by J. Lynn
“No, it hasn’t.”
Wisely, he doesn’t press, just holds up his phone. “You can use this, if you want.”
“Thank you.” I step out of the car. I’m five-eleven, but he’s a solid six-two. It’s nice to stand beside a guy taller than me. Too bad it’s him. I take his phone, careful not to touch his hand, and press the on button.
And realize I have no one to call.
My heartbeat goes frantic as I mentally scan my contacts list. Ernie left for a weekend at the beach right after the game. My roommates would be at any of ten bars within walking distance of our apartment, and none of them sober enough to come and get me. I make a quick decision and dial information, regardless of the fact that I don’t have a key.
“I need the number for Karroll’s Cab—”
The phone is out of my hand before I can finish the sentence.
“Really, Liza? You’d call a cab service before you’d let me take you home? What did I do to you?” he asks. “To make you dislike me so much?”
“It’s not you.” When I gather up the nerve to look at him, I see the hurt in his green eyes. “It’s players in general.”
“Don’t lump me into a category.”
He sounds like Ernie, which reminds me of my resolve.
“I’ve been around baseball since I could walk. I know how every single one of you works. The games you play, the expectations you have, and how when you leave here, you’re walking away for good.”
He looks taken aback at the statement, and I know he doesn’t understand where my anger comes from. I feel bad for dishing out vitriol.
“How can you be so certain?” he asks. “From the rumors around the clubhouse, you’ve never even looked at a player sideways, much less dated one.”
I don’t feel bad anymore. “Chalk it up to experience.”
“Chalk up this. I’m taking you home, and I’ll make sure you get inside safely before I leave. You can make every ‘your mama’ joke there is, but she taught me well.”
“I see.”
“Get in the car.” He points.
“You can’t take me home.”
“Damn it, Liza—”
“I mean my roommate has my key. Just drop me off at Five Points.” Our apartment was strategically located near all the best bars in town, and they all were within half a mile of Five Points. “I can find her and get the key. I’ll be fine to walk home from wherever I find her.”
He opens the car door. “I’ll help you find Rosie and then make sure you both get home.”
“You know my roommate’s name?”
“I know everything about you that’s worth knowing.”
Ben
I HAD THE air conditioning on at first, thanks to summer humidity, but the cotton candy smell of her is so close, I ask if I can put down the windows.
She’s wearing jean shorts and a tank top. Cherry red again, same as the sweater she had on the day I met her.
“You remember what I had on?”
“I said that out loud?” Damn. “Red’s my favorite color. It looks really good on you. Because of your dark hair and eyes. It’s cheerful. I like . . . cheer.”
She bites her lip and barely suppresses a laugh. “You’re weird.”
“It’s your fault.” There’s no point in acting cool with her.
“I’m sorry?”
“I notice you. You know it. You’ve known it since March when the team reported.” I blow out a breath and take a right onto Franklin Avenue. “I also know that you’d rather a guy be interested in your brain than your body, and you know that I know it.”
“There’s a lot of knowing in this conversation.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No.”
I grin at the word play. Sneak a look and see that she’s grinning, too.
And ignore the tug of hope that pulls in my stomach.
“It’s not like we haven’t spent time together.” I fiddle with the volume on the stereo, turn it down. I want to hear her voice, undiluted.
“For work things,” she argues.
Youth camps. Public appearances. Pre-game dinners. The Fourth of July parade. It had rained that day, and she’d scooped her hair up into a baseball cap. I’d been sorely tempted to snatch it and run off, but she wasn’t the kind of girl to respond to playful flirting. Most likely she’d have punched me in the junk.
“A lot of work things,” I remind her. And more than a few times she let down her guard with me. “Enough for you to manage to deliver a diatribe on reality television, give me your opinion on the future of trance music, and dissect the entire health care system.”
Her chin drops slightly. “You remember that? You were actually listening?”
“I always listen to you.”
She crosses her arms and stares out the car window. I let her off the hook. For now.
Five Points is packed by the time we get there.
Any place that has five streets crossing the same intersection with bars on every corner is bound to be. I luck into a parking place beside a handicapped spot. I’m not overly anxious about my car, but I’m not reckless, either.
Liza hands over my phone. “Rosie isn’t answering, so I’m guessing the hangout for tonight is less pool hall, more dance place.”
I pull at the neckline of my T-shirt. “Where do they usually go? When they’re in the mood to dance?”
“Trippy’s.” When I swear, she steps in front of me. “No. Please tell me no.”
I shrug. “We leave to go on the road tomorrow. They’ll sleep it off on the bus, so, yeah, probably.”
“I’ll go in by myself.”
Frustration and jealousy compete for purchase in my gut. She doesn’t want to be seen with me, and if the players are at Trippy’s, she’ll be seen alone. No one will let her get by without making a pass, or worse, copping a feel.
“No, you won’t.” The words sound more like a demand than a request. I don’t care.
“Do you want people to think we’re together?” she asks.
“Yes, actually.”
She blinks.
“You’re the one who doesn’t want to be seen with me. I’d be more than proud if someone thought I was with you. And I am, if only because you don’t have a car, a phone, or a key.”
