The Trade

by Quinn, Meghan

  The entire time, I reiterated what a moron I am, that was until I asked her to catch up.

  First mistake of the night, walking over to the bar. Second, asking for more time with her.

  I know better than to get tangled up with a married woman, and I don’t plan on making any advances on her because that’s not the man I am, but hell, I just wanted to talk to her for a few breaths more.

  Is that too much to ask?

  Yes . . . she’s fucking married, you moron.

  We both take a seat at an empty table, just like at the fundraiser and this time, I keep a good distance between us, so I don’t feel tempted.

  She looks a little uneasy, maybe because I just guided her by her back and practically forced her to sit and talk to me. I reek of desperation, and I’m pretty sure by the way some of the guys are smirking at me, they can smell it from where they stand, huddled by the bar.

  Trying to lighten the awkward tension between us, I say, “If only we had cupcakes.”

  She smiles slightly at that. “Funny story, those cupcakes were donated. They knew what a prestigious event it was going to be and the names attending, so they donated a lot of cupcakes in hopes to impress people like you.”

  “It worked.” I chuckle. “Were you eating cupcakes for weeks after?”

  “Enough for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I tried to donate them to the shelter but because they weren’t wrapped, they wouldn’t take them. If Jason has love handles, you know why.”

  “Damn,” I say, taking a sip of my beer. “Where was my phone call? I would have loved to have helped take some of those down.”

  “Oh, I mentioned your name, but Jason staked claim on all cupcakes, threatened to pee on them if I took them away.”

  Chuckling softly, beer halfway to my mouth, I say, “Your brother is really fucking weird.”

  “Yeah. He is.” Looking around the event, she says, “Okay, be honest, who are the good guys on this team, and who are the ones I should look out for?” To seduce? I quickly glance at her ring finger, and like last time, it’s bare. And she wants to know which guys to . . .

  “Look out for?”

  “You know.” She kisses her knuckles comically and says, “The ones who I might have to introduce to my fist if they give Jason any problems.”

  I can’t help it.

  I snort.

  Really fucking loud.

  Looking mock offended, she brings her hand to her chest and says, “Why, Cory Potter, do you not think I can take down any man in this room?”

  I glance at her tiny fist, her wafer-thin wrist, her delicately manicured fingernails, and shake my head. “I want to make you think you can, but I only believe that will get you into trouble.” It’s cute how tough she’s trying to be, really fucking adorable. Even though I know I shouldn’t, I give her a quick once-over and then shake my head. “I know you’ll probably say something like you’re scrappy and quick, but you’re talking about a roomful of Rebels; these guys take cheap shots.”

  She groans and leans back in her chair. “Ugh, you’re right. Now the Storm, I could totally take them out.”

  “Easily.” I chuckle. “They like to pretend they’re tough, but they’re the first ones to balk at a fight.”

  “Aren’t they the team with the least amount of fights?”

  I nod. “Yeah, it was nice, not having to worry about charging the field, or a team charging us. Completely opposite here.”

  She glances away for a second and then asks, “Do you miss Baltimore?”

  Not really wanting anyone to hear me, I lean forward so I’m a little closer. At least, that’s the reason I tell myself as I breathe in her scent deeply and catch the small gold flecks scattered over her irises.

  “Yeah,” I answer honestly. “I built a life around the Storm and the community. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting the trade and when there were rumors of a possible trade, I brushed them off. I didn’t think the Storm would ever trade me, but I was wrong.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t imagine what that was like.”

  “Not great.” I awkwardly chuckle. “But I am happy to be back in Chicago. As you said, it’s good to be close to my family, especially now that Milly is married. I want to be around when she starts having kids.”

  “Are they going to try soon?” Natalie clasps her hands together, excited.

  “You know”—I scratch the side of my jaw—“I haven’t really asked her about her ovulation and sex schedule. Maybe I’ll text her later tonight.”

