who can make me leave Quinn alone is her, and until she does that, I’m going to keep chipping at those walls until they crumble for me.
And once they’re gone?
She’ll be mine.
True to his word, my name gets me to the elevator at Beck’s place.
I watch each number light up inside as it climbs higher and higher, the soft music floating around me.
By the time there’s a ding and the doors slide open, I’m more than ready to be on solid ground again.
My stomach stabilizes when I start down the hallway and come up to the door before dipping again.
The keypad above the handle beeps when I input the code he sent earlier, and a green light flashes.
I’m nervous for some reason. Even the reminder that he isn’t inside waiting for me doesn’t settle me, and that’s frustrating.
I’m a mess of a thousand different emotions when I finally push the door open and step inside.
It closes with a soft click, and I carefully slip my sneakers off, not wanting to scuff the shiny wood floors.
The lights are already on, and I could have sworn I turned them off when I left this morning. Beck could have come home before the game, I guess. Or maybe I didn’t actually turn them off like I thought I did.
But then I hear . . . nails clicking?
The loud, excited bark is so unexpected that I actually scream. It flies out of my mouth before I slap a hand to it to quiet myself. I spin around and gape down at the golden puffball that’s flying toward me now.
The scratch and click of nails on the hardwood floors is louder now as the dog reaches me and thumps its tail on the ground.
It rubs up against my shins and wiggles its back end so hard I almost reach forward to still it.
I can’t seem to get any words out as I stumble back a step and try not to fall into the door.
A pair of soft brown eyes watches me as I hesitatingly lower my hand for it to smell. Its nose is wet when it rubs against my palm and then licks the length of it. That back end is still wiggling away, and this time, I do reach out to try and steady it.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” I finally say.
It takes that as approval instead of a warning and jumps up onto its back legs. The two front ones make contact with my middle, and my back meets the door a beat later. I blow out a breathy laugh and scratch behind its floppy ears, running my eyes over its face.
“Bodi! Get down! Come over here, boy.”
The new, very feminine voice gives me my second near-heart attack in the last five minutes. The dog—Bodi, I guess—drops his legs and wiggles his butt harder in front of me. I expect him to trot off, but he stays in place, watching me instead.
“Bodi,” the woman repeats, and this time, I search for her in the dim condo.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it sure as fuck wasn’t some sort of blonde bombshell to be standing in the living room with a manicured hand on a thin, popped hip. My hackles go straight up as my expression turns to stone.
“Who are you?” she asks, focusing on me now.
It’s a generally nonchalant inspection. Her crystal blue eyes wander up and down my body twice as she sizes me up and then stares at my hair, or rather the messy bun I forced it into.
I’m dressed much more casually than she is, and I can’t help but wonder why she’s currently standing in Beck’s living room alone in a short sundress with a cut-out in the chest that exposes her generous cleavage.
I didn’t think to pack anything besides clothes that I knew would be comfortable to work in before leaving my place last night.
My leggings and slightly baggy T-shirt must have her as confused as I am.
I clear my throat and try to relax. “Uh, I’m Beck’s . . . guest.”
His guest? Fuck’s sake, Quinn.
“His guest?” she echoes, having a similar reaction.
Feeling awkward, I blurt out, “There wasn’t a dog here last night.”
“Because Beck asked me to pick him up at three in the morning.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. It was the first time he’s done that, but I assume it was for a good reason.”
There’s something in her tone that rubs me the wrong way, but I let it go and try to offer her a smile. “It was. He helped me out last night. I didn’t know it was going to affect so many other people. I’m sorry for that.”
“Beck’s a great guy. I don’t mind helping him out when he needs it.”
“Do you watch Bodi for him, then?”
She pulls her shoulders back a bit. Her next words have too much bite to them for my liking. It comes off bitchy, and I don’t enjoy using that word when referring to a woman. “Yep. Every day. If I’d known he’d be having company, I’d have taken him out for a walk to burn some energy.”
“I don’t mind him being here. This is his home, and I’m only staying for a couple of days. I don’t want to put him out.”
Dropping my gaze, I focus on the dog now sitting at my feet. As if sensing my attention, he turns his head and pushes against my legs again.
“What did you say your name was?” she asks, and I bristle.
“I didn’t give it to you.”
“We should fix that, shouldn’t we?”
I could laugh at how obvious it is now that she’s interested in Beck. And honestly, I can’t say I blame her. She’s probably seen him a million times and spoken to him more than that. If he has her watching his dog—one that he’s never mentioned to me before—then he must trust her.
“I’m Quinn,” I say with as much fake kindness as I can muster up on the spot.
She throws it right back at me. “Logan.”
“Great.”
“Mm.”
The irritation buzzing beneath my skin has everything to do with the fact that he didn’t give me a heads-up that there was going to be another woman here today and nothing to do with the fact that she intimidates me with her long legs and golden skin. Yeah, that’s it. It has to be.
I have no reason to be intimidated or, fuck, jealous. That would mean there’s something between us, which there isn’t.
But if I really don’t care about him . . . then why does this random woman have me feeling this possessive? And why am I contemplating siccing Bodi on her?