“Hey there. I was just thinking about you,” I said as I answered the phone with my free hand.
It was Wednesday and I hadn’t laid eyes on Emmy since the weekend.
“Oh. Hi,” Emmy responded, almost sounding surprised to hear my voice, even though she was the one to call me.
She didn’t expand on that, so I continued, “Let me guess. You’re stuck under a pile of client files and you need me to come and rescue you from suffocation and certain death.”
I could hear the smile in her voice. “No, although that probably will be my cause of death one day, so stay alert.”
“Consider me on notice.” I adjusted my Academy cap and stacked up another couple orange cones.
I could hear her take a deep breath before quickly saying, “Actually, I was calling because I’m finishing up early tonight and wanted to see if your offer for softball practice was still open.”
That had me stopping in my tracks. Was Emerson Scott actually asking me out? I’d most definitely been the pursuer since day one, and I was cool with that, but it felt fan-fucking-tastic to have the tables turned like this. It meant I was getting to her. I felt a grin overtake my face. “Absolutely. But I have training until 7:00. Do you think you can come over to the Academy then?”
“Sure. Um, how will I find you?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find you.”
“Okay then. I guess I’ll see you in a couple hours.”
We hung up and I found myself humming a little tune and maybe even strutting a bit on my way back to the building.
“I don’t even want to know,” muttered Gerry when I passed him at the side door.
“No, you do not, my man.”
“Jesus Christ.” He continued on his way.
I returned the cones I’d been carrying to their designated bin and made my way to the indoor training area where Jay was warming up with a pitching screen.
“There he is! You ready for your game tomorrow?”
He didn’t flinch or seem to notice me at all. The ball flew from his hand with careful control. Only when it smacked the screen and rolled to the side did he acknowledge me.
“Ready as I can be, I guess, but we’ll see if I play.”
That thought pissed me right off, despite my chipper mood, but I didn’t let it show. I hadn’t seen his game on Monday but when I looked up the stats I saw that he’d stayed on the bench all night. It was like Davidson was trying to throw the season away. They lost by two runs.
“All you can do is be ready with your game face on and hope for the best.” I couldn’t let on about my frustration. That wasn’t my job, and I couldn’t afford to alienate coaching staff at any of the local schools if I wanted to keep it.
“I hear you, Coach.” Jay nodded.
We proceeded to work through some drills, and were joined by a couple other pitchers I was working with. By the end, they were all exhausted but the adrenaline was running high, just as it should be. I sent them to the showers while I cleaned up. I checked my watch and noted that I only had about five minutes until Emmy would be here.
I grabbed a couple clean batting helmets and a bat that would suit her and headed out to the parking lot. I waved at a few players as they walked to their cars or those of their parents until I caught sight of a particular white Volvo I recognized. I couldn’t have stopped the smile forming on my face if I wanted to.
She parked and got out as I walked toward her car. Her hair was secured in a high ponytail, her eyes hidden by big sunglasses. My gaze travelled down her figure which was covered in a fitted t-shirt and dark jeans, her feet encased in flimsy canvas sneakers. She reached back in and bent over to grab something, and I stopped all motion at the sight of her ass popping up in the air like that. Fuck. I wasn’t generally very picky about types of women, but I was starting to think slim, conservative and perky was my new favorite.
“Em? What are you doing here?” a voice sounded from behind me and I swung my head to find Jay looking between Emmy’s car and me. I’d been completely busted staring at his sister’s ass. Shit.
Emmy, meanwhile, smacked her head on the doorframe of her car as her brother’s voice alerted her to his presence. She turned and pulled herself upright, rubbing the back of her head where she’d hit it.
“Hey!” she said a bit too loudly, obviously surprised by the sight of her brother and discomfited by the unexpected situation.
Personally, I was curious how she was going to handle this. She looked from me to Jay while Jay’s eyes continued to pass between his sister and me. Yeah, this was a tad awkward.
“I thought you had practice tonight,” she offered.
Jay’s eyes suddenly narrowed at me and he answered her without giving her his eyes. “I had it earlier, and Coach Davidson thought I might benefit from a training session since we have a game tomorrow.”
I brought my hand to the back of my neck and gave it a scratch, trying to keep my face blank.
“Oh, um. Do you need a ride home?” Emmy asked lamely.
He finally looked at her again. “I’m catching a ride with one of the guys. He lives out that way. You still didn’t tell me what you’re doing here, sis.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “Gavin’s going to give me some tips for the tournament. It starts this weekend.”
Jay’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Tips?” The kid was too damn perceptive.
“Sure. It’s always good to put your best foot forward, right?” she said with a fake-ass laugh. She was awful at subterfuge. Entire nations would crumble if she were ever to change careers and become a spy.
“Uh huh,” was all Jay said. Then he looked back to me and his voice turned hard. “I guess I’ll let you get on with it.” There was clear warning in his voice.
Jesus, this woman was surrounded by guys who seemed to feel the need to protect her from me. What had I ever done? I was just a dude minding my own business and trying to get a date.
