Not Playing Fair (The NOT Series Book 2)

by Terri Osburn

  I appreciated her concern, though I found it almost funny that when I’d left work on Friday, Fletcher’s new relationship had been my only concern. Now Fletcher was the least of my worries.

  Chapter Seven

  “I’m fine. Fiona is nice. And gorgeous. And a really good player.” Jaw tight, I added, “Fletcher is another story.”

  Miriam lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What did he do?”

  I spun to face her and crossed my arms as I summarized. “First, he sent a text asking if I wanted a ride to practice.”

  “As if.”

  “Exactly. Then he caught me at the start of practice and said he was glad that I decided to play. As if I might be too brokenhearted to play on the team I’ve been fighting to join since before I met him.”

  Miriam mirrored my pose. “He makes me so mad. I wish you didn’t have to deal with him.”

  I hadn’t mentioned Ryan at lunch on Saturday, but then I’d been too distracted by the letter. Today, I needed to vent about that situation as well.

  “There’s a new guy on the team. He just moved to the city earlier in the year and we seemed to hit it off.”

  Her anger fled as she sat up straighter. “Oh, this is good. What’s his name? Did you get his number?”

  She was about to get angry all over again. “I didn’t get that far thanks to Fletcher. He said something to Ryan during a water break and from then on he barely looked my way.”

  “Wait, Ryan is the new guy?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Fletcher said something to make him stop talking to you?”

  I didn’t know that for sure. “He could have said anything, but why else would this guy suddenly start treating me like I was off-limits?”

  “You are very much on-limits,” Miriam paused. “In-limits? Whatever it is, you’re available and this guy needs to know that.”

  “Right? I’m going to see what happens at practice tonight before I decide whether or not to say something. I mean, I don’t know much about the new guy. He could be taken or just not interested, but if Fletcher is the reason for the abrupt change of attitude, I want to know.”

  Expression softening, she tapped me on the leg. “I like this feistiness. You’re getting some of your old spark back.”

  I’d never thought of myself as having any sort of spark. “I don’t know about that.”

  “I do. And I like it.”

  “Here’s the paper,” Thomas said, returning with a ream in hand.

  Miriam took the offering. “Thank you, sir.” Opening her desk drawer, she dropped it in on top of the full ream she already had.

  “Why did you send me down for that if you already had some?” he asked.

  Flashing her brightest, most innocent smile, she said, “A girl can never have too much paper.”

  Thomas had worked with women long enough to know when to stop asking questions. “Right. I’m going to check the drop box for returns while you two keep talking about whatever it is you don’t want me to hear.”

  As our coworker walked away, Miriam said, “He’s smarter than he looks.”

  “He has two master’s degrees and three sisters,” I reminded her.

  “Good point. Too bad the two of you dating isn’t an option.”

  “I think Stephanie would frown on that.” Thomas and his wife had been together for at least four years now. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to date a coworker.”

  Finally firing up her computer, Miriam nodded. “That’s fair. But team members don’t count in that, right?”

  I couldn’t eliminate all possibilities. “Team members do not count as coworkers.”

  With a sly smile, she said, “Good. I can’t wait to come to your first game and see this new man for myself. I might give Fletcher a piece of my mind as well.”

  “That will not be happening.” Though it was tempting to sic Miriam on him. That would be even more satisfying than watching Jacob scare the heck out of him.

  “You’re no fun.”

  With only two weeks before the season started, we had practice every other day going forward. I made sure not to be late this time.

  “Hey, lady. You want to warm up?” Roxanne asked as I dropped my bag near the bench.

  “Sure.”

  I withdrew my glove from the bag after tossing in my keys and then jogged into left field not far behind her. A quick scan of the field showed that Ryan had yet to arrive. I had no idea if he’d talk to me again, or if he’d go back to acting as if we never met.

  Part of me said this weird preoccupation with a man I barely knew was childish and probably pointless. He’d been kind. So were a lot of people. But his attitude had taken such an abrupt turn after Fletcher spoke to him, I couldn’t help but wonder. Was he that easily put off, or had everything before that been my imagination?

  The coach called us in and I still hadn’t seen Ryan, so I assumed someone else would be playing shortstop today.

  “As you all know, we have less than two weeks before our first game,” Coach Barry said. “Yinz know how to play, but we need to work on how to play together. I’m going to leave the positions just like we had them on Friday, so hit the field and we’ll get started.”

  I opened my mouth to ask who would play shortstop, but before I could speak up, Ryan walked past me onto the field. Where the heck did he come from?

  “Hey!” I said, catching up to him. “When did you get here?”

  “I had a late meeting, so I just made it when everyone was coming in.” He didn’t say more or look happy to chat.

  “Did I do something on Friday?”

  Punching the center of his glove, Ryan said, “Look, I don’t want to get in the middle of anything.”

  “Here we go!” yelled the coach seconds before I heard the ball hit the bat. Spinning, I turned in time to duck as Theresa made her throw from third to first base. “You’re next, Ryan.”

