Team Player

by Julianna Keyes

  It was just a ten-minute drive to the lake, a wooden sign pointing visitors down a forest lane. The narrow, bumpy road opened onto a dirt parking area that overlooked a small lake, surrounded by trees and blue sky on all sides. It was deserted.

  “Oh, wow,” Gwen said climbing out of the car. “This is beautiful.”

  Ty looked at her and had to agree.

  They grabbed their things and headed down the grassy slope to the thin strip of sand at the shore. The air was hot and still, the water barely moving, sun glinting off its surface in bright streaks. The quiet afternoon was in stark contrast to the boisterous noise and insanity of his previous All-Star breaks, but despite the unsuccessful visit to the prison, Ty was suffused with a contentment he hadn’t felt in far too long. The cacophony of voices that had been nagging him since Connor’s arrest, the ones that had only grown louder with the rough start to the season, were now blissfully quiet.

  He spread the quilt on the dry sand and dropped the towels near the top, then stripped out of his shorts and T-shirt so he was standing in his boxer briefs and studying the lake. Just the short trip from the car had him sweating, and the water looked cool and tempting. He glanced over at Gwen to ask if she wanted to come in, but she was gawking at him.

  He glanced down at his body, just in case he’d accidentally stripped naked in public. He hadn’t.

  His brow furrowed. “What?”

  “You have monogrammed underwear?”

  Now Ty looked more closely at his briefs, black with gold lettering that did indeed say TA approximately a hundred times. “Companies send them for free,” he explained. “I don’t buy monogrammed underwear. They’re gifts.”

  Gwen shook her head and laughed. “How fancy.”

  “It keeps them from getting stolen.”

  “Or makes them a target.”

  “I’ll keep them close.” He gestured to the water. “Are you coming in?”

  “I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

  “So? Neither did I. And we’re all alone. And I’ve already seen your underwear.”

  She blushed, peering around the quiet forest as her fingers tugged at the bottom of her tank top. Then she let go.

  “Maybe later,” she said. “You’re the exhibitionist in this pair.”

  Ty stretched his arms over his head, letting her admire his flexing abs. “What do you mean?”

  She laughed. “Get in the water.”

  He strutted to the water’s edge, twitching his ass with each step. “I still don’t know what you mean,” he called over his shoulder.

  “I can’t see you!”

  Ty grinned and strode in deeper, the cool water wrapping around his calves, then his thighs, until he dove in. It was refreshing and wonderful, like washing away whatever disappointed remnants of the day had managed to cling to him. He swam until he felt like his lungs were going to burst, then resurfaced and shielded his eyes from the sun. Back on the shore, twenty yards away, Gwen was arranging food on the quilt. His stomach and his hormones were in sudden agreement that swimming could wait.

  He began a leisurely crawl back to the shore, but now his gaze was locked on Gwen’s long, bare legs and he admired the way the sun caught on her skin, her hair, her smile when she caught him looking. He got to his feet and walked the rest of the way in, soft sand squelching between his toes. He reached for her, ready to get her just as wet as he was, but she held up a lighter and flicked it on, the flame dancing.

  Ty stopped. “What the—”

  Then he looked down at the miniature feast she’d been arranging while he swam, and his mouth opened in a silent O.

  “Happy birthday,” she said, crouching to light the candle in the blueberry muffin she’d arranged on a tiny paper plate. She rose with the muffin and held it out for him. “Make a wish.”

  Ty was so stunned that he almost forgot how to blow out a candle, but after a moment’s hesitation he did so, watching the flame flicker, then extinguish.

  “I didn’t know you knew,” he said, some foreign emotion invading his chest, nudging at his heart, his ribs, trying to settle in and make itself at home.

  “It’s my job to know,” Gwen said. “And it’s literally public knowledge. Plus, of course I knew. You’re my friend.”

  “I’m more than your fucking friend.” Ty pulled her in for a kiss, hearing her squeak as her clothes got wet. But she didn’t resist, one arm going around his neck as the other held the muffin at a careful distance. He kissed her with all the emotion he couldn’t name, gave her everything he’d never given anyone else. They broke apart when his stomach rumbled.

