Big Leagues

by Jen Estes

  “And, of course, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Cat had been avoiding the trepidation that waited across the hallway inside her lonely and dark apartment. Even though she knew there was no reason to believe that the mugger had her address.

  Assuming he was a mugger and not a hired gun.

  She wanted to take Benji up on his offer. She wanted to stay behind his safe door. She wanted to cuddle in his warm bed. She wanted to feel his strong arms wrapped around her. She couldn’t give into her wants. Whether it was baseball or love, Cat maintained the best offense was a good defense. Pitching shutouts wins ballgames and detached hearts don’t get broken.

  “That’s so kind. Really, Benji, it is, but I can’t take your bed.”

  “Well, you can have the couch then.” He patted the soft cushion. “She’s pretty comfy.”

  She smiled and shifted her eyes toward the sofa. “I’ll be okay. Really.”

  He took a step toward her and lowered his voice. “Cat, are you sure?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I’d feel better, knowing you were safe. With me.” He took another step.

  She slowly brought her face up to his. He lowered his head until their lips were barely touching. His warm breath thawed her cool skin. He glided his hand up to her cheek and let his finger trail down to her jaw. He leaned in closer. Cat shut her eyes and her long lashes graced his cheek. His mouth caressed hers, and she closed her eyes and sank into his velvet lips. Benji wrapped his arms around her waist and fell deeper into the kiss.

  Cat tore her lips from his and stepped back, holding him at arm’s length. She brought her hand up to her lips and looked away.

  “I c-can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

  “No, no, I am. After the night you had and then I drag you over here, throwing my lips around.”

  She met his guilty eyes. “No, I like your lips. I mean, it was nice.” “I’m just tired. I’ve had a really weird night.”

  “I know.”

  Cat eyed the door and then gazed around his apartment. Her fingers traced the plastic quiver on the Green Arrow figurine that adorned his hallway table. “Maybe I should stay here. Just for tonight.”

  “Why don’t I get my bed ready for you? I’ll grab a blanket from the closet for the couch and—”

  “You don’t have to do that. We can sleep together. N-not sleep together/sleep together, but share the bed. Together.”

  “Share?”

  She raised her right hand as if being sworn in. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” She smiled.

  “Well, if you can, then I suppose I can, too.” Benji flashed her a dimpled grin.

  Sunlight streamed through the window, and the morning rays burned at her closed eyelids. She peeked one eye open and recited her morning mantra.

  Ugh. Does every day in this damn city have to be so freaking sunny?

  Rolling over to the other side, she buried her head in the pillow. The events of the prior night raced through her head, and the montage concluded with the moment she’d fallen asleep with her feet tucked under Benji’s. Her eyes snapped open to find an empty pillow next to hers. She reached over to touch the sheets, hoping to find recent warmth; instead, she felt a chill in the wrinkled mass across the bed.

  She sat up and peered at the robot alarm clock on his nightstand.

  Eleven o’clock!

  For the first night since Jamal Abercromby’s brother had visited her office, Cat had slept for more than five hours.

  Nine, to be exact.

  She combed her fingers through her hair.

  “Hellooo?”

  Cat waited for an answer from the quiet apartment. She crawled out of Benji’s bed and looked down, feeling very self-conscious wearing only the oversized 98% Chimp t-shirt he had lent her the night before. She tippy-toed out of the bedroom and found the rest of his apartment equally deserted. She detected the faintest whiff of maple. On the kitchen table, she saw a note taped to a pink pastry box.

  “Didn’t want to disturb the world’s cutest snorer. Had an early class. Will you come by after tonight’s game?”

  Cat grinned at the smiley face he’d added at the bottom.

  “Okay, Lord Byron he’s not.”

  She folded the note and clutched the small square in her palm. When she went back to his bedroom to straighten up the sheets, a frame on his dresser caught her eye. She picked it up. Though he was a few years younger and had hair almost as long as hers, she recognized the sparkling blue eyes beneath the black mop. He stood with an older duo in front of the Louvre Pyramid. All three wore matching gray UNLV sweatshirts and identical grins. Bites of jealousy nipped at Cat’s heart as she traced the dimples on his face. She put the picture down and fought the sinful urge to snoop around the rest of his unguarded apartment.