  Fuming, I trotted into position and waited my turn. When the ball came my way, I scooped it up and threw a line drive straight at Fletcher’s head. Unfortunately, his reflexes were good and he caught the ball in his glove instead of in his big mouth.

  “What was that for?” he said before tossing the ball back to home plate.

  I ignored him and got back into position. Every throw I made to first for the next fifteen minutes was an attempt to plant the ball in his forehead. While practicing the double play, I sailed one from the second base bag that he wasn’t fast enough for. The ball pinged off his shoulder and I experienced a moment of deep satisfaction.

  “You’ve got to catch that,” Coach Barry said to Fletcher, and I turned to face the outfield to hide my grin.

  I wasn’t normally a violent person, and it wasn’t as if I had anything with Ryan that my ex could ruin, but Fletcher had definitely interfered somehow, which set my teeth on edge. We were no longer together because of him. I’d thought he was the one. In fact, I had stupidly assumed that he was going to propose the night he took me to a fancy restaurant on Mount Washington just to break up with me. Also, his new girlfriend was on the team, for heaven’s sake. Did she know that he was telling guys not to talk to me? She probably wouldn’t appreciate him interfering in my life any more than I did.

  “What is wrong with you?” Fletcher growled in my ear as we headed off the field for our first break.

  “It isn’t my fault you can’t catch the ball,” I replied without sparing him a glance.

  “You’re trying to take my head off.”

  Stopping, I turned with narrowed eyes. “If I really wanted to hurt you, I’d have planted that ball between your eyes by now and you know I could do it.”

  “You’re kicking butt today, Megan,” said Fiona as she came up behind us. “Nice arm.”

  “Thank you,” I said, flashing Fletcher a screw-you smile. “Say, Fiona, how long have you and Fletcher been together?”

  I asked the question loud enough for all to hear and wasn’t surprised to see Ryan look our way with a con
fused gaze.

  “It’ll be four months next week,” she replied. “If I keep him that long.” The chuckle that followed those words revealed quite a bit about their relationship. She was kidding, but there was an underlying thread of truth, too.

  “You two are dating?” Ryan asked her.

  “Yeah,” she said. “You didn’t know?”

  Brown eyes narrowed on Fletcher. “No, I thought—”

  “Now everyone knows,” Fletcher cut in. “Babe, let me get you some water.” He dragged Fiona to the cooler and elbowed past two people to grab a paper cup.

  I took a seat on the bench and Ryan dropped down next to me. “I didn’t—” he started, but I would not let him apologize for something that wasn’t his fault.

  “Fletcher and I dated for three years, but we broke up eight months ago. I don’t know why he’d make you think otherwise.”

  “I can think of one reason,” he replied.

  Shaking my head, I watched my ex hand his new girlfriend a cup of water. “We haven’t even spoken since we broke up. Not until last Friday, anyway. Trust me, there’s nothing there.”

  We sat in silence after that, but a good silence. The kind where you know a hurdle just got moved out of the way, and you get to decide if you want to move on past it.

  “We’re good then?” he asked.

  I wasn’t completely sure what that meant, but I nodded. “I’m good if you are.”

  “Yeah. All good.”

  Barely breathing, I waited for him to say more, but the silence continued until Coach called us back to the field. There were a few smiles exchanged as we once again worked in sync at second base, but nothing beyond that. Maybe he was shy. I’d gone out of my way to make sure he knew about Fletcher and Fiona, so at least now he knew I was available.

  As practice came to an end, we walked off the field together and I tried to muster up the courage to ask him something. Anything. Was he going to the bar with everyone else? Was he free this weekend? Did he like short brunettes who owned too many books?

  “Who all is coming to the bar?” Dalton asked, and as players said yes or no, I glanced over to Ryan.

  “Are you going?” I asked.

  “Are you?” he said.

  I couldn’t tell if his tone was hopeful or just curious. “I can go for a little while.”

  Ryan nodded as his full lips turned up in a heart stopping grin. “Then I’ll see you there.”

  The outside of Alexion’s wasn’t much to look at. A rectangular boxlike building, the two-story structure consisted of a combination of concrete blocks, red bricks, and beige siding around most of the upper story. It was like a Lego build pieced together with whatever spare bricks the person could find. The inside was much nicer, but still your standard Pittsburgh bar. Lots of dark wood. A sports mural on the back wall. Traditional bar decor and sturdy wooden tables. The moment you entered you could feel the history of the place, and the smells coming from the kitchen made your mouth water.

  A seemingly endless list of craft brews was listed on the chalkboard over the bar, and I watched a waitress walk by with a loaded tray of sandwiches roughly the size of my head. This was a place for hearty meals, draft beers, and neighborhood camaraderie. A place that screamed welcome to the Burgh.

  “We’ve got a bunch of tables in the back,” Jeremy said when he spotted me scanning the room. He was at the end of the bar, presumably putting in an order. “What can I get you?”

  “I’ll take an Angry Orchard Rosé.” I wasn’t a huge beer drinker, but the ciders I could do.

  “You got it.”

  I headed for the tables Jeremy mentioned as he called out my order to the bartender. When I reached the group, I didn’t see Ryan, but Fletcher was animatedly telling a story at the far end of the tables. Fiona was nowhere in sight, so I assumed maybe she’d skipped again.