“Okay,” said Emmy with an awkward smile. “See you at home in a bit.”
“Yeah. See you.” A player named Mason joined us and the two kids walked to Mason’s car. Right before he got in, Jay said, “You know, Em, if you needed some pointers, your brother’s no slouch.” He narrowed his eyes at me again and got in, closing the door behind him. What had happened to “Yes, Coach” and “Thanks, Coach”? Shit. I hoped this wouldn’t blow up in my face.
Emmy watched them go and then face-palmed. “Did that just happen?”
I walked closer and grabbed her free hand. “I’m afraid it did.” I pulled her toward me. “Now, come on.”
She lifted her head and looked at me. “Should I go home and talk to him?”
I shook my head. “Give him a bit to get his head around it and talk to him later tonight.”
Her mouth twisted to the side in thought. “I guess.”
I pulled on her hand again and began walking toward the spot where I’d left the equipment. “Let’s hit the cages. I’ll teach you how to swing.”
She followed but I heard a huff. “What makes you think I don’t know how to swing?”
I looked her up and down, inventorying as I went, and confirming my earlier observations about her build. “No offense, Emmy, but a strong wind could knock you over. We’re going to go for technique so you can make the most of what strength you have.”
She narrowed her eyes at me and I ignored it, leading her to the same batting cage Rocco and I had used a few days earlier. I set the pitch for the slowest setting and put a helmet over her hair. I placed one on my own head as well, then positioned her at the plate while I stood behind her. She let me. Never in my life had I done batting instruction from this position, but I pretended it was old hat. I just hoped my dick didn’t decide to play. Not that I had any control over him when Emmy was around.
“Okay, let’s see your grip first.” I reached around and held the bat in front of her. I thought I heard her sigh, but I couldn’t be sure. She took the bat in both hands and gripped it with her
knuckles lined up. “Good,” I said. “Now, plant your feet a little wider than shoulder-width apart and flex at the knees.” I unnecessarily skimmed my hands down her legs to place them exactly as I wanted. I was about to move on to her arm position when she turned her head and cut in.
“You do know I’ve been watching my brother play ball for over ten years, right?”
I nodded. “Of course, but watching and playing are two very different things. Trust me.”
She bit her lip which sent my cock on an upward journey, and then she turned back around and followed my instructions on weight distribution and arm position. I talked her through a couple practice swings and stepped back out of the cage, not wanting to get hit if things when awry.
“You ready?”
“Sure thing, Coach,” she responded with a bit of sass before I flipped the switch and a slow pitch came arcing toward the plate, aiming right for the strike zone. She kept her stance just as I’d shown her and I waited for her to try and swing.
Just as the ball approached the plate, she shifted her weight and brought the bat around in a precise swing. The ball connected solidly with the sweet spot and rocketed forward in a line drive that hit the net with a force I had no doubt would have sent the hit over two hundred feet. I flipped the switch, not taking my eyes off the ball where it sat in the dirt. I only moved my gaze when I caught Emmy spinning my way out of the corner of my eye. One look showed her weight resting on one leg, hand on her hip, bat propping up her other hand.
“Any more pointers, Slugger?”
Fuck. Me.
I was pretty sure I’d just found the perfect woman.
An hour and countless swings later, I’d collected all the balls—as well as my ego. Emmy and I had thrown a ball back and forth a few times, and she confirmed her proficiency didn’t stop at batting. We were settled on a bench outside the cages, Emmy having proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she and Jay were related.
“How was I supposed to know you were a tennis and golf superstar?” I asked as I took off my cap and ran a hand through my hair.
“Not quite.” She laughed. “I’m not bad, but I’m no pro. And I always enjoyed taking Jay to the batting cages when we’d visit each other. It was kind of our thing.”
“So, what made you agree to my lame invitation to prep you for the game then?”
She looked up at me. “Besides the opportunity to see you eat crow?” I scowled at her and she grinned and then shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” I raised an eyebrow, which caught her gaze.
“Yeah.”
“I think I know.”
She looked at me speculatively. “Okay then. You tell me.”
“You wanted to see me.” I leaned in toward her.
She narrowed her eyes but didn’t contradict me.
“I’m glad you called,” I told her, and she gave me one of her bright smiles that made my chest do strange things. I wanted to kiss her but it would cover that smile—and I was enjoying the hell out of that smile. After a beat I continued quietly, “Date number four. You know what that means, right?” I reached out and ran my thumb along her jaw.
She stilled and her breath halted. Her expression changed to one of trepidation and her cheeks flamed at my insinuation. I should have felt bad but I couldn’t bring myself to—not after the blow to my ego she’d just dealt in the cage.
“Listen, Gavin, I’m sorry if I sent out the wrong signals…”
I cut her off, “Ice cream.”
Her gaze shot to mine and her eyebrows peaked. “Ice cream?”
“Yeah. What did you think I was going to say?” I leaned back again and played innocent.
Her lips pursed. “Tequila. I thought you were going to say Tequila. You know, the classic fourth-date tequila. Can’t stand the stuff. Just thought you should know.”
