by Ana Shay
I squeezed my eyes shut, doing my best to rid myself of naked Tate thoughts. Only; images of that calendar I made come to mind. I held my breath and flicked my eyes straight to his face. I knew if I let them roam his chest, I would get so hot, I’d probably faint.
Nope. That didn't work.
Even with that bandage, his sharp chiseled jaw is delicious, and it makes me feel funny inside. Thank god he's not looking at my face because otherwise, my knees might give out. Instead, his golden eyes focus on my wrist. "Did you catch a ball?" He pointed to my hand, and I tilted my head in confusion. It takes me a minute to understand his questions.
"Oh, no. I'm not a fan. I work here." Talking to him made me flustered, but I was happy to get some words out finally. That's at least something. When he looked at me with a crooked grin, all the air escaped my lungs again, and I have to remind myself to take in another breath.
His eyebrow cocked up while he studied my face like he's cramming for a test on it tomorrow. "You do? Why have I never seen you before." Tate stepped towards me. I took a step back. He held out his hand like he was going to touch me, and I back away further. My brain was having a hard enough time trying to process the fact he was standing in front of me. If he touches me, I might just explode. The back of my thighs knocked the bench behind me. There was nowhere for me to go. Has the room shrunk since Phil left?
"I'm back office." I sputtered, not sure where to look. He narrowed his eyes, waiting for more. "I work in the marketing department, so I watch the game from our office. We don't get much time by the field." My hand's fiddled, and my feet shifted from side to side as I watch him take me in while he licked his lips. My stomach flipped. I think I might hurl.
He chuckled; it's low and sexy like I’d always imagined it to be. "Does that mean I have you to thank for the Catty incident?"
Wide-eyed, I mumbled something inaudible under my breath, trying to think of something coherent to say. "I made up the dance, but Catty was dragged off before he could do it." I piped out, not ready to tell him I was his fishy humper. His hand came up between us, and he scratched his short blonde stubbled chin. I want to bite it to feel the roughness across my tongue. I could feel myself sweating, and I needed to get out of here before doing something I'd regret.
"I'm sorry to cut this short, but I need to get out of here. My boss is going to kill me if I'm not back soon." I managed to catch him off guard and snaked around him before he could stop me.
I'm home free.
His large hand wrapped around my good wrist, spinning me on my heel, so I was facing him. This time we were close. So close, it's the first time I realized I have to look up to see his eyes. He's so much taller than me. "You can't leave just yet." He husked out. "After all, you know my name, but I don't know yours." He offered me a small smile. I swear I melted.
"How do you know I know your name?" I was curious, considering Mary talked me out of getting a Tate Sorenson tattoo last year, nothing else would tell him I’m his superfan.
He plucked at the fabric of my shirt as his eyes roamed over my shoulder. "You're wearing my shirt." I could feel my face burning, and I stopped myself from going on a tirade about how I'm only wearing this because of the stupid ATV incident because that would be outing myself as the girl behind the fish. Imagine what he'd think if he knew it was me humping his leg? He'd think I was obsessed with him. Or I guess more so than I actually am. Either way, I can’t afford a restraining order on my record.
I pulled the shirt away from my body so I could see for myself. It’s his shirt from last year’s player’s weekend. The back says Tater Tot, a nickname I believe he hates because his ex-fiancée gave it to him, but his teammates find it hilarious. I waved off his comment. “Ah, this is actually my brother’s shirt.” I lied, hoping it would be enough of an explanation for him to let me out of this room. I still don’t think I’d taken a full breath since he walked in.
"Well, my name suits you." A smirk grew across his face. For years I've thought about what it would be like if I ever met Tate Sorenson. What would I say? How could I thank him for everything he's done for the fish? Would he offer to let my brother pitch for him? I never thought it would involve him looking me up and down like I'm a fresh Philly Cheesesteak (his favorite, by the way) that he hasn’t gotten his hands on.