  Finally, wadding her dress and shoes in her arms, she made a dash for her apartment across the hallway, managing not to share the sight of her bare thighs with the rest of the tenants in Villa La Playa.

  33

  It took Cat ten minutes of digging through drawers to find her spare Jeep key. There would be no leisurely stroll to work today. To avoid last night’s crime scene, she drove the suburban route, twelve blocks out of her way, to the stadium. The detour added an extra five minutes to her commute, but she still made her way into the office with three hours to go until the first pitch. As promised, Erich had a laptop and phone waiting for her, both exact replicas of their predecessors. Best of all, he’d included a Burberry messenger bag for carrying the laptop. Cat smiled at the big red bow that had been placed on it. She ran her fingers over the perfect stitching and wondered how much the pretty plaid case must’ve set him back. Gently putting it aside, she fired up the laptop. She hated it already. Sure, it didn’t freeze up for ten seconds upon the first keystroke and the N key hadn’t been rubbed bald, but it didn’t have her story drafts, iTunes or pictures from the time she and Tams went hiking in Kings Canyon. She shuddered at the thought of someone else reading her playoff predictions, listening to Tom Morello and laughing at Tams’s dead-on impression of a sequoia.

  “So, I trust you find the replacement sufficient?”

  Cat’s head rose from the screen as Erich stepped over the threshold of her doorway, the rich tones of his woodsy cologne filling the room. He moved her framed Ron Santo card off to the side to make room for his finely tailored behind. He angled his torso toward her and folded his hands in his lap.

  “Good morning.” She picked up the Santo card and moved it next to her new computer. “Both are great. Thank you so much.”

  “My pleasure. Catriona, do you mind if I take a couple minutes of your time?”

  “Not at all.”

  Cat eyed his pensive face and was assailed by doubts.

  “I am leaving tomorrow and traveling to Santo Domingo for three days.”

  The image of Erich in a skintight pair of swimming briefs popped in her mind. She blinked it away.

  “How nice.”

  “Purely business-related, I am sorry to say. There will be neither suntanning nor sightseeing on this visit.”

  The swimming briefs were replaced with an Italian suit that was almost as alluring, though not nearly as much fun. “Business?”

  “There is a prospect down there, a young right-hander. Our Latin American scouting director insists his fastball clocks a consistent hundred, but I must see for myself.”

  “Wow. The next Nolan Ryan?”

  “From your lips to his ears.” Erich pointed upwards, and they both chuckled. “I will still be reachable by cellular, of course. You have that number?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I am terribly distressed about last night’s incident. The thought of your ordeal kept me awake for hours.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t—”

  “No, I am troubled immensely that a member of my staff cannot walk home a mere three blocks without being attacked. To think, right outside Hohenschwangau.”

  “Well, nighttime ca
n be a dangerous time anywhere, not just around the stadium.”

  “Not in Munich. The crime rate here is atrocious.” Erich frowned. “I am sorry. I did not come to you to rail against the ills of society. I wanted to deliver this.” He took a business card out of his breast pocket and handed the embossed rectangle to her.

  “Harris Limo & Towncar Chauffeur? What’s this?”

  “That is our car service. We have an account with them. We tend to use their services for out-of-town associates, but I want you to feel free to use a car any evening.”

  She placed the business card on her laptop. “Oh, that’s very kind. Thank you.”

  “Now, I don’t want you to say that just to appease me, Catriona.”

  “Oh no, I didn’t. I swear, I will call them if I need to.”

  He gave her a wary look. “Did you walk to work today?”

  “No. I drove my Jeep. I usually do, but it figures the one night I didn’t …” Cat let the sentence trail off.

  “Terrible twist of fate. However, should you wish to walk to work and need a ride home in the evening, or if there is an occasion where you experience vehicular malfunction and no one is around, you call this service. They are quite prompt.”