She looks sheepish. “I do appreciate you bringing me here.”
“I don’t need appreciation. If you think back,” I say, “I’m sure you’ll remember that I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”
“You have.”
“I’ve never even sworn in front of you.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“I’ve carried things for you, opened doors for you, let you go first in line.”
“All that’s true.”
“And on Superhero Night at the ballpark, I didn’t look at your behind once in that Wonder Woman outfit.”
She pulls her head back. “Then how did you know about it?”
“There was talk.” So much talk. Dirty, dirty talk.
“I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you.”
“You aren’t?” I stop dead.
“No.”
Not the answer I’m expecting. Usually I only get arguments from her. She pulls me into the doorway of an antique shop.
“I’m not. I am grateful that you brought me here. And I’m sorry if I’m acting like a shrew. Okay?”
“Okay.” I have no idea what to do with this nugget of info. No idea why she stopped me to pass it along. Other than the fact that she’s staring at me, into my eyes, like she’s seeing me for the first time.
Liza
WHO THE HELL am I looking at?
Why have I wasted so much time hating someone who doesn’t deserve it?
He’s not a game player. I know that. We’ve done countless events together, and if I’m honest with myself, I can admit that he’d been chosen to help out the publicity department because I pushed for it. My instincts were right, he’d been perfect at every opportunity, but I hadn’t
known that at the beginning.
I just wanted to be around him.
I’m staring at him as all this goes through my head, and he’s staring back as if he can sense what I’m discovering about myself.
That I’ve been lying to myself about my own feelings.
“So,” I say, blowing out a deep breath.
“So,” he replies, and he’s smiling.
I abruptly push myself out of the doorway and head for the bass coming from Trippy’s.
He follows. He doesn’t touch me, but I can feel how close he is as we make our way through the crowd.
When I find Rosie, it’s worse than I could’ve imagined.
My roommate, a sensible redhead and chemistry major who’s gunning for med school, is taking body shots off the first baseman.
“Spinelli.” Ben mutters the name under his breath.
Caesar Spinelli is the perfect example of every stereotype I’ve ever believed about baseball players. It’s laughable.
Or he would be, if Rosie weren’t licking him.
“She’s really, really drunk,” I say to Ben, by way of apology. I don’t know why it would matter to him what—or who—my roommate chooses to do with her time, but I defend her anyway. “She’s a really smart girl, but tequila is her downfall.”
Spinelli starts to unbutton his pants.
“Oh no.” Ben and I say the words at the same time.
I reach for Rosie and he grabs Spinelli. The crowd around them, made up of players and groupies, vocally protest their disappointment.
“Why did you do that—” Rosie starts the sentence but stops it when she sees Ben behind me. “You’re with him. Are you with him? Oh ye gods, you’re with him!”
“I am not. You took my key, and he brought me here to get it. That’s it.”
“You couldn’t drive here yourself?”
“Dead battery.” I wrestle her into a sitting position and wipe the remnants of salt off her chin. “What are you doing? I’ve told you about players. That guy’s the worst one.”
“That guy has abs the size of speed bumps.” She giggles and waves at him. He winks before he goes back to a heated conversation with Ben.
Who now has Spinelli by the hair.
“I’m in a dry spell,” Rosie continued, pulling my focus. “There’s nothing wrong with a hookup here and there. You should try it. Maybe you wouldn’t be so uptight all the time.”
The words should sting, because they’re true, but I’m still reeling from my revelation about Ben. Wondering how I’ve fooled myself for so long.
Wondering if his abs are the size of speed bumps, and what my tongue would feel like—
“Hey. Hey!” Rosie yells at me. “The key is in my purse. My purse is . . .” She flings her arm in the direction of the dance floor and almost falls over. “Over there, somewhere. Since we’re all here, we should party. Together! Let’s party together! But let’s get out of here. It’s too loud. And I don’t want to do it on a bar. Because the last time I did it on a bar, there was margarita salt in my—”
“No one’s doing it on a bar, or anywhere else. I don’t want players in my house, Rosie. It crosses a line.” And I have no doubt my underwear will go missing, only to show up later, glued to home plate.
“I pay rent, too, and I want to party. Woo!” she shouts, flashing two “hang ten” signs, and gets a chorus of “Woo!” in return. “Third and Lindsey. The big brick building! Number seven!”
A mass exodus of bodies leaves the bar, headed for my apartment.
Ben
“TELL ME THE truth,” I say to Spinelli. “You knew Rosie was Liza’s roommate, didn’t you?”
“So what if I did?” Instead of putting his shirt on, he uses it to wipe down his saliva-covered chest, then flexes a couple of times for good measure. “I didn’t know she was going to ask all of us to go to her place to party.”
“You thought you’d be the only one?”
“Of course. After I was done with the redhead, I was going to pay a little visit to your girl.” He winks over my shoulder. “Talk my way in. All the way in, if you feel me.”
I don’t want to touch his skin, but he’s not wearing a shirt. Feeling like a girl, I grab him by the hair. “Don’t talk about her like that. Don’t talk about her at all.”
“Screw you, man.”
I twist.
“Ow!” At least he’s screaming in soprano.
