Not Playing Fair (The NOT Series Book 2)

by Terri Osburn

  “Wai—”

  I ended the call and dropped the envelope back onto the couch before tossing the phone into my purse. Running on autopilot, I dragged my tennis shoes from the tiny closet near the door and slipped them on. Pretending the letter I’d dreamed about getting my whole life wasn’t teetering on one of my throw pillows, I flung the purse onto my shoulder, collected my gear bag from the closet, and sprinted down the stairs.

  I nearly turned around to go back for the letter three times on the way to practice. Why would my mother send me a letter now? What could she possibly have to say after pretending I didn’t exist for more than two decades? Did she want forgiveness? Did she want a relationship? Did I? I was so distracted by the questions racing through my mind that I nearly missed the turn for Banksville Park. Hanging a quick left, I pushed the letter from my mind and braced for the trial ahead.

  One ordeal at a time.

  Spotting Fletcher’s red Dodge Charger, I parked my gray Civic hatchback as far down the lot as possible. He’d always wanted me to upgrade to something more exciting. Something bright and sporty. Even my car was boring in Fletcher’s opinion.

  Shading my eyes from the late-day sun, I peered over the players warming up on the field. The Banksville Bombers. I couldn’t believe I’d finally made the team. Players were paired up, tossing the ball back and forth, and I hoped I could find someone still available to warm up with.

  Without knowing the full roster, I couldn’t be sure how many teammates I already knew, but there were definitely a few familiar faces, most of whom I knew through Fletcher. Then I spotted Roxanne, who I’d played with on two teams before and breathed a sigh of relief. She was tall, sweet, and had been the only person who messaged me kind words of support after the breakup.

  I’d been too upset to play the spring season, and no one except Roxanne seemed to notice my absence.

  Opening my hatch, I reached in for my gear bag and forgot that the hydraulics that kept the door up weren’t what they used to be. With a thud, hard plastic smacked the back of my skull. I was still seeing stars when a voice said, “Are you okay?”

  Startled, I spun around and inadvertently slammed the bag, bat end first, into the stranger’s stomach. He doubled over with an oomph.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, dropping the bag onto the pavement. “I didn’t realize you were so close.” I bent to see his face. “Can you breathe? I’m really sorry.”

  The man held up a hand but remained bent over. “I’m good. Just give me a second.”

  If this was a stranger, I’d just made a horrible first impression. All I could see was black hair curling around the edges of a ball cap so I wasn’t sure if I knew him or not.

  “Okay,” he said, straightening and rubbing a hand over his sternum. I definitely didn’t know him. “If you swing a bat as well as you swing that bag, we’re going to have a good season.” Lips slanted into a grin as he extended a hand. “I’m Ryan Stallings. Sorry I scared you like that.”

  Accepting the greeting, I tried not to stare, but he was so cute I couldn’t help it. His eyes were the color of aged whiskey and surrounded by the longest lashes I’d ever seen on a man. A barely-there five-o’clock shadow covered his narrow jawline, and the grin revealed a perfect row of white teeth. At five foot two, I was used to being towered over, but that wasn’t the case with this man. I guessed him to be maybe five eight or nine, and his hand was soft and warm against mine.

  “Megan Knox,” I said, amazed I was able to get the two words past my lips. Speaking of lips, his were utterly perfect. Full and smooth and distractingly kissable. “I’m late.”

  Ryan shook his head. “Practice doesn’t start for another five minutes so we’re both on time.”

  “Oh. Right.” I retrieved my bag from the ground and lifted it onto my shoulder. “I don’t usually like to cut it so close, but I forgot to take a change of clothes to work.” As if my brain and mouth had disengaged, I continued to babble. “Luckily, the traffic wasn’t too bad on the way here. Did you hit traffic?”

  Why couldn’t I make my mouth shut up?

  “I live in Greentree so it wasn’t bad.” Pointing to the field, he said, “Looks like we might be the last two. You want to warm up?”