  Natalie pauses for a second and tilts her head. “What kind of brother are you, that you don’t know your sister’s menstrual cycle?”

  Grinning, I answer, “Apparently a shitty one.”

  “You know, Cory, if you’re not cycling with her, you’re not caring enough.” She jabs her finger on the table. “Meriods are real. Cycle up, sis. Milly will appreciate it.”

  “Are you . . . telling me to menstruate?”

  She holds her hands up in defense. “I’m not telling you to do anything, you’re a grown man, you make your own decisions. I’m merely suggesting another way to bond with your sister.”

  “Very considerate.” I laugh.

  We both take a sip of our drinks and almost as if she can’t believe it, she leans in even closer, looks to the side and then back at me. “Did I . . . did I just tell you to start menstruating?”

  I shake my head and say, “You didn’t tell me. You suggested.” I wink and she chuckles while tugging on a strand of her hair.

  “Can’t wait to rethink this entire conversation when I get home and regret every second of it.”

  “Every second?” I ask, wanting badly to playfully nudge her with my foot. The urge is so intense, that my leg feels heavy and locked down by a bungee cord, ready to be unleashed.

  “Well, maybe not every second. I held it together at the bar while saying hi.”

  “After you smashed your face into my chest.”

  “It was rather cushiony.”

  “Uhh . . . excuse me? Are you saying I’m flabby?”

  “You know, would you excuse me as I take my foot out of my mouth?”

  “Need help with that?”

  She pretends to extract her foot. “I got it.” Shaking her head, she adds, “And I can’t believe I just pretended to take a foot out of my mouth. I think I should quit while I’m ahead.”

  “You can’t leave now, things just started to get really embarrassing.”

  She points at me, the animation in her body making me feel like a small piece of me is coming alive. “Easy for you to say, as you’re not the one embarrassing yourself.”

  “Is this your way of asking me to tell you an embarrassing story about myself?”

  “I mean, if you want to, by all means, feel free to enlighten me.”

  “I think I’m good.”

  “What?” Her eyes pop open in humor. “No way, you can’t just offer that up and then take it away.”

  “Well, there was this time—”

  “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” My stomach clenches from the sound of another male voice coming up to our table.

  Shit.

  Married. She’s fucking married.

  Tacking on a smile, waiting to meet one of the luckiest guys in the world, I look up to find Jason and his fiancée standing next to me, Jason’s eyes intent on me.

  Natalie mumbles something and chuckles while sipping from her drink.

  Confused, I point to my chest and say, “Are you talking to me?”

  He nods and grips my shoulder. “You’re truly a specimen in person.”

  Dottie bends at the waist. “Be warned, he has been known to sporadically kiss his friends on the lips.”

  Jason shrugs. “Just keeping things real.”

  Casually, I drape my arm over the table and say, “I’m not opposed to sporadic kisses. I am opposed to them being at a team event where we’re the two newbies and I already have a reputation to adjust with a few people here.” />
  Jason taps his nose knowingly and then waggles his finger at me. “Got it. No kissing in front of the team.”

  “Or how about you just keep your lips sacred for me?” Dottie asks.

  “That would be more normal,” Natalie adds.

  “When have I ever been normal?”

  “True.” Natalie shifts so she’s facing her brother more. “Are you guys headed out?”

  Dottie nods and glances at me before saying, “Early meeting tomorrow for me. Please don’t feel like you have to come with us.”

  Hope blooms inside me that she’ll stay a little longer, but I know that’s moronic hope to harbor. She most likely has to get back to her husband, where he gets to watch her take off her makeup, revealing her beautiful, untouched face. He gets to help her slip out of the dress she’s wearing and watch it pool at the floor. And then he gets to watch her strut across the bathroom in nothing but her bra and underwear, while getting ready for bed.

  Fuck, just thinking about it is turning me into a jealous fool.

  Natalie looks toward me and then back to Dottie who has a tight, anxious look on her face, almost as if she’s desperately trying to communicate something to Natalie.