  There were two empty chairs beside Theresa so I took the one next to her and hoped that Ryan would take the other. Unfortunately, Jeremy sat down instead after passing around a collection of drinks. The Angry Orchard landed in front of me at the same time a waitress set down a paper basket of celery with ranch dressing.

  “You’ve got one hell of an arm,” Jeremy said. I waited for him to add “for a girl” but he ended the sentence there.

  “Thanks.”

  “That was smart what you did at practice.”

  Unsure what he meant, I asked, “What was smart?”

  “Pointing out that Fletcher and Fiona are a thing. Some of us know the history between you two. We wondered if there might be some drama that would get in the way of the season. That told us it’s all cool.”

  As I processed this information, Theresa said, “I told yinz guys that Megan wasn’t the drama type.”

  I couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed that they’d been talking behind my back or grateful that someone had stuck up for me.

  “You never know,” Jeremy said before turning his attention to Priscilla on his other side.

  Still speechless, I stared at my drink as Theresa said, “Ignore him. The guys don’t get it, but us girls know what Fletcher is like.”

  “What he’s like?” I repeated. For the three years I was with Fletcher, I never heard anyone say a bad word about him.

  She glanced down the table at Fletcher and dropped her voice. “He’s full of shit ninety percent of the time.”

  That would have been nice to know three years ago. “What does that have to do with what Jeremy said?”

  “Fletcher has been telling people that you’re trying to get him back.” Theresa scoffed. “I never believed it.”

  The man literally dumped me and then ignored me for eight months. He also had a beautiful girlfriend. Why tell such a lie?

  “From the time I moved out up until last Friday, I never even spoke to him. Why would he tell people that?”

  “Because he’s needy,” she replied. “He’s probably been asked a couple hundred times where you are and why you guys broke up. Personally, I don’t blame you for dumpin’ his ass.”

  “I dumped him?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  I clearly needed to straighten a few things out. “No, I didn’t. That was Fletcher’s decision. And I haven’t made any effort to get back together with him. Considering he has Fiona now, I don’t see the point of him saying that. I mean, he’s moved on.”

  “Has he?” she said with an arched brow.

  This was ridiculous. “Him dating Fiona makes me believe so, yeah.”

  “Then why did he tell Ryan to stay away from you?”

  I slapped my hand on the table. “That’s what he told him?”

  Theresa picked up her beer. “That’s what I heard from third base.”

  The nerve of this man. Whether anything happened between me and Ryan, Fletcher had no business saying something like that to anyone. He didn’t want me.

  “Fletcher and I need to have a talk.” Shoving my chair back, I marched to the end of the table. “I need a word with you,” I said, interrupting his conversation.

  Looking surprised and exceedingly uncomfortable, he said, “Sure. What do you need?”

  “Outside.” I took off for the entrance without looking back, certain that he’d follow. As I pushed the door open, someone pulled from the other side and sent me flying into a solid chest.

  “Hey,” Ryan said, righting me before I could fall to my knees. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “I’ve got her,” Fletcher said, taking my hand and dragging me into the parking lot.

  “I’ll be right back,” I yelled before jerking my hand away. The insufferable man stopped beside his car as I said, “What is wrong with you?”

  “You’re the one who just made a scene.”

  He would not turn this on me. “You’re the one telling people I’m trying to get you back. Why would you lie like that?”

  His eyes cut to the passing cars. “I never said that.”

  “And I suppose you didn’t tell Ryan to leave me al
one either?”

  “You don’t even know him.”

  “Neither do you.” Trying to get a handle on my temper, I paced away from him.

  “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” Fletcher said.

  Charging back again, I pointed out the obvious. “You don’t get to decide how men look at me. You broke up with me, remember?” He remained silent and I tried to understand what this was all about. “Have you changed your mind? Is that what’s going on here? And if so, what about Fiona?”

  Fletcher slammed his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants before leaning on his car door. “Fiona has nothing to do with this.”

  “Yes, she does. She’s your girlfriend, or have you forgotten about that?”

  “I’m sorry, okay. Is that what you want to hear?”

  This had been the one rift between us when we were dating. Fletcher hated to argue. He’d say whatever he had to in order to end a fight and then pretend that nothing happened. This meant nothing got resolved because he’d rather sweep things under the rug than actually deal with them.

  “Not if you don’t mean it. Just stay out of my life, Fletcher, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

  I turned to walk away and he said, “I never asked for that. I thought we could stay friends.”

  Did he suffer from short-term memory loss?

  “Until that text last Friday, I haven’t heard a word from you, so excuse me if I didn’t get the stay friends memo.” Poking him in the chest, I added, “And if this is your idea of being my friend, I’m not interested.”

  “I wanted to give you your space,” he said. “You know, to get over things.”

  Was I upset when we broke up? Of course I was. Did I cry my eyes out for months missing him? No, I did not. Being bitter about the reason he broke up with me did not mean that I was still in love with him.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose as I tried to figure out how to make myself clear.