All of Me

by Jennifer Bernard

  She found Donna leaning on the bar, talking to Mike. Thank goodness, she still had all her clothes on. “Donna, I have to go home. I told my mom I wouldn’t stay out too late.”

  Donna turned a beaming, blurry smile on her. “Mike was just explaining the benefits of celibacy to me. Did you know it could raise my batting average by fifty points?”

  Sadie smiled at Mike, who winked. “Thanks, Mike. It was nice to meet you, but I’m going to take Donna home now.”

  “Good idea.” He gave them a salute, then leaned against the bar while she steered Donna toward the red exit sign.

  Sadie couldn’t help looking for Caleb as she herded Donna toward the exit. As one of the tallest men in the room, and the one all the girls kept checking out, he was hard to miss. By the time she reached the door, three girls had joined the two other fans. He leaned against the wall, listening patiently to the little knot of admirers. The low light created shadows under his cheekbones and made the stubborn line of his jaw stand out. A slight smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

  His eyes shifted so he caught her gaze in a sudden flash of steely silver. The half smile turned into a full-voltage grin that transformed his face into something that belonged on a movie screen. Her knees nearly buckled, but she couldn’t for the life of her stop the smile that spread across her face.

  She gave him an awkward little wave, then nearly tripped over Donna, who had stopped to adjust her halter top.

  Donna staggered, then grabbed onto a nearby table. Sadie hauled her back to her feet and then, her face burning, glanced again at Caleb.

  His smile broadened even further. He put his hand to his ear in a “Call me” gesture, then pointed from himself to her.

  He was going to call her. Already, her phone was burning a hole in her pocket because she knew there was a message waiting from him.

  Donna whispered in her ear. “I know I told you to dance with him, but I just have to say this, as your friend. He’s a Catfish. And you’re Sadie Merritt. You know what people will say.”

  “You don’t even know him.” What Caleb had said about getting to know him before judging him had really struck home. She’d been the target of such harsh judgments, most of which were completely undeserved.

  Donna gestured in his direction. “I know enough. He’s gorgeous. A man like that’s a born heartbreaker. He makes Hamilton look like a child, bless his spoiled heart. You didn’t give him your number, did you?”

  “He already had it.” They reached the exit door. The bouncer stepped off his stool and pushed it open for them. “I’m supposed to help the Catfish figure out a way to improve their image.”

  “Well, sign me up for that,” said Donna enthusiastically. “Get him naked, that would improve his image. That man is sex on a stick.”

  A group of girls on their way into the Roadhouse giggled and whispered to each other as they passed. Sadie felt her face heat. She wondered if they were talking about her, and what shameful lie they were repeating.

  “You know, I just changed my mind again. Go for it, Sadie. You’ve been doing the celibate thing too long. That Mike doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You deserve a hot ballplayer, not that I’m not jealous, you gorgeous bitch.” She slung her arm around Sadie’s neck, so she nearly staggered.

  “That’s not going to happen, Donna. I’m not going to sleep with him. He’s going to call about the Can the Catfish petition. That’s all.”

  “Well, that’s just a tragic waste of chemistry. Seriously, the air was crackling between you two. Even Mike noticed.”

  “Sorry, Donna. There’s no chance of sex here.”

  “Didn’t you see that man? The chance of sex is two thousand percent.”

  Sadie cast her eyes toward the sky, where stars glittered peacefully. The more Donna talked about Caleb that way, the more quivery her insides felt.

  “Sure, he’s sexy, but he can probably sleep with any woman in the Roadhouse if he wants. This is going to be strictly business.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, Sadie. I’ll keep laughing my ass off.” Donna gave a huge yawn and looked around the parking lot. “I might have to nap in the car. I never get to nap in the car. That’s the Shark’s job. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  No, she didn’t mind; it would give her a chance to relive every word of her conversation with Caleb Hart, star pitcher and sexiest man she’d ever met.