  “I . . . uh, I think I should take off as well. I’m going to visit Joseph tomorrow and don’t want to be tired.” Well . . . shit.

  I stand as well and take Jason’s hand in mine. “Have a good night. We should get together at some point, talk.”

  Jason’s eyes light up. “I don’t think you know how much I would die to have that kind of opportunity with you.”

  I chuckle. Jason’s excitement is amusing. “All right. Well, I have your number, I’ll give you a call.”

  Jason pulls Dottie’s hand and positions her in front of him. “I just got hard and I can’t let anyone see.”

  Dottie shakes her head. “I don’t know why I date him.”

  “Want me to list the reasons?” he asks.

  Dottie quickly shakes her head. “No. Knowing you, we’d be here all night.”

  “It’s a long list.”

  Taking his hand in hers, Dottie gives me a quick wave and says, “Have a good night, Cory.”

  They start to take off and I turn to Natalie who takes a few steps away. Hands clutched together, she gives me a small smile and says, “Well, nice talking to you again.”

  I rock on my heels, my hands stuffed in my pockets. “You too, Natalie,” I say, her name rolling off my tongue like a poem, smooth and silky.

  She waves and then quickly catches up to Jason and Dottie, leaving me wanting so much more.

  * * *

  “Got something for Orson’s sister?” Maddox asks as he comes up next to me at the bar.

  After Jason, Dottie, and Natalie left, I decided to stay, try to talk with more of the guys. There were a few guys who I could tell were less than thrilled to talk with me, and then some genuine guys who gave me more of their time. Mainly it was the bullpen I seemed to connect with. The infielders, the guys I need to get to know the best, seemed cold, standoffish, barely giving me the time of day.

  It’s not from my lack of trying either. When I was first traded, I tried to get in with these guys, but they’ve been next to impossible to impress, and I don’t know why. I mean, fuck, I don’t have a bad reputation, and I have years of experience that should make me an asset, not a liability. It’s like they’re so shortsighted, they can’t see past their own egos. Stupid.

  Their first baseman prior to me wasn’t doing much for the team; he was actually acquired at the beginning of the season. Batting in the eighth position, there wasn’t much contribution on his end. I can’t imagine them being upset about me taking his position. And then there’s the thought of my contract taking up a large part of the Rebels salary stipend. But that’s not my damn fault; that’s their front office’s fault for wanting to take on something so large.

  I don’t fucking know at this point, it’s all confusing. But what’s even more confusing is Maddox Paige coming over and talking to me. Pretty sure the second half of the season, he spoke maybe five sentences to me, one of them berating me for striking out when I get paid so much.

  Huh, maybe it is the pay scale thing.

  Adjusting my sleeves while I wait for my drink, I say, “Natalie is a friend.”

  Maddox snorts and brings his beer bottle to his lips. “Okay.” Sarcasm is obvious, as he stares me down over his drink. “That’s why you were eye-fucking her every chance you got.”

  Shit.

  Keeping a steady face, I say, “She’s a friend.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.” He brushes up against my shoulder, facing one direction while I face the other. “Heard she’s married. I’d be careful if I were you.”

  “What does it matter to you?” I ask.

  He runs his tongue over his teeth, his head leaning toward me, but he keeps his eyes trained on the rest of the party. “Because you have enough negative press surrounding you when it comes to this team. The last thing you should want is an affair splashed across the papers as well.”

  “You act like you care.” I have zero intention of having any sort of affair with Natalie, even though my head can’t seem to stop thinking about her. My mind might be taking her in my arms, but when it comes to making my thoughts a reality, I’m not that guy. Marriage is sacred. There’s no place for infidelity. I also know how to keep my hands to myself.

  “I care about this team.” His eyes fall down my body and then back up, assessing me with a thick judgmental gaze that feels like a coating of unwanted mucus. “Something I can’t quite say about you.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I care about this team.”