“I’ll file it away.” I grabbed her hand and pulled her up off the bench. Then we got ice cream, and when I kissed her at her car, this time she tasted of strawberries and Emmy.
Chapter Seventeen
Reasons You Should Date Me
EMERSON
“Okay, lay it on me. I’m ready.” I stood in the entry to the kitchen as Jay constructed what could quite possibly qualify as the world’s largest sandwich. He didn’t look up.
“What exactly do you think I’m gonna say?”
I coughed out a laugh that held little humor. “Uh, let’s see.” I began counting off on my fingers. “He’s my coach, Emerson. He’s too young for you, Emerson. You don’t have anything in common, Emerson. You hardly have time for me but you’re making time for him, Emerson. He’s basically a large child, Emerson. He’s not a lawyer or an investment banker, Emerson.” I dropped my hands and moved to the island. “Do I need to continue?”
He finally glanced over at me before going back to his culinary construction project. When he was done, he picked up the plate and set it on the island between us. Then he lifted half of the monstrosity and somehow managed to fit his mouth around it, taking a huge bite—all while eyeing me.
I watched him chew, and I have to say, it was pretty damn gross. The kid may be mature for his age, but he’s still a teenager—a fact that made it nearly impossible for him to use good manners when it came to food.
The giant bite meant that he was unable to speak for about a minute, giving me ample time to squirm under his gaze. What did that look even mean?
He finally swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—yuck. I refrained from retrieving the napkin holder and, instead, gestured impatiently for him to speak.
“Is that what you think?” He finally spoke.
My head jerked back. “No,” I said quickly—too quickly. “I mean, I was just throwing things out there. You’re allowed to have an opinion on this, Jay.”
He nodded. “I do have an opinion.”
I gestured a bit desperately this time. “Well?”
He reached for the sandwich again and I pulled the plate toward me. I couldn’t handle another bite from him. He scowled at me and then gave in. “I think you should do what you want. I mean, I wish you’d told me, but the only issue I have is with him, not you.”
My brow creased. “What does that mean?”
He reached for the plate again and I pulled it off the island and held it behind my back.
“I’m a growing kid. I need food, Emerson!”
I sighed and relinquished the plate, giving him a hard look in the process. He answered before taking another bite. “It means I’ll use his head for batting practice if he hurts you.”
I narrowed my eyes in disapproval, but felt my heart melt a little at the same time. “Take it down a notch, Babe Ruth. Nobody’s going to get hurt. Things are very casual between Gavin and me, and they’re going to stay that way.”
He raised his eyebrows and finished chewing. I was going to have to start looking away before I lost my ice cream. “And why’s that?” he mumbled.
“Why will things stay casual?” When he nodded, I just said, “You know.”
He shrugged. “I know what you rambled off a couple minutes ago. Gotta be honest, Em. Some of that sounded like your dad talking and the rest sounded like a bunch of B.S.”
I frowned at him for his language and probably for the rest of it too. I knew he was right. But he was young—he didn’t know how the world worked outside baseball and high school. He didn’t know that some of the things I’d said, even though I felt ashamed for saying them or even entertaining the thoughts, were facts of my life the way it was—the way I’d carefully built it.
But I chose to just respond with, “I know.” Then I left him to finish his sandwich while I changed my clothes and got to keep my ice cream down.
I’d lied when I told Gavin I finished work early tonight. He completely nailed me when he’d said I just wanted to see him. The truth was I had been having a hell of a time concentrating on my work all week. I suspected this had something to do with the influx of texts
he’d been sending every day. They were a perfect combination of sweet, flirty, and funny, and I was afraid each one was causing me to get a dopey look on my face when I read it. Thank God I was usually alone when they came through.
But one of my particular favorites had arrived yesterday while I was supposed to be concentrating on my colleague’s ramblings in a meeting.
Maybe: I’m making a list of reasons you should date me. It’s a work in progress, but here’s what I have so far…
1) I know all the best places for take-out.
2) I’m tall enough to reach lightbulbs.
3) People will always refer to you as the pretty one.
4) I’ll let you touch my butt.
I’d almost laughed out loud before remembering where I was. I was pretty sure that was the text that caused me to pack up my laptop and call the guy. But playtime was over and it was time to make up for the hours I’d spent hanging out with my new coach. I settled in on the couch and got to work.
The next morning, Craig and I were summoned by Mr. Wheeler’s executive assistant who informed us we were expected for a last-minute round of golf with our boss and a potential client. Like me, Craig was no idiot—he kept his game sharp and his clubs in the trunk of his car at all times. You never knew when opportunity would strike. We both made short work of collecting our belongings and getting our butts to the club in a hurry. I changed in the women’s locker room, having brought my emergency change of clothes from my trunk as well. Suited up in a very respectable golf skirt and shirt with my matching visor in place, I joined Mr. Wheeler and the soon-to-be client, Mr. Weston, by the golf carts. I was secretly—and pettily—pleased to see I’d beaten Craig to the punch. But he approached moments later and we got on with the round.
The Game (Carolina Connections Book 4) Page 15