  “I will.”

  “I cannot have anything happen to you.”

  “I really appreciate it.”

  “Well, I appreciate you. Again, you are doing wonderful work here.”

  Warmth spread across her face and she broke his steely stare. “Thanks.”

  “I will see you before Sunday’s game. In the meantime, remember you can reach me via my cell or Casa Del Mar. You may also send an e-mail, though I am not sure how often I will be monitoring my account.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Oh! I almost forgot.” He reached into his jacket pocket. “I stumbled upon your request when I was on the first floor. These are for you.” He handed her the two tickets.

  Her eyes caught the lettering and doubled in size. “Whoa! Front row?”

  He watched and smiled.

  “Mr. König, this is great! Thank you so much.”

  “Think nothing of it. Now, those are for Sunday’s game. I am afraid Swank’s family is in from Boston, and they cleared out our entire reserve for Saturday night.”

  “No, this is even better. I prefer day games anyway.”

  “You do?”

  She nodded. “My grams always said baseball was meant to be played under the summer sun.”

  He chuckled. “Ah, my Großmutter’s sage advice was die Sommersonne arbeitet für zwei. The summer sun does the work of two. Does that mean I only need half my staff for day games?”

  Cat giggled. “Grandma logic, who knows?”

  Erich stood up and smiled. “Have a wonderful time and take care, Catriona.”

  “Okay. Thanks again. For everything. Have a safe trip.”

  Cat watched as the last flash of his navy blue suit disappeared around the corner. She stuck the tickets under her laptop. Her Ron Santo card caught her eye, and she moved him back to the center of her desk and patted the top of his frame.

  I gotta figure out a way to bolt you down.

  Dustin was already planted in the front row when Cat entered the press box. His eyelashes flittered as she pulled her chair out, but he said nothing to acknowledge her. Even though it was Dustin, Cat was surprised that he didn’t bother to ask how she was doing after the mugging.

  Maybe he hadn’t heard about it.

  She shook her head at the thought. In lieu of water and food, the front office staff could survive up to ten days on gossip alone. She imagined that most of the employees arrived at the office at 9:00 in the morning and had heard about last night’s events by 9:01. Cat was still in the elevator when Kiara had ambushed her with a hug, and if the bubbly co-ed knew, so did everyone else. Cat was certain the evening’s ordeal had been dispensed with every drip of the water cooler that morning.

  Okay. So Dustin knows. Maybe he just doesn’t care. Or maybe he’s upset I wasn’t gutted and left for dead in the bike lane instead.

  Maybe that’s what he paid for.

  Cat studied his reflection in the box windows. From his thick glasses to his scuffed penny loafers, Dustin didn’t strike her as the type to have an arsenal of hitmen at his disposal. She knew he’d lived in Vegas all of his life, but she doubted he had any friends, in low places or otherwise. She let out a sigh of relief as the first pitch left the mound, her suspicions disappearing with the thump of the catcher’s glove.

  If Dustin had wanted to offer his condolences, he would have had plenty of time. The game had dragged through the regulation nine innings with a tie and now they were in the bottom of the thirteenth. Cat drummed her foot against the hardwood as she thought of Benji’s note, “Will you come by after the game?” She wondered how late was too late for the professor, the evening being a school night and all. As if on cue from Cupid, the Chips capitalized on a passed ball to score the winning run and saved themselves from a four-game sweep by New York. What was left of the Chips faithful went wild in the stands. They jumped to their feet, splashed beer on their friends and hugged strangers in matching jerseys. The bleacher creatures’ inebriated enthusiasm didn’t come close to the reporters’ roars in the press box, ecstatic to finish up for the night and head home to their wives, kids and adorable blue-eyed neighbors. Andy St. John busted up the party with a message from the lounge.

  “Sorry, chaps. No quotes tonight. Bouvier’s got the clubhouse on lockdown again.”

  “Aw, what the hell?”

  “Gonna be another skimpy column for me.”

  “At least we can go home now.”