  I nearly said no for fear I’d get too distracted staring at his face and take a ball to the nose. Unable to come up with an excuse that wouldn’t reveal my odd instant crush or come off sounding rude, I accepted. “Sure.”

  We walked together in silence across the outfield to the third base bench. Dropping our bags, we both pulled out our gloves and Ryan said, “I’ll get a ball from the bucket and meet you in left.”

  Nodding, I trotted onto the field and spotted Roxanne twenty yards away. She was warming up with a man I didn’t know. To her left were Fletcher and a woman I assumed to be Fiona. If so, Miriam’s assumption had been very wrong. The woman was an African goddess with the body of an Olympic athlete turned supermodel. I, on the other hand, was a pasty garden gnome with childbearing hips and knobby knees.

  Making Fiona a considerable upgrade.

  This personal assessment did not come from a lack of self-esteem. I was cute in a Are you old enough to be in this bar? kind of way. When I was forty people would still assume I was barely out of college, which had its advantages. But there were times when I wished I looked like a grown woman. One with a swanlike neck, legs that went on for days, and an innate sophistication that made men want to be in my orbit.

  Like Fiona.

  “You ready?” asked Ryan, startling me once again. I really needed to cut back on that afternoon cup of coffee.

  “I am.” I jogged toward the outfield fence to put some distance between us and held up my glove. “Fire away.”

  Three tosses later, I was relieved to know I wasn’t nearly as rusty as I’d feared. Keeping my focus on the ball and not the couple forty yards over proved more difficult than I liked, but Ryan’s smile helped. Since I knew little about him besides his name and the fact he lived in Greentree, I forced myself not to get carried away. He could have a girlfriend or a wife. Or a husband for that matter.

  Plus, I’d already done the date a fellow player thing and look how that turned out. Did I want to try that again?

  “Come on in!” came a voice from in front of home plate as the ball landed in my glove.

  Everyone headed for the infield, and as I stepped from grass to dirt, Fletcher appeared next to me. “Hey there.”

  Elated and annoyed and annoyed that I was elated, I kept my eyes straight ahead. “Hi.”

  “I’m glad you’re here. I was afraid you might not play.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I asked, genuinely curious what he would say.

  “Well…” he hedged. “You know.”

  Stopping, I turned his way. “No, I don’t know. Why wouldn’t I play, Fletcher?” He knew how much I loved softball, and he knew how badly I’d wanted to be on this team. Did he really think I’d give up everything just to avoid seeing his stupid face? This was exactly why I had to play.

  Eyes wide, he remained silent.

  “Gather around so we can sort out positions,” said Barry Brownhurst, the man who had coached this team to the league championship six years running.

  No longer interested in whatever Fletcher might say, I walked away and joined the others. I didn’t come here to fight with Fletcher. I came to play ball. And that’s what I planned to do.

  Chapter Four

  “Most of you have either played for me or played on teams I’ve coached against, so I assigned positions we can start with. It’s only the first practice so there’s time to switch and make adjustments if needed.”

  Coach Barry was nothing if not efficient. He didn’t take the game so seriously that no one had fun—that’s why we were playing, after all—but he approached the season with an intention to win and demanded that his players do the same. I’d played against teams in the past who preferred to drink and laugh and for them winning or losing didn’t matter.
That was their prerogative. It wasn’t as if we were playing for money in these adult leagues. Personally, I stepped on the field to compete, and I liked to play with teammates who did the same.

  “Stallings,” he said, addressing Ryan, “You’re the only one I don’t know, but I understand you play shortstop?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ryan nodded. “All-state in high school and then on through my years at U of Akron.”

  A quiet murmur hummed through the team. We rarely got anyone with even these minor accomplishments.

  “Then you’ll start there today. Howard on first, Knox on second, and Carpelli on third,” Coach flipped the sheet atop his clipboard as I groaned internally. It was one thing to play on the same team, but I’d forgotten that Fletcher and I played positions next to each other. “Derby on the mound and Wang behind the plate. The rest of you spread out in the outfield for now.”