  Caleb had to admit the Kilby Catfish had one great thing going for them. They had a killer bus. When he’d been with the Twins, ever so briefly, he’d flown on charter planes and stayed at five-star hotels. Luckily, he hadn’t had much chance to get used to it, since he was traded after that disastrous last game. The major league life hadn’t ever sunk in—he’d always felt like a wide-eyed newcomer who didn’t yet belong.

  Now it was back to charter buses, the occasional commercial flight, and an endless string of motels. But Crush Taylor had done his time in the minors and knew what it was like, so the Catfish were lucky enough to ride in a deluxe, air-conditioned bus with plush seats and plenty of leg room. Each seat had its own entertainment system, though most guys listened to their own iPods, watched movies on their iPads, or caught up on their sleep. The Catfish even had a bus version of a flight attendant, a hot young thing who made the rounds taking drink and sandwich orders.

  “Now this is traveling in style, right?” In the next seat over, Mike Solo stretched out his legs with a sigh. He had a typical catcher’s build—muscular and solid—and a head of wild black curls. “The Friars ain’t got nothin’ on us.”

  “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that,” Caleb answered. “One call from San Diego and you’ll be gone so fast we won’t remember what you look like.”

  “Except when you see me on TV.” He winked.

  Across the aisle, Sonny Barnes, the lanky, glasses-wearing first baseman, who had two full sleeves of tattoos, was breathing on the window and drawing hearts in the steam left on the glass.

  “Newlywed,” explained Mike. “Got married last month. They spent their honeymoon in the Econolodge in Albuquerque. One time we stole his cell phone, and me and Dwight did a dramatic rendition of the texts he and his wife send. Fucking hilarious.”

  “Dwight is . . .”

  “Dwight Conner. Big black guy, the funniest center fielder you’re ever going to meet. He’s sitting up at the front of the bus right now. Says the back of the bus gives him genetic flashbacks.”

  Duke stepped on board, followed by the bus driver, and a few minutes later they were on the road. Across the aisle, Barnes nearly broke his neck trying to wave to his wife until the last possible moment.

  Caleb settled back in his seat, iPod buds at the ready. He’d intended to nap—he hadn’t slept well last night, hadn’t since his father arrived—but he liked this way of getting to know his fellow Catfish. Like most Triple A teams, they were a mix of up-and-comers, rehabs, and players who’d reached the limit of their talent.

  “Who are the prospects?” he asked Mike. The blue-chip prospects were the money players who’d been picked first in the draft and were expected to head up to the majors and become stars.

  “Besides you?”

  Caleb winced. Sure, he had been a prospect. He’d done well in Double A, even better in Triple A with the Rochester Red Wings. He’d missed a season thanks to injuries, but come back even stronger. Then he’d gotten the Call. He’d experienced the incredible feeling of pitching in a big league park for a big league audience. Three games he’d pitched, and he’d been on top of the world. Then, for no reason, he’d crashed. Now he wasn’t so much a prospect as a headache . . . or a head case . . . someone everyone was trying to figure out.

  “Yeah, besides me.”

  “Well, we got our rehabs. Don London broke his toe kicking a cooler. Bad move, but he’ll be gone soon. Should heal up good. Ramirez won’t be here long. He’s hitting .343 with twenty homers so far. Got call-up written all over him. He’s the Latin guy wit
h the Bose earphones and the sketch pad.” Mike gestured up ahead a few rows.

  Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Sketch pad?” You didn’t see that every day on a Triple A bus.

  “He likes to draw. Doesn’t say much. He expresses himself through home runs and his art.”

  Now that was unusual. Then again, there were all kinds of characters in baseball.

  “I heard the Friars are trying to get Trevor Stark in a trade,” Mike continued. “That oughta be interesting.”

  “Think they’ll send him here?”

  “Probably. He just got out of rehab and he’s pretty shaky. Hasn’t gotten a hit yet. He’ll probably get sent down no matter what team he’s on.”

  Caleb had actually pitched to Trevor Stark during his second major league start. The mighty slugger had hit a triple off him. And halfway between second and third base, as Caleb waited helplessly for the outfielder to catch up with the ball, Stark had fucking slowed down. He’d looked directly at him, slowed his pace and shot him a cocky grin. Then he’d scooted into third with a stand-up triple.