  Various responses continued to ring out from her coworkers. Cat remained silent as she packed up her laptop in the new messenger bag and trudged back to the office with Dustin. She plopped down at her desk and kicked the pumps off her red, callused feet, the painful consequence of sprinting two blocks in suede mules the night before.

  “Cup of coffee, McDaniel?”

  She started to shake her head and then stopped. “N-uh, wait. Actually, that’d be great. Thanks, Dustin.”

  That’s for not asking how I was holding up, jerk.

  He flashed a phony smile and walked toward the break room. Cat began to reach for her laptop but paused and drew her hand back. She turned her head to the empty door frame where Dustin had just stood.

  Since her arrival, the disgruntled coworker had been the nagging hangnail in her French manicure of a job. And yet, since their first encounter when she had ordered him to get her a coffee for no purpose other than to inconvenience him, he had dutifully brought her a mug every morning—which was always poured down the water fountain drain the second he was out of sight. It was enormous fun to watch Dustin squirm, so she’d kept up the charade. When it came to tormenting the junior reporter, the English language lacked description for the delight. In the same infinite wisdom that introduced the world to nuclear fission and Gummy Bears, the Germans had created the perfect loanword.

  Schadenfreude: taking pleasure in the misfortune of others.

  Maybe it was because of the long night—waiting for twelve extra outs could play tricks on anybody’s mind—or perhaps a rare moment of goodwill, but Cat decided to forgo her Schadenfreude for the evening. She followed Dustin into the break room and prepared to give him a sincere thanks-but-no-thanks on the mocha.

  Her bare feet were silent as she approached the doorway. Dustin stood on the opposite side of the coffee pot, legs wide apart in front of the sink. Cat cocked her head and continued into the break room.

  What is he doing?

  His back was to her, and his elbow jutted out from his body.

  She gasped. “What are you doing to that coffee?!”

  Dustin flipped around, revealing a white bottle in his hand. He dropped the mug on the tiled floor. Powder and ceramic pieces bounced up from the floor.

  “Cat! What? No!”

  He backed up until his back was pres
sed against the sink. Cat didn’t attempt to dodge the scraps, and the misshapen chunks dug through the bottom of her nylons as she charged him. She ripped the bottle out of his hands.

  “I knew it!”

  His face filled with panic as his head wobbled from side to side. “No! This isn’t …”

  She pointed her finger in his face. “Isn’t what it looks like?” She shook the bottle in his face. “You’ve been drugging me! You killed Brad to get his job and when your plan failed, you came after me!”

  His face morphed from panic to confusion. His repeated headshakes stopped in a half tilt. “N-wait, what the hell are you talking about? Killed Brad? Why would you … I would never—that’s crazy!”

  Her eyes flashed and her lips pursed. “Is it? Then what do you call all this?”

  He held out the bottle in his palm for her to see. “This? It’s a laxative. I’ve been adding a crushed pill to your coffees. To get back at you for being such a bitch.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You’ve been putting laxative in my coffee?”

  He shrugged and added a sheepish nod. She bent down to inspect the powder on the floor. His last comment registered. Her face snapped back to him.

  “I’m the bitch?”

  He shoved the bottle back in his pocket and kept his hand there. “Well you know this job should be mine.”

  “So you poison me? What the hell, Dustin?”

  “It wasn’t poison. It’s just an over-the-counter laxative.”

  “Just?”

  “I didn’t even put the full dosage in.”

  She dramatically waved her hands. “Oh, well then, excuse me for overreacting.”

  He pulled the trash can over and began picking up the broken pieces of the mug. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? Are you going to rat on me?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Do you mean am I going to inform our superiors you were intentionally spiking my drink, hoping I’d get … I don’t know, severely dehydrated, all because you’re bitter about not being selected for my job? Yeah, I think I’m going to have to mention it.”

  Cat crossed her arms over her chest. Dustin mumbled something unintelligible under his breath. She shook her head again and pressed a hand against her forehead. “Look, Dustin. Why don’t you go home … now?”