  Gwen laughed. “Eat your muffin. Blueberry’s your favorite, right?”

  Ty took a bite. “I’m not going to ask how you know that, stalker.”

  “One of my first tasks on the team was updating your bio for the website. After looking at pictures of yourself, you listed blueberries as your second favorite thing.”

  “Ha ha.”

  Gwen sat and Ty followed her lead and stretched out on the opposite side of the quilt, a variety of food items displayed between them. There were sandwiches cut into quarters, potato salad, pasta salad, grapes, oranges, chocolate chip cookies, a bottle of cider, and a bottle of water. Paper plates and plastic cups and cutlery rounded out the arrangement.

  “They didn’t have much at the store,” Gwen explained. “But I bought one of everything.”

  “I can tell. This looks great.”

  “Well, only the best on your birthday.”

  They ate too much food, even if Ty’s guilty conscience told him he’d pay the price for eating this way, even during the break. The only cheat item on his diet plan was alcohol, and only in moderation. He rarely had more than two beers in an evening, and only a maximum of twice a week. His birthday was an unhelpful reminder that with each passing year he had to be more careful, more focused, more determined. He wasn’t getting any younger, and guys like Ibanez could eat whatever they wanted and still play his position.

  But for today, Ty shunted those thoughts aside. Especially when the food was gone and they sprawled out on the blanket to relax in the sun. He heard the rustle of fabric and cracked open an eye to see Gwen shimmying out of her shorts.

  “Good idea,” he said. “They were hideous. I hate your shirt, too. You should take it off.”

  She elbowed him and tsked. “Someone could come.”

  “So?”

  “So the whole world has seen you in your underwear. They haven’t seen me in mine, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “No one even knows we’re here. They probably don’t even know the lake is here.”

  “They definitely do.”

  “Well, then they’re in for a surprise.” Ty stripped off his briefs and tossed them to the side.

  Gwen sat up and clutched her chest, like she was the one who was naked. “Ty!”

  “Don’t worry. They have my initials on them, so they’re easy to identify.”

  She burst out laughing. “Why do I like you so much?”

  He leaned over and pressed his lips to her neck, the spot below her ear that always made her melt. “Because I’m very good looking. Let me show you why I like you so much.”

  She shook her head and nudged him back, rising onto her knees to strip off her tank, leaving her in matching black bra and panties.

  “It’s your birthday,” she said, pressing on his shoulder to indicate he should lie down. Ty’s eyes widened as she shifted down the towel and lowered her head. “I’ll remind you.”

  CHAPTER 17

  BACK AT WORK ON FRIDAY, Gwen couldn’t remember a time she felt more rested and satisfied. After the trip to Wayland, she’d spent the remainder of the break with Ty at his cabin, enjoying the reprieve from baseball, the seclusion, and his company. Mostly the company. It had been such a long time since Gwen had spent that much time with someone that there was a part of her that worried the extended company might be too much, might reveal too much. That the exposure mig
ht peel back too many layers—of either person—and they’d discover something they didn’t like. But she’d fretted for no reason. Each thing she learned about Ty—he loved peas and hated carrots; he had three birdfeeders; his favorite movie was Bridesmaids—made her like him more. A lot more.

  “You too, huh?” Chad said, smiling sympathetically over the divider wall.

  Gwen blinked and tried to remember where she was. And that Chad wasn’t a mind reader.

  Her desk. Lennox Field. The game being played outside.

  “Me what?” she asked, shaking her head.

  “Still wishing we were on break.” Chad walked around to fill his water bottle, scowling out the window, not sharing at all in her secret enthusiasm.

  “Oh,” Gwen said, blushing for no reason. Or too many reasons. “That. Yeah. It’s always hard to come in after a holiday.”

  He scoffed. “Or every day.”

  “I guess.”

  He looked at her carefully. “What were you doing?”

  “Huh?”

  Brandon materialized with his own water bottle. “What was who doing? Why?”