  Caleb hated the guy’s guts. If they ended up on the same team . . . well, watch out, Kilby. Things were guaranteed to get ugly. “Hell,” he muttered under his breath, then decided to change the subject. “So listen, is there anything to the stuff they say about this team?”

  “That we’re mad, bad, and dangerous to know?”

  The rookie third baseman poked his head over the top of the seat in front of them. “It’s not our fault. Go to one of Crush’s parties and you’ll see the problem.”

  “Throws a good party?”

  “The best,” said the guy reverently. He managed to insert his hand between the seats. “I’m Tommy John Gates, but they call me TJ.”

  “Tommy John, huh? Your parents were baseball fans?”

  “Surgeons. But they come to every game they can,” he said proudly. Caleb steeled himself against the automatic sense of envy. For so many of the guys, baseball was something shared between father and son, something passed down through generations. Not for him. He’d learned baseball at the Boys and Girls Club where his dad used to park him while he was “taking care of business.”

  “Anyway, yeah, Crush wasn’t called the Playboy Pitcher for nothing. He’s divorced now. Almost seems like he bought the team so he’d have some ballplayers around. He likes it when the team gets rowdy. I think he might have a grudge against the Friars because they traded him to a last place team back in ’04. Maybe he likes making trouble for them.”

  Caleb’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw that a text from his sister Tessa had just come in. Dentist says the twins need braces. Ten freaking thousand dollars. Can u do it?

  He used his thumbs to tap back a message. I’ll put some more money in the account.

  Awesome. Guess I won’t jump into the Rio Grande yet. How’s Bingo?

  Tessa refused to call him “Dad,” as did Caleb. He texted, If the Rio Grande was closer . . .

  LOL. Don’t like that joke, but LOL.

  He smiled to himself, and stuck the phone back in his pocket. When Bingo had been sent to prison, Caleb was nineteen, Tessa seventeen, and the twins seven. He’d done about five years’ worth of growing up in the week after Bingo’s guilty verdict. He’d immediately called up the agent who’d told him he could get a big signing bonus if he’d leave college right away. Done, and done. Two weeks later he was a member of the Minnesota Twins system instead of a freshman at Texas Christian University. They’d all been living off his bonus ever since, while Tessa took on the role of big sister-slash-single parent during the baseball season.

  He didn’t want to tell Tessa, but that bonus had shrunk to an alarmingly small amount since he received it. His minor league salary wasn’t enough to keep them going for long. He had to get back to the majors. Had to prove himself and win a big money contract.

  Had to.

  Chapter 5

  SADIE WAS COMPLETELY wrong about the chances of Caleb’s calling. He called on the second day of his road trip, from Austin. She happened to be on her lunch break, on her way to meet Donna in the little park near City Hall.

  “This is Caleb Hart,” he said casually, in his rugged baritone, as if hotshot pitchers called her every day of the week.

  “Hi Caleb.” Her voice sounded weirdly fluttery to her ears; but hopefully he wouldn’t be able to tell.

  “I’ve been thinking up a bunch of ideas to make the team look good.”

  “The mayor will be happy to hear that.” Then, on a devilish impulse, “Not that you guys don’t look good already . . .” Seriously, Caleb definitely brought out her flirty side. Had from that first moment in Catfish Stadium. It felt good, like exercising muscles that had atrophied.

  “Mmm. Will you sue me if I say that sounds like a come-on?”

  On its own, her mouth quivered into a broad smile. Bad Sadie. “You’re reading between the lines, Catfish.”

  “Hey, I’ll take what I can get. It’s tough out here for a ballplayer. Show a little mercy.” The teasing note deepened his voice so he sounded like a late night DJ introducing a Marvin Gaye song.

  “Oh really? I’ve never heard that things are tough for baseball players. The fans, the adulation, the big money . . .”

  “The injuries, the long road trips, the lonely nights, the generic hotel rooms . . .”