"Thanks." I ignored his blatant attempt at flirting because, if I'm honest, my head might explode if I think too hard on it. Why on earth would Tate want anything to do with me? He’s a chiseled, charitable, amazing ballplayer. I’m a lanky, clumsy intern who could be classed as a stalker in some states. "Good luck with your game tomorrow night." I grabbed the door, and as I'm about to open it, he placed his palm on it above my head, stopping me. I just stared blankly at the wood, too afraid to turn and meet his gaze.
"Can I at least get your name, or are you going to make me follow you back to your desk?" He growled out playfully. Why does the tone of his voice make me think he wants to bend me over said desk and spank me for being so naughty? I wonder if all that memorabilia I have with his face on it would change his mind.
I turned, keeping my body as close to the wood as I could. "California," I muttered, lying my back against the door. He tilted his head, trying to figure out what I meant. I got that a lot. I breathed in and closed my eyes as I said, “My name is California. Cali for short.” Since he doesn’t say anything, I figured he was stunned into silence. Here’s the thing about having an odd name; because I’ve shortened it, I forget it’s weird. Ergo, I forget it’s one of those names that needs an explanation.
"Is it because you're from California?" He asked, trying to put the pieces together himself.
“No, I’m from Charlotte.” I couldn’t believe I was standing here about to explain the origins of my name to my favorite player because he wanted to know. “My parents named me California because my hair reminded them of the sandy beaches and my eyes of the waves.” His gaze tracked my long strands as I wistfully continued. “My brother is Pennsylvania, Penn for short because his hair and eyes reminded them of the autumn leaves in New England.” I do my best to make it sound nonchalant. As though naming your kid after a state is a perfectly normal thing to do. I know my parents are a little whacky, but they’re my parents. It’s not like I can change them.
"I love it." He breaths out, looking down at me, his arm still towering overhead, caging me in. "It suits you." He bares his perfectly straight teeth as his free arm pushes a piece of my hair off my shoulder. My hair. It probably looks like a greasy mess after being stuck in that costume, and he's been staring at it all this whole time. I’m a sweaty mess, and I need to get out of here before I embarrass myself any further.
"Thanks, I think." Letting out a hesitant chuckle, I bend down under his arm and open the door again. He doesn't stop me this time. "It was nice meeting you," I call behind, skipping out of there as fast as I can.
After turning the corner, I greedily sucked in the breath I was denied in Tate’s presence. He made me hot and flustered. I swear my brain fried a little when he looked at me. I need to get it together before I get back to the office. I need to get my story straight. Otherwise, Josh will eat me for lunch.
Walking into the quiet office, SportsCenter was playing on the tv. No surprise, the humping incident was on repeat. Moaning, I was a glutton for punishment. I watched the clip. There I was, full-on Catfish, Human hybrid, rigidly sitting on top of Tate while he stared down at my lifeless body, confused.
"Cali. It's about time you showed up." I try to keep my shoulders from falling. The head of marketing, Josh, comes waltzing out of his room, lips straight. I know I'm in trouble. He's hated me ever since I've stepped foot in this place. This incident will not help matters.
Turning to look at him, I gave him the fakest smile I could muster. After such a long day, I just wanted to go home. Lifting my arm, I showed him my bandaged wrist. "Sorry, Josh, I hurt myself after the whole Catty incident." I tried to giggle, making a joke of the whole thing, but the way h
e stared at me, I knew that was the wrong move, and I'm in deep shit. I was just trying to help the team and make sure Mary and I didn’t get fired.
"My office, now." He pointed without another word. He turned around, stalking into his room, and I stood there silently watching him. Why did it feel like someone just hallowed me out like a Halloween pumpkin? Trudging over, I take my time, trying to come up with an explanation, but I couldn't think of anything except that I lost control of the ATV. It's all my fault. I ruined opening day, and I needed to take responsibility for that. Even if it meant losing my job.
The stadium lights were still on, the groundskeepers were cleaning up as I looked out his office window. He had one of the best views in the house here. I watched the cleaners for a second, trying to get a grip on my beating heart. "Take a seat." He gestured to the brown leather chair facing his mahogany desk. I slumped into it, a weary smile across my face.
"Do you want to explain to me why you were videoed humping one of our best players?" His tone is so serious, even though it's probably the most ridiculous statement I’ve heard someone say.