  We took the positions assigned and to my surprise, Fletcher drifted over my way. “That was arrogant what I said earlier. Just forget it, okay?”

  Why did my opinion matter to him so much? It wasn’t as if we’d stayed friends. Not that we were enemies either, but friends didn’t kick you out of their apartment and then pretend you no longer existed for the next eight months.

  “There’s nothing to forget,” I said. “Let’s focus on playing and leave the past where it belongs.”

  I nearly patted myself on the back for such a grown-up response, considering I really wanted to tell him where he could shove this sudden nice act. He nodded and shuffled over to first base.

  For the next half hour, Coach Barry hit the ball around the field and we all adjusted to working together. Ryan had a stellar arm and we quickly fell into a rhythm, taking turns covering the bag. I only missed one throw and that was because he smiled at me and my brain went all gooey. Fiona had backed me up and got the ball back in with a long soaring throw from center field to home plate. Did she have to be gorgeous and that good?

  The temperature was still high despite it being mid-September, and by the time Coach gave us a water break, I had sweat in places that I didn’t want to think about.

  “You’re good,” Ryan said, falling into step beside me. “Did you play in college?”

  “I played while in college, but not for the school team,” I replied, flattered that he asked. “I wasn’t good enough to make it at Penn State.”

  He filled a small cup from the water cooler and held it out for me to take. Quite the gentlemanly move. “What do you do when you aren’t snagging grounders out of the dirt?”

  “I’m a…”

  This was an important moment. Telling a man what I did for a living often resulted in them immediately pegging me for boring, and the conversation ended there. I didn’t want this conversation to end, so I bent the truth.

  “I work in a bookstore.”

  Bookstore gave off a hipster image, or so I thought. Like I wore cool, dime-store clothes, drank a lot of coffee, and listened to deep, indie music. My clothes often came from thrift stores, but I drank more tea than coffee, and I couldn’t remember the last time I listened to anything other than an audiobook. Ryan didn’t need to know all that yet. If this went anywhere, I could always confess the truth once he got to know me.

  “One of the big chains?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No, a small independent. You probably haven’t heard of it. What do you do?”

  He was filling another cup so I couldn’t see his face when he said, “I… help people with finances.”

  So he was in my friend Josie’s field. “Like a broker or a financial planner?”

  “Closer to the second.”

  We stepped away to give others access to the cooler, and I expected him to find someone else to talk to, but he stayed by my side. Leaning close, he lowered his voice and said, “Do you know everyone on the team?”

  “Not all of them,” I replied. “The guy in the plain black cap, and that one over there with the sunglasses on the back of his neck are new to me.” Remembering I’d just met him today, I added, “And you, of course.”

  “I moved to town at the start of the year so I don’t know a lot of people. That’s why I agreed to play.”

  “How did you get on this team?” I asked. I’d been trying for four years and only got the call this summer.

  “An old college buddy was on the team, but he moved to DC a couple of months ago. He gave my name as his replacement.”

  Looking around, I said, “Was that Mike Klumski?”

  Ryan’s brown eyes went wide. “How did you know?”

  “I’ve been playing either with or against these people for the last eight years. Mike is the only one missing, and he’s so good I knew they’d never cut him from the lineup.” Fletcher, Fiona, and I, plus the two men I didn’t know, were the only other players who hadn’t been on the team the previous year. “This is the hardest team to get on so you got lucky.”

  He sipped his water before saying, “Is that going to make me unpopular? I didn’t know I might be taking someone else’s spot.”

  “If you can play, then no one will care.”

  “Time for batting practice,” called Coach Barry. “Everyone, take your positions and we’ll start with the outfielders. Roxanne, you’re up.”

  “Back to work,” Ryan said, taking my empty cup and walking both his and mine to the garbage can several feet from the bench. The gesture made me smile, but then he was probably just a considerate person and I needed to stop acting like a preteen getting noticed by the cutest boy in school.