  Chad pointed. “Gwen. She has a glow. And it’s not from gardening.”

  Gwen felt her heart start to pound and her skin heat. “Yes, it is,” she lied.

  His stare was accusing. “You didn’t call me.”

  “I was busy.”

  Brandon leaned against the window, inherently nosy and always open to avoiding work. “Doing what? And you can’t say gardening. You do have a glow.”

  She had the baseball game playing on her monitor, as normal, but now when the camera zoomed in on Ty’s handsome face, she felt like the broadcast was conspiring to expose all her secrets.

  “Road trip,” she blurted.

  Chad frowned. “Road trip?”

  “Yeah. Just me and a friend. A girl. A girl friend. We drove around, randomly, and found a little lake in the woods. A private lake. I got some sun.”

  “You can just say you went skinny-dipping,” Brandon said. “It’s cooler than ‘I was gardening.’”

  Gwen flushed. “Okay. That’s what I did.”

  “Where was the lake?” Chad asked.

  “Wayland,” she answered, then immediately regretted it. “I mean, Wayfair? Wayside? I don’t remember. It was random.”

  He gave her a strange look, but didn’t appear to make the connection between Wayland and the prison. “Well, let me know if it comes back to you. I’m planning a friend’s birthday and a private lake sounds perfect.”

  Having gotten their afternoon dose of gossip, the boys went back to work and Gwen refilled her own water bottle and gulped it down, watching Ty sprint around second on Escobar’s single and slide safely into third. She should have come up with a story before arriving at work, or at least rehearsed saying “I was gardening” two dozen times so it sounded semi-convincing. Now they thought she was a trespassing skinny-dipper, which was still better than admitting the truth.

  Her cheeks heated and her belly clenched, and she didn’t know how it was humanly possible to even think about sex when she was so drained from the things they’d done that she’d barely made it into the office on time that morning. And yet, when the camera panned to Ty crossing home plate on Price’s sac fly, her hormones sat up straight and cheered.

  Gwen minimized the screen and focused on her project. She had a slogan presentation to prepare, and she finally had a slogan. Among the many flaws with the plan to let the fans make suggestions was the fact that there was nothing to stop the other departments from spying on the results, not that there were many strong candidates.

  So Gwen had come up with her own suggestion. It had been percolating in the back of her mind for some time, finally coming into full focus over the break. She’d debated the wisdom of even making the pitch, but in the end, her heart and her head were in agreement. Now she was putting together the presentation to go with it, using the checklist Allison had provided. Will the slogan appeal to all demographics? Check. Is it catchy? Check. Is it versatile? Check. Will it work on a commercial level? Check. Will it resonate on an emotional level? Check.

  She bounced back and forth between the presentation and live tweeting the game, registering the Thrashers’ win with a smile and a graphic that touted their second seven-game win streak of the season. She could hear the roar of the cheering fans outside, newly inspired by the recent change of fortune. It was still too soon to get excited—the Thrashers played back-to-back series at home, then hit the road for a ten-game series, dividing their time between Detroit, Cleveland, and Kansas, all of whom were battling valiantly for the lead in the American League Central. It would be a test of the Thrashers’ sudden success—was their recent winning streak nothing more than luck and timing, or were they really returning to last year’s winning form?

  She took a break to stretch, jotted down the talking points for Strip—not that he needed them when the team was doing well and he was less likely to bark at reporters—and rode the elevator down to the clubhouse level, meeting the manager just as he approached his office.

  “Good game,” she said, passing over the paper.

  He skimmed the page. “For the most part. Fucking Ibanez.”

  Ibanez had gotten a taste of the pleasures fame could bring when he attended the All-Star festivities and been spotted around town with none other than the baseball-loving Fiona Woo. Unfortunately he’d let the experience go to his head, and though he’d started today’s game at third, he hadn’t made it past the second inning after arguing a strike call with the home plate umpire that resulted in him getting tossed from the game. The cameras had caught him asking the umpire “Do you know who I am?” and the clip was already trending.