  “Sure.” He grins sarcastically and then pats me on the shoulder. “Bobbie for life. Right, bro?”

  And with that, he takes off and joins our shortstop and second baseman.

  Bobbie for life? Is he fucking kidding me with that childish bullshit?

  If that’s what this is about, me being a Bobbie fan when I was young, then I don’t have time for this. I’m not about to run around the clubhouse trying to prove to anyone who needs to hear it that I’m a Rebel now, and as a result, I’m taking that way of thinking out onto the field. If they choose not to see that, then that’s on them.

  * * *

  “Are you focusing?”

  “Yeah, Jesus,” I mutter, rubbing my sleeve across my forehead.

  “It doesn’t seem like it. Your drive through the ball is shit, Cory.”

  Exhaling, I swing the bat lightly over the plate and then bring it up to my shoulder. “Just pitch the ball, Milly.”

  The bat taps against my shoulder and then gets in position, muscle memory kicking in when she pitches the ball, and I drive my hands through the strike zone, connecting with the ball. But instead of shooting it back up the middle, I dip my shoulder and shoot the ball up into the nets.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, bringing the bat back to my shoulder.

  “You’re not focusing.”

  “Say it again, Milly. Say it fucking again.”

  She stands behind the pitching net, balls in hand, and stares at me. I know that look. She’s not happy, and I’m about to hear about it.

  The clunk of the balls being tossed in the bucket below her reverberates off the empty cages of D1 Athletics. The boys and Milly locked the doors after closing so I could have the cages to myself, and so I could have some time with the best batting coach I know. But I haven’t been able to get my head on straight since I’ve been here. It hasn’t been helping that Milly keeps pointing it out either.

  And my lack of “focus” has nothing to do with Maddox’s parting words the other night, but everything to do with the way Natalie looked in her black dress, the way she smiled up at me through dark lashes, and the way she leaned in toward me when she spoke. I might be crazy, but it felt like there was something there, something more than her just being friendly.

  Does it make me a complete asshole wishing that I
wasn’t reading the situation wrong and that there really was something special blooming between us?

  Probably.

  Maddox’s voice rings in my head, the bastard’s statement making me feel physically ill every time it repeats itself.

  The last thing you should want is an affair splashed across the papers.

  Despite the strong desire to talk to Natalie, I’d never consider having an affair with a married woman. It’s not in my blood. Not to mention after reading today’s article, the last thing I need is for my name to be associated with an affair.

  Pot(ter) calling the kettle black? Old footage of Cory Potter reaming our very own Rebels has surfaced. Disgusting. Dirty. Cheater. All flagrant words to describe his teammates. Is this the reason he wasn’t standing up for his team when there was a brawl on the field this past season? Is this why he had the lowest second-half batting average of his career? Makes you question, is he not hitting on purpose? Does he still think the same way about our beloved black and red?

  Breaking through my thoughts, Milly asks, “What’s going on? You’re never like this. Your swing is lacking pop, your shoulder is dipping every other swing as if you’re exhausted, and there’s no power twisting through your core. This is not the Cory I molded.”

  Giving in, I drop my bat and grip the back of my neck, frustration swallowing me whole.

  “I can’t get her out of my head, Mills.”

  “Her?” Milly’s brow creases and then realization sets in. “Natalie?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I’m fucking losing my mind. I saw her the other day at the Rebels event and I swear, it was as if the room was pulling us together. I tried to stay away, I told myself to keep talking to my teammates, but the more the night progressed, the more I felt the need to go to her, at least just say hi so I could catch a small glimpse of her smile.”

  “Cory . . .”

  “I know.” I lower my body to the ground, where I stretch out my long legs along the turf and lean against my hands behind me so I’m propped up, in position to watch Milly’s reaction. “It’s really fucking bad. But it’s all I can focus on.” I shake my head. “I don’t know. I need to clear my head. Remove myself from the situation and take a deep breath.”