The Lineup

by Quinn, Meghan

“Yup, we’ve met.” He smiles at me. “She loves my potato salad.”

  Lindsay laughs, and then slides her hand unapologetically down Jason’s arm, giving his bicep a squeeze with a giggle. “Oh, there’s a lot more Dottie loves about you than just your potato salad.”

  You know . . .

  I should have seen that coming.

  I’ve known Lindsay long enough to recognize what stage of drunk she’s in, and Loose Lips Lindsay never holds back, meaning, she’s about to unravel all of my secrets.

  “Is that so?” Jason’s brows lift as he faces me.

  “She’s drunk; she has no idea what she’s talking about. I need to get her some water.” I pull on Lindsay’s arm, but she doesn’t budge. “Come on, time to sober up.”

  “I’m not drunk and I do know what I’m talking about.” Shit, we’re about to have a confession in three . . . two . . . “She thinks you have the best ass in all of baseball.” In all the world technically, but we don’t have to go there.

  “The best ass?” The smile that crosses his face makes me want to crawl in a hole and die, literally keel over from sheer embarrassment.

  But because tonight I’m the stiff wench who can’t control my tongue from self-destruct mode, I shake my head. “Lindsay, you have it wrong. I said Walker Rockwell on the Bobbies has the best ass. Remember that picture I sent to you last week of him on deck?” I did send her a picture, and I’m hoping she’s just drunk enough to get confused.

  “Huh, you did send me that picture.” See, piece of cake.

  Jason’s face grows stern as he says, “Walker Rockwell? You think he has the best ass in baseball? No fucking way.”

  “Easily. No competition and believe me, being a Bobbies fan, I’ve had plenty of time to stare at it, especially when I’m sitting first row, right next to the dugout.”

  His jaw works back and forth, irritation evident in his eyes.

  “You’re lying.”

  “Afraid not. Walker is what dreams are made of.”

  “He is so hot,” Lindsay says, leaning into me. I take that as my cue to take her to the kitchen for some water.

  “Walker is an ass,” Jason says as I start to walk away, Lindsay in tow.

  “