  Raised voices echoed down the hall and Gwen poked her head out of the office to see what the commotion was. She expected to see Ibanez arguing with Allison, but instead found Allison and Brodie, Ty’s agent, facing off with the man himself.

  “Absolutely not!” Ty was saying. “Don’t bring it up again.” He was still in his uniform, the black jersey setting off his tan skin and blue eyes, and Gwen faltered in her determination to head upstairs, her overzealous hormones urging her to look for just one more second.

  “It’s a good idea,” Brodie said, his voice placating. “After the coconut water thing—”

  “I hate coconut water!”

  “That’s not the point.”

  Strip appeared at her side. “What are they doing to him now?”

  Allison turned at the sound of Strip’s gravelly voice, and, looking pained, gestured him over. Ty spotted Gwen, his expression caught somewhere between guilt and fury, and Gwen gazed longingly at the elevator.

  “You come too,” Strip said, like he might need backup, and Gwen might provide it. They stopped just short of the unhappy trio, everyone’s faces flushed, confirming they’d been fighting since the moment the game had ended. “What’s going on?” Strip demanded, when no one volunteered.

  “They want me to date a teenager,” Ty snapped, glaring accusingly at Allison and Brodie.

  Gwen was so startled by the news that she didn’t even have a second to be alarmed.

  Strip grunted. “What?”

  “Pretend to date,” Brodie clarified, like that made things better.

  “And she’s twenty,” Allison added.

  Strip grunted again.

  “Now that the coconut water company has canceled Ty’s contract because of the Landon Thom interview, we’re getting lots of complaints from the other companies he works with,” Brodie explained. “The way the season’s going, with no appearance in the All-Star Game and limited positive news stories—they don’t think they’re getting their money’s worth anymore.”

  “Tell them to go fuck themselves,” Ty suggested. “I don’t need the money.”

  Allison shot him a withering look. Everyone knew that Ty’s ads boosted more than Ty’s bank account—they also drew attention to the team, which helped the Thrashers’ botto
m line.

  “Keelie Karr is performing at Blanche’s bowling fundraiser,” she said. “She’s an up-and-coming country singer with a pristine reputation. She’d be good for Ty’s image, and he’d help her find a bigger audience.”

  “She’s a child,” Ty said through his teeth.

  “It’s pretend,” Brodie repeated. “Hang out for a couple of weeks, get your picture taken, sing along at her concert, sell some more underwear, sunglasses, and watches, then quietly go your separate ways. Everybody wins.”

  Ty crossed his arms stubbornly. “I don’t want to.”

  Allison crossed her arms. “You need to.”

  Brodie looked apologetic. “Sorry, Ty, but I’m with her.”

  Strip stepped across the group to stand next to his player. “Well, I’m with him.”

  The four squared off, leaving Gwen on her own, searching for the nearest exit.

  Allison arched an eyebrow. “Gwen? Your thoughts?” The question was most definitely not a question, and “Your thoughts” always meant “Allison’s thoughts.” No one without an eight-figure bank account could afford to disagree with her.

  But Gwen couldn’t form the words she was meant to. “Um,” she said weakly. She could feel Allison’s gaze on one side of her face, and Ty’s on the other. Pick me, they both insisted telepathically.

  “It’s just for a short time,” Brodie added. “Lots of people do it. We just need to change the narrative that’s circulating about you right now. The pictures, the tape, the Landon Thom interview—let’s give them something new to talk about.”

  “I’m not looking for anything new right now,” Ty said tersely. “I’m happy with my life just the way it is.” For good measure, he shot Gwen a less-than-subtle look that sort of made her knees melt.

  Allison sighed. “Gwen? Weigh in.”

  Gwen knew her opinion didn’t really matter to three of the four people in the group, she was just the unlucky person who happened to be closest when the argument broke out, and she was only being asked because each side thought she would break the tie in their favor. If she sided with Allison, she spared herself a headache upstairs, but urged her more-than-a-friend to pretend date someone else. If she sided with Ty, she saved him from a fight he looked more ready to die for than lose, but would have to deal with her boss’s ire.