“You aren’t worth ten of her, and if you even think about touching her again, I’ll grab and twist elsewhere.”
Rosie’s voice cuts into the argument. She issues an invitation to party. Everyone around us starts picking up belongings and settling tabs. I’m seeing red, and I’m ready to go head to head with Spinelli, when someone grabs his shoulder.
“Come on, Spinelli.” It’s Taye. “Both of you need to knock this asinine behavior off. See the cops over there?”
Two, in the corner. I’ve never seen them before. They aren’t regulars at the ballpark. A fight could cause all kinds of problems for the team and the office staff, so I deny myself the pleasure of slamming Spinelli’s head against the bar and let him go.
He pulls on his shirt and jerks his head toward Liza. “Good luck with the ice queen. Maybe she’ll hold your balls, help take the swelling down.”
I make another lunge for Spinelli, but Taye steps in front of me. “Stop.”
“He is such an asshole.” I slam my hand down on the bar.
“Hopefully karma will repay him in VD.” He brushes off my shoulders, straightens up my shirt, and gestures across the room. “Are you here with her? Liza?”
“She didn’t have a key and her car broke down.”
“How about that.” Taye smiles.
“What did you do?”
He fishes in his pocket and then flashes a distributor cap. “Tomorrow morning, this will be back where it belongs. Make tonight count. You’re welcome.”
When he’s gone, I look around for Liza. She’s sitting on a bar stool with her chin on her hand.
“You okay?” I ask.
“With the exception of not being able to go home, I’m fine.” Sighing, she picks up a full bottle of beer. “Rosie didn’t even drink this. Said Caesar had abs like a speed bump. I’d like to run over them.”
“That’s my girl.”
“I’m going to have to set off a disinfectant bomb in my apartment.” Liza turns up the beer and takes a long swig.
“And dip your toilet in bleach,” I say. “Unless Rosie really does hook up with Spinelli. Then you should burn it and buy a new one.”
She snorts, and beer shoots out of her nose.
I grab for a napkin. When I find one, she’s face down on the bar, laughing her ass off. It’s so free, so uninhibited, that I can only stare.
When she finally sits up she looks at me with watery eyes and pink cheeks. “Are you holding that for sentimental purposes or can you hand it over?”
I give her the napkin and she wipes her eyes and mouth.
“What are you looking at?” she asks, smoothing her hair. “Surely you’ve seen someone make a fool of themselves before?”
“I don’t understand how you can be so beautiful when beer’s coming out your nose.”
“Oh please.” Liza balls the napkin up and throws it back at me. “I tell you I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you and you give yourself permission to break out the cheese?”
“I’m not lying.” I take her hand, step between her legs. “I think you’re beautiful, smart, unexpectedly funny, and I want you to feel similar kind feelings toward me. Because I want you to see me again.”
Her breath catches. “I’m not seeing you now.”
“You will be for at least few more hours. I want to take you home.”
She groans and tries to pull away.
“I’m making a mess of this. That’s not a line. I want to make sure you get into your apartment without a hassle from any of the players, even if we have to sit in the parking lot all night
. You have tomorrow off, right?”
“Yes.”
“So you can sleep in.”
She nods.
“You’re breathing really fast,” I observe.
“You’re standing really close.”
“You aren’t making me move.”
“No,” she says, looking up at me from under her lashes. “I’m not.”
I tuck one strand of her blue-black hair behind her ear. Let my hand linger on her face. Tip up her chin.
And kiss her.
Liza
I’M NOT ABOVE admitting that Ben Bullock is one amazing-looking guy.
But I had no idea he would be such an amazing kisser.
Gentle, thoughtful. Seeking without pushing. Before I know it, I’m hanging on to his shirt and gasping for oxygen.
“Holy shit.”
“That exactly.” He takes my hand.
He holds it all the way to the car, and I know I should stop him, stop this, but his hand’s so warm. It’s calloused from the bat, and I wonder how it would feel on my skin.
Damn it, Liza.
He doesn’t let go until he opens the car door for me.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asks, when he pulls into my parking lot forty-five seconds later.
“You just did.”
He gives me an eye roll. “You’re about to get another. Why do you hate players so much?”
“I have a good reason.” I exhale a shaky breath. Am I going to go there with him? I look over, see the concern in his eyes, and know that I am. “My dad. You know my last name.”
He frowns. “Perez.”
“Yep.” I wait for him to make the connection.
“Catcher. Long-term big league career. Pistol Perez is your dad?”
“Father. Biological.”
He nods. Stays silent.
“Ernie and my mom were best friends. She came to a game and my father saw her. It was over after that. Ernie’s never forgiven himself for introducing them. My father sends money, but never spends time with me. Just with his two sons.”
“Is that why you wanted to work in baseball?”
“At first. To prove something, like I could be involved with the game without a ball and a bat. But I guess it’s in my blood.” I laugh, but it’s half hiccup. I swipe at my cheek to do away with the evidence of tears. “I love it. Sitting in the stands during batting practice, watching the bleachers fill up when we open the gate. The crack of a bat, the National Anthem, the smell of the grill, the families, and the laughter. Even the drunks. I can’t see myself doing anything else.”