"It was an accident. I lost control of the ATV, and then when I landed on Tate, I thought flopping off him would make it more realistic, and the fans would find it funny."
I awkwardly chuckled, hoping he’d see the funny side. His straight lips told me he didn’t. "So, nearly killing one of our best players wasn't enough. You thought you needed to make him and the team the laughingstock of Major League Baseball?" He's acting like I did this on purpose. Like I wanted to be dressed as a giant fish. Like it was my actual job, and I wasn’t doing the department a favor by wearing it.
"That's not -"
"Save it, California." He said my name, slowly dripping with spite. "I've got a call with upper management tomorrow, and I'm going to have to explain this and how you were acting on your own volition because my department isn’t going to take responsibility for your supercilious behavior. Imagine if you had injured Tate. His contract is 25 million dollars a year. Who do you expect to pay that if you took him out for the season? You?"
"Well, no of -"
"Did I say I wanted you to speak?" His booming voice shakes the pictures on his desk and startled me into submission. I just shake my head, too afraid to respond. "Consider this your first warning Collins." He sneered. "If you do one more thing to embarrass our team, you're out."
There's a pregnant pause between us, too worried he’s going to say something else. When he doesn't, I look for the first time. "I'm sorry, Josh, I'll make sure it won't happen again."
"Be clear, if you do anything to embarrass us tomorrow on the field, I will personally escort you out." Tomorrow? My shoulders slumped. My body deflated. There it is. The only reason he's keeping me on is that I'm the only one who can wear the suit. Lord knows he can't fit in it; he's only 5 ft 2. "Get out of my office." He doesn't have to ask me twice. After grabbing my things, I jumped out of the chair, racing towards my desk to pick up all the things I needed before heading home. It was late already, and the train would take an extra thirty minutes at this time. I needed to get home as quickly as possible. When I got everything together, I hurried out of the office without looking back.
Opening the door to my tiny apartment, I dropped my jacket over my chair and sighed. The entire journey home, Josh’s words replayed in my head. I'm an embarrassment to the team, and he'll fire me the minute he gets the chance. I’m only keeping my job right now because I’m useful. The minute Tim’s healthy, I’m screwed.
Chucking my shoes off, I lie back on my bed, shifting my back to avoid the broken spring. It’s the first time in hours I’ve checked my phone, too tempted to watch the incident. There’s nothing from anyone except Mary, which makes me think my secret is still safe.
Since I still haven’t been named, I decided to go online and watch the entire incident. Hundreds of articles have already been written about the incident. Everyone’s talking about it. And laughing. People were making fun of Catty and the Catfish. Water started burning behind my eyes. Maybe I should save everyone the hassle and just quit now. Not only have I embarrassed myself, but I've embarrassed my department, the Fish, and worst of all, I've made Tate look like a clown.
Throwing my phone on the floor, I rolled over, letting my pillow soak up my tears and muffle my cries as I tried to calm down. This was my dream job. I will never find anything I'm more passionate about, and I've just ruined all of it over one stupid mistake.
Chapter 4
Walking into the office gave me a weird feeling. The low hum of computers and artificial light were a stark contrast to the stadium down below. The only office I knew. How do people work in places like this? Even though the windows are large, natural sunlight is blocked by the half roof covering the stadium. It feels dark and ever so corporate. I’m guessing they all need Vitamin D tablets with the lack of sun in here.
If I’m being honest, I didn’t even know this side of the stadium existed until Larry told me where it was. He was more than happy to show me while talking about our game today. It was our second home game of the season, and I scored two homers and helped bat in three runs. Typically, it takes me a few weeks to warm up before I start seeing my peak performance. This year seems different. Something, or should I say someone, may have unexpectedly ignited a little more fire in my ass.
Blue eyes, mussed hair, and perky tits. Combine that with what looked to be her wearing my clothes, and you’ve got my teenage fantasy rolled into one hot package. When she saw me, her mouth gaped open, and her pouty lips stuttered. It felt like we’d just been caught doing something very naughty, and my mind raced with the possibilities.