  “Poor baby.” In the green patch of park up ahead, she spotted Donna waiting at the edge, and waved.

  “My sad story’s working, I can tell. You want to kiss it and make it all better.”

  No flirting, Sadie. You know this is a bad idea. She wrenched the conversation back to the original topic. “So what have you been thinking about the team?”

  “Well, what about a baseball clinic for underprivileged kids?”

  She snorted. “Cliché. Anyway, the Catfish already do one every year. It’s a blatant photo op.”

  “So harsh. What are you doing right now?” With his voice low and intimate like that, he might as well have asked what she was wearing.

  “Not much. I’m meeting Donna for lunch.” She reached her friend, who raised an eyebrow at her while jittering up and down, bouncing the Shark in his backpack.

  “What about you? What are you doing?”

  “Icing my shoulder, munching on nachos. The glamorous life, you know.”

  At Sadie’s giggle, Donna looked at her askance. She sobered quickly. No need to get Donna curious. “Your shoulder hurts?” she asked Caleb.

  “No more than usual. I ice it after every game. What about something with summer school? Literacy or arts in the schools.” The speed of subject change made her head spin. “I can run that one by Duke and the PR chick. It would make us look warm and fuzzy.”

  “Did you just say PR ‘chick’?”

  “Sure did.” His voice got that low, teasing tone again, the one that made the palms of her hands tingle. “Got a problem with that? Tell you what, why don’t you hop in your car and drive out here to Round Rock and give me a good old-fashioned tongue-lashing.”

  “You are bad.”

  “Oh, I can be very bad.” His voice dropped another octave, and she shivered down to the soles of her feet.

  Still, she couldn’t help but notice that he’d managed to shift the subject away from his pitching. The guy might be a big, strong ballplayer, but he also had a quickness that really appealed to her.

  “I gotta go,” he told her. “Someone’s at the door. It’s probably the rest of the team. We have a plot to kidnap the mayor of Round Rock and tie him to the front of our bus like a figurehead. We want to make Kilby proud. Will the Can the Catfish ladies give us points for that?”

  She laughed. “No, but the hunters would love you, and they vote too.”

  “Mind if I call you again tomorrow? I might think of something brilliant. You never know.”

  “Sure. That would be fine.”

  Actually, that would be much more than fine. Talking to him on the phone was almost more
fun than talking to him in person, because she wasn’t so distracted by his knee-weakening physique.

  After she hung up, and while she was still laughing over the image of the bus figurehead, Donna bumped against her. “You look like the cat who ate the catfish.”

  Her cheeks burned.

  “I knew it was that baseball player! I haven’t seen you laugh like that since junior high. It’s nice to see my fun best friend again.”

  “He’s funny. He makes me laugh. But it’s just business,” Sadie assured her, stuffing her phone back in her pocket. “It’s part of my job, like I told you.”

  “That crazy Can the Catfish petition?”

  Sadie groaned. “I thought if I delivered it and they laughed in my face, that would be the end. But they’re actually taking it seriously. The owner called Mayor Trent and promised his full cooperation. You should have seen her face.”

  She’d gone all pink and flustered, as a matter of fact. Sadie had never seen her like that.

  “If you get a hot ballplayer out of it, why are you complaining?” Donna said. “I’d deliver a petition to send the team to the moon if it got me a date with a hunk like that.”

  Sadie peered behind her at the sleeping baby’s face. “So sweet and innocent. You’d never know his nanny was psycho.”

  “He’ll find out soon enough,” said Donna cheerfully. “I should get him out of this heat. I slathered him in SPF one thousand, but even so.”

  “You know something, Donna? You’re really good at this nanny thing. You’re a natural.”

  A stricken expression twisted Donna’s face, gone so quickly Sadie thought she’d imagined it. She stared at her friend as she veered toward the path that would take them to the downtown strip.

  “Yeah. Well. Back to the Hot Pitcher Dilemma. Let’s go get some cold drinks and figure out how to hook you up with him.”

  Hmm. Something was going on with Donna. But Sadie knew her friend well enough to know she’d only share it when she was ready.