  Grabbing my glove, I jogged onto the field. Once I reached my position, I turned to see Fletcher talking to Ryan by the bench. Words were exchanged, and then Ryan held up his hands right before Fletcher walked away. What the heck was that about?

  I would have asked, but Coach yelled for us to be ready, and Priscilla Derby wound up to pitch. I glanced over to Ryan, but he had his glove down and his eyes on the batter. Something felt off. I had no reason to assume that the new guy was interested in anything beyond making a friend, but he was cute and nice and if Fletcher had a problem with me talking to him, he needed to get over it.

  His right to an opinion on anything I did ended eight months ago. That had been his choice, not mine, but I’d learned to live with it and he needed to do the same.

  The rest of the practice was uneventful, and as we all walked off to pack up, I couldn’t help but notice that Ryan kept his distance. What the heck did Fletcher say to him?

  “Drinks at Alexion’s?” said Jeremy Wang as he removed his catcher’s gear.

  “Yes, please,” chimed in Dalton Minx, an outfielder and one of the best hitters on the team. I’d played with him several years before and remembered him as a laid-back guy who never took anything too seriously. Except when he stepped into the batter’s box.

  All of the teams I’d played on had a regular watering hole they frequented, typically at a bar close to their main practice field. The Bombers had been going to Alexion’s, a family-owned bar that had been around since the 1950s, for as long as I could remember. I’d been there on a couple of occasions with friends, but never during ball season.

  “Not me,” Theresa Carpelli said. “The hubby has to work early in the morning so I’m on bath and bedtime duty for the kids.”

  “I can stay for about an hour.” Priscilla tossed a ball into the five-gallon bucket beside the bench. “How about you, new guy?”

  Everyone looked at Ryan, who was silently stuffing his glove into his bag. When he noticed the attention, he looked up and said, “Me?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Are you coming?”

  I didn’t know Priscilla well, though I did know she wasn’t married. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who’d found Ryan attractive.

  Ryan shook his head. “Sorry, I need to get home.”

  “Well, I’m in.” Roxanne bumped me with her elbow. “How about you, Megan?”

  I wasn’t much of a drinker, and knowing what was waiting for me at home,
I opted to skip this one. “Not tonight.”

  A few others gave their replies, and we all made our way to the parking lot. I considered cornering Fletcher to ask what stunt he’d pulled with Ryan, but if whatever was said had nothing to do with me, I’d look like an arrogant fool.

  “Hi,” said a voice from my right when I reached the middle of the outfield. I looked up to find Fiona smiling down at me.

  “Hello.”

  “I’m Fiona Lewis.”

  Keeping my face expressionless, I said, “I know.”

  Seconds passed in an awkward silence before she said, “I don’t want this to be weird.”

  Too late, but I played along. “Want what to be weird?”

  “Us. I know you were with Fletcher for a while and now I’m with Fletcher and we’re on the same team…” she trailed off.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what Fletcher had told her about our breakup. About me. Pride kept me from asking.

  “I don’t have a problem if you don’t,” I lied.

  Fiona visibly relaxed. “Oh, good. You’re like a legend around here, and I was so afraid you’d hate me on sight.”

  A legend? Since when?

  “I have no reason to hate you.” As far as I knew, anyway. “Fletcher and I broke up months ago. He’s free to date whoever he wants, just like I am.”

  As if we were suddenly girlfriends, she leaned close and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I saw you talking to the new guy. He’s cute.”

  Not hating her didn’t mean I wanted to be besties. I also didn’t trust that Fletcher wasn’t using her to find out what I thought of Ryan. “He seems nice.” We reached the parking lot and I added, “Have fun at the bar.”

  “I can’t go tonight. I’ve got a family thing. But I’ll see you at the next practice.”

  I’d expected her to ride with Fletcher, but she walked on to a black Jeep a few spots past my car. “Have a good night,” I called.