She was all I could think about when I was lying in my bed, ignoring the pulsing pain radiating through my back. California. I played with her name, enjoying the way it sounded rolling off my tongue. She was everything I’d ever dreamed of without even realizing it. Stunning, Baseball lover, and with one single look was able to make me feel like I could whack any pitch out of the park. I got to a point where I thought she couldn’t be real, that my brain had made her up as a coping mechanism for the fall.
After tossing a piece of her sandy blonde hair over her shoulder, I knew she was real. And that I wanted her. Bad. When she refused to give me any information on herself. I knew I had to find her. Most girls throw their number at me, but California couldn’t get away from me fast enough, and it made me learn something new about myself. I like the chase.
My mind thinks back to those baggy gray sweatpants hanging off her narrow hips. She was tall, the perfect height for kissing her senseless. Something I’d very much like to do. Preferably while her long, lean legs were wrapped around my waist, sans sweatpants.
My lips tingled at the mere thought of kissing her. Man, I had it bad. Somehow a five-minute meeting had turned into my new obsession. I shook my head, trying to gain some control. I needed to maintain some cool around her. There was something about her that I wanted, though, and I wasn’t going to give up until I figured out what.
Throughout our conversation, she seemed breathless and a little skittish, trying to think of all kinds of ways to get out of the conversation with me, and I wanted to know why. I waved as employees gaped at the fact that I was casually walking into the room. I could hear whispers questioning why I was still in my uniform up here. I couldn’t help myself. The way Cali stared at my crotch yesterday made me want to wear this to bed. Preferably with her under the sheets.
A blaze of auburn rushes past me, and I stop it in its tracks. "Excuse me," I say, offering a smile to the petite woman. "Sorry to bother you, but I was looking for someone, and I was hoping you could help?"
She stared at me, wide-eyed, looking as dumbfounded as the rest of the employees. Shaking her head, she looked down to the floor before looking back up with a composed smile, "Hi. Yes. I'm sorry, Tate. We don't usually have players up here. I was just a little confused for a second." She smiled. "I'm Mary, and I can help you. Who are you looking fo
r? Josh?"
Holding out my hand, she shakes it. Hers is so tiny; I’m worried I might break her. "It's nice to meet you, Mary. I'm looking for a woman named California. Cali for short." Her mouth parts in shock.
She sputtered nonsense for a second, "Sorry, did you say you're looking for Cali?" She asked again with the same smirk Phil gave me when I asked about her yesterday. I nodded. "She's just, uh, in the bathroom. She should be out soon. Did you want to wait at her desk? I'm sure she'd love that."
"That would be great." I smiled in anticipation, glad I could see her again and that she wasn’t just a figment of my imagination.
"Perfect," She coos out. "Her desk is just here." There's a hint of amusement in her voice. What’s so funny? Maybe Cali has a weird collection of trolls on her desk, or she’s the office weirdo who overeats hummus and leaves the vegetables in her drawer to rot. I hope it’s just trolls.
Rounding the corner, I stop, dead in my tracks, when I see Cali’s desk. Now I know what exactly Mary found so funny. An army of Tate Sorenson bobbleheads stare me down, nodding lightly to an inaudible tune. On the left, there’s a calendar that I most certainly did not sign off. It’s a photo from the ESPN Body issue my ex-girlfriend convinced me to do last year. I’m shirtless in a towel, holding my bat suggestively, and I look like a tool. Stickers of my number are stuck at every angle across her monitor. She even has one of the limited-edition hats from my now-defunct clothing line. I shut it down when I broke up with Sam as it was more her thing than mine.
Cali lied to me yesterday when she said she didn't know who I was. She's my biggest fan, and that was hot as hell.
"Hey Mary, I think we need to talk about the ventilation options for neoprene." Her familiar voice sings in my ear as I turn to look at my potential stalker. Her hair's up in a messy bun. She seems a little flustered, but damn, she's hotter than I remember. Now she's in a tight little pencil skirt and button-up that strains against her tight body. When she registers me standing at her desk, next to the multitude of mini-Tate’s, she nearly trips. "Tate, uh. What are you doing here?" Her brows pinch as she spoke through a clenched jaw.