Winning Streak

by Alice Ward

  Shit. Ace was already in the shower, and I chose one on the other side of the large room, ignoring him completely. One problem. Ace Newman wasn’t a man you could ignore, ever.

  “Hey, hot shot!” he yelled loud enough to echo through the fucking stadium.

  I exhaled and opened my eyes in time to watch him wrap a towel around his waist and head my way.

  “What was going on with you today?” he asked. “Your little lady giving you shit?” His smile was smug, and the hollow laugh that sounded like it rolled directly out of his chest was condescending. “I told ya, never a good idea for a rookie to have a girl, always gets in the way,” he continued without any provoking. “Guess I’ll see you at Sunoco soon. I take premium unleaded, by the way.”

  I closed my eyes, continued rinsing the soap from my hair and let his words roll down my back with the warm streams of water. Let it go, Calvin, he’s not worth it!

  His laughter trailed behind him as he left the room, and I opened my eyes, shut off the water and grabbed my towel. I didn’t take much time to get dressed and left to meet Marty with my hair still wet.

  “C’mon, I’ll buy you a beer,” Marty said as he climbed into the passenger seat of my Porsche. The car roared to life, and I spun my tires for the hell of it just as Ace walked towards his car.

  Marty offered plenty words of wisdom, empathy, and advice, but I wasn’t sure how many I actually heard. He was a good guy, not a womanizer, not a heavy drinker, and certainly not an asshole like Ace Newman, but for some reason, I didn’t respect him the same way I did Ace. Even pissed off at him, I still had respect for the man.

  I think Marty got the hint I wasn’t really listening once we pulled into the parking lot of Home Plate. The valet took my keys, gushed all over me in the same way that he had over Ace the first time I’d been here. For some reason, that gave me a strange satisfaction.

  Inside the club, I received the same treatment that Ace had before. The hostess was quick to recognize me and took me to the VIP section where I received that fateful lap dance from the nasty blonde Ace was finger fucking. I slid into the booth, claiming it as my own and felt an even stronger, yet not so strange satisfaction.

  “Two beers,” I ordered quickly from the brunette I vaguely recognized from that blurry night as Marty slid into the booth next to me.

  I knew the television screens that surrounded the sports themed bar would soon blast the replays of the earlier scrimmage game, if they hadn’t already. “Maybe this isn’t the best place to be,” I smirked to Marty as if he had the ability to read my mind.

  “Shit happens,” he mumbled and then took a long swig of his beer.

  Frank arrived with a smile and an energy that felt nothing like my own. It was as if it hadn’t even bothered him that we had such a rough day, but then again, he didn’t play a position that was scrutinized as much as me.

  “I’ve gotta make a phone call,” I said, excusing myself from the booth.

  I dialed Whitney, and when she answered I wanted to climb through the phone and melt under her sweet voice. “Hey, babe.”

  I jumped straight to the point. “I stopped for a beer with the guys. It was a pretty bad fucking day.”

  Her voice went from sweet to sour in an instant. “Oh great, so you’re going back to hanging out with Ace and his whores now that Holly’s gone?” she snapped.

  Jesus Christ, that fucker just keeps ruining my mood!

  “I’m not with Ace. I’m with Marty and Frank,” I snapped back.

  I stopped listening to her once her tone hit a certain pitch; it was like a dog whistle just falling on deaf ears. I couldn’t win for losing, and tonight I guess it was a fucking lose, lose!

  “I won’t be late, I just need to cool off,” I said with forced patience into the phone, “I love you.” I hung up while she was still ranting about something.

  Marty and Frank were arguing over another baseball statistic, a past time that I guess kept them both happy, but annoyed the fuck out of me and anyone else who was close enough to listen. “What do you think?” Frank pulled me into the argument as I sat down. “Who’s the better pitcher, Nolan Ryan or Cy Young?” They both fell silent and waited eagerly for my response, like somehow my opinion was going to be treated as gospel.

  “Young won 511 of his 749 games, pitching over 7,300 innings. He had one hell of an arm, but Nolan Ryan was a machine, pushing out fastballs, throwing seven no-hitters and won the strikeout title 11 times.” I spouted out my useless knowledge of some of the greatest baseball pitchers of all time. “So, I guess I would say Nolan Ryan,” I gave my final answer.

  “But, he never won a Cy Young award,” Marty pushed, obviously the one who was arguing that pitcher as the best.

  I shook my head, realizing that the argument was going to continue no matter how I interjected. “They are both better than me, that’s all I know.” I laughed at my own remark to lighten the gloom on their faces and then guzzled half of my beer quickly to ease my pain of the day.

  “Hey, Ace!” Frank called out, waving him over to my booth. Yes, my booth!

  “Thanks for keeping my seat warmed up, boys.” He smirked before sliding in next to me as if we were best friends. His hand reached for my shoulder and squeezed as I refused to make eye contact. “I’m sorry I was hard on ya, kid, I know you had shit to deal with at home,” his words felt like tiny needles digging into my ears.

  “You realize that the only mess I had at home was yours,” I snapped back sarcastically and offered up the same crooked smug smile he was famous for. I watched his jaw jerk back and forth, and his eyes twitch as he worked on a response.

  C’mon, make it good. Can’t let the kid, the hot shot, get the better of you. Can ya, Ace?

  “If you’re referring to Holly, she’s the one who clamped her small town lips around my big league dick and wouldn’t let go,” he finally said.

  Marty began pushing towards Frank to move from the booth, and after a few good nudges, Frank got the hint, and they were both gone and moved to seats at the bar, away from whatever they feared was about to explode between the two of us.

  “That’s just it, women line up to suck your dick, why fuck with my girlfriend’s best friend?” I asked.

  The brunette who brought my first round showed up to drop off two more beers and a couple shots of Patrón. Her perky smile quickly washed out once she realized the tension floating between Ace and myself, and quickly left, leaving only the drinks and the wafting odor of her cheap perfume.

  “You were there. She practically jumped on my dick. What do you care?” Ace barked and then gripped his beer. He leaned back in the booth, relaxing as he took a long swig from the bottle. “Is that your little side piece or something?”

  My fists clenched, and my jaw tightened as the offense of his words fuel my anger. “She’s like a sister to me, Ace, and Whitney thinks she may be falling for you,” I blurted out.

  Ace’s face turned pale. He sat up in the seat and slid one of the shot glasses towards me. “That’s fucked up, brother, it was just one week,” he said with a defeated tone I’d never heard before.

  “One week is all it takes sometimes.” I gripped the glass, downed the shot at the same speed as Ace and then took a long swig of my beer.

  “I never led her on,” he insisted. “Hell, I even told her not to get too close. And she said she was just looking for some fun.”

  “Well, she had too much fun,” I admitted, realizing that Holly was just as much to blame for all this as Ace, maybe even more. Ace never pretended to be anything other than a player, but Holly pretended to be okay with sharing him, when all along, she was hoping to win him all to herself.

  “This is why I don’t do relationships,” Ace said. “Too much fucking drama.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  I lifted my arm and waved the waitress back over to the table. Her face looked strained as she tried to force a smile as she approached. I felt foolish suddenly for being such an ass, even if I had good rea
son. “Another round, and tell those pussies at the bar to get their tails back up here.” I motioned to Marty and Frank who were pretending to not look in the mirror across the bar at what was happening behind them.

  “See, you run from relationships, but I couldn’t imagine my life without Whitney,” I admitted once the waitress was gone.

  “Too much pussy to play with to settle for one. That’s like committing to one flavor of ice cream for the rest of your life,” Ace argued. He slapped me on the shoulder and let out one of his cocky chuckles that insinuated that his words were pure wisdom.

  “Vanilla,” I said. His look was full of confusion as I reached under the table and into my pocket. I opened a small box that contained a large diamond ring inside, the best clarity for a 2c stone, the jeweler had said. “I could eat vanilla my entire life and never miss any other flavor, and Whitney is the only woman I need.”

  Marty and Frank approached the table and started laughing their ass off. Apparently, me holding an engagement ring out to Ace was hilarious from their side of the booth, because Marty dropped to one knee and held out a fake ring to Frank.

  “Glad to see you two made up,” Frank teased, “but, I think marriage is a little sudden.”

  “Put that fucking ring away, and if you’re smart, you’ll never get it back out again,” Ace sneered.

  I slid it back into my pocket, not sure when I would get it out again, but I knew I would.

  “Good for you,” Marty cheered and slapped me on the back. “Another round!” He called to the waitress. “We have to celebrate!” His tone was boastful and happy even as the replay of our day plastered the television screens around us. I refused to let it get to me. I wasn’t planning on having another day like that. Besides, it was just practice. And that’s what practice was for, to work out the kinks.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Whitney

  “I thought you were excited to get me all to yourself.” I used the baby talk that usually drove Calvin wild, but didn’t get the reaction I had hoped for.

  “It’s been a long few weeks, babe,” he said without even turning his eyes from the TV to look at me.

  “Yes, it has,” I snapped and slid off the couch and stomped into the bedroom, feeling like a selfish bitch with every step I took. But I couldn’t seem to help it. Bitch seemed to flow from me lately. I must be homesick or something.

  I felt like I was constantly battling Calvin for attention, but the game, the coach, Ace, the fans, and now the sports reporters all seemed to win out.

  I heard his footsteps in the hallway and quickly tossed myself over the king sized bed, burrowing my face into one of the down pillows, going from bitch to crybaby in an instant.

  “Sweetie,” he said softly. I didn’t budge. He moved closer until I felt his hand caressing my leg. “I’m sorry, we only have a few more practices,” he sputtered out the same old excuse.

  “I thought we were going to find a place, start our life together. This feels like your life, and I’m just in the way,” I groaned and rolled over onto my back.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and gave me that same old tired smile. We had been having the same fight almost daily but never had a resolution. “When we finally finish up spring training—”

  I held up a hand, silently asking him to shut the hell up. I’d heard it all before. Once the season starts, things will calm down, I’ll find my groove, we’ll find our groove, then it will be just us… blah, blah, blah. It was all bullshit. Once the season started, things would only get tougher.

  “I just think Ace is a bad influence on you,” I spit out at him, wishing I could take it back the minute I said it. Not because it wasn’t true, but because that fight was getting me further and further from Calvin, I knew that.

  “I’m so sick of hearing about Ace,” he moaned and stood up from the bed. “He has nothing to do with this, with us, with anything.” He argued the same argument I forced him to argue day after day.

  “You know he still calls Holly,” I snapped. “Yet he’s always running around with a different woman, and you’re right there by his side, his little shadow,” I growled and pushed myself up on the mattress and leaned against the headboard.

  His eyes were cold, tired, and empty as he stared at me. “I love you,” he murmured. “But, this argument has to stop. If I remember correctly, you wanted this too. You encouraged me to play. You wanted me to make it to the majors. You’re the one with the dreams of living in a mansion and driving fancy cars.” His eyes flicked down my body. “Wearing fancy clothes. I’m working my ass off to give it to you, and now all you do is complain because I’m also dealing with the downside of being a celebrity. Well, guess what? I’m figuring this out too!”

  Tears filled my eyes, and he cursed, sat down, stood back up, then walked around to my side of the bed. He leaned down, hugged me tightly, and kissed me on the cheek as I sobbed onto his shoulder.

  I calmed myself down and let him pull away from me long enough to slide open the nightstand drawer. “Have you seen this?” I asked, pushing a tabloid onto the bed in front of him.

  “I don’t give a fuck what those people have to say.” His voice rose with anger as he picked it up and gave it a quick glance.

  Major League Pitcher Calvin Malone Still Playing in the Minors When It Comes to Women. Will He Ever Reach a True Player’s Level?

  Underneath that headline was a picture of me wearing a pair of green yoga pants and a tank top with my hair pulled into a ponytail walking next to Calvin. Beside that photo was one of Ace with two hot brunettes on each arm, both dressed to kill as they walked out of a nightclub.

  “You aren’t seriously letting this get to you are you?” he questioned. The concern in his eyes brought a new rush of tears to mine. I was on the what not to wear list of seven online blogs. Yes, I was letting this get to me.

  “Maybe I just don’t fit in here,” I sobbed as he pulled me into his arms. His lips pressed against my cheeks, and I knew he could taste the salt of my tears. “I’m a mess!” I blurted out half crying, half laughing as he pulled away from me and stared into my eyes.

  “Baby, you’re adorable. All I want. All I need. I promise you that,” he insisted. “Ace may act like he has it all together, but trust me, I wouldn’t trade my life for his for anything.” His words were soothing and convincing enough for me to dry my tears and apologize for overreacting.

  Thing is, it didn’t feel like I was overreacting.

  The tabloids had been brutal, criticizing the way I dressed, the way I talked, even the expressions I made. I’d been forced to make my Facebook and Instagram pages private because so many women were going on it and saying things like, what does he see in her?

  If I dressed up, the headlines were just as brutal, saying things like Country Girl Misses the Mark in the Big City or What Not To Wear. I couldn’t win, and found myself staying in the apartment more and more.

  Which made me lonely.

  Which made me depressed.

  Which made me temperamental.

  And the only person I could take it out on was Calvin, the last person on the planet I should be mad at. Because he was right. I did want him to be a big star. I did want him to sign a multi-million-dollar contract. I did want to go shopping and have nice things. I pushed him in this direction and wasn’t dealing with any of it very well.

  So between the tabloids and the arguing, everything was hitting me hard.

  “I have to go. Do you want to come with me?” he asked sweetly.

  I hated when their scrimmages were in the evenings. It felt like we never got any time to ourselves. Practice in the morning, a break before the game, usually spent with the guys at the bar, not drinking, but certainly getting some female attention. After the game, they were back at the bar for drinks to unwind and relax.

  “Yes.” I accepted his offer to ride to the game with him and then quickly declined once I realized I looked like a hot mess. “I’ll meet you there,” I promised.

  Afte
r a kiss on the forehead and a promise that he loved me just the way I was, he was gone. I jumped up, showered, and found a cute sundress and pumps, then fussed with my hair until it looked good enough to go into public.

  Did I look good enough to go into public? I stared in the mirror, judging and double judging everything about my appearance. Back home, I was considered pretty. But here…?

  Holly called while on my way to the stadium. I tried to keep my side of the conversation as private as possible since the cab driver seemed to be interested in listening in. I could trust no one. Those tabloid asshole mongrels paid good money for dirt on the players. Holly was rambling about Ace and the picture in the tabloid, not even acknowledging that I was publicly humiliated. “Should I come before next week?” she asked.

  “What’s next week?”

  She made a “duh” sound. “The ball.”

  My head was reeling as I tried to remember if Calvin had told me anything about a ball. Nope, nothing. What the fuck?

  “Ace invited you?” I asked, suddenly pissed that even Ace had been more courteous than my boyfriend.

  “Yes, unless he’s taking one of those other girls now.”

  “You know you two aren’t exclusive. If you want to be with a man like Ace, you have to get used to that fact.” Shit. That was cold and snippy. “I’m sorry, Holly. I didn’t mean that. I mean it’s true, but I shouldn’t have said it like that,” I retracted what I could of my statement.

  “It’s okay, you’re right,” she said solemnly on the other end of the phone. “We’re just fuck buddies, so I have no claim.” Without another word, she hung up, and I felt like the vilest bitch on Long Island.

  The cabby was staring at me through the rearview mirror as he pulled into the stadium’s private lot. I showed my identification and had him drop me off at the large blue doors meant only for staff, players, and certain VIPs. I didn’t fall under any of those categories, but until the season started, they had granted me access.

  The owner, Rhett Hamilton, was the only one in the sky box. I stopped at the door when I realized it wasn’t empty. He turned and smiled. “Whitney, right?” I nodded as he extended his hand to me and then guided me to the seat next to where he had been sitting. “They are doing great,” he said, motioning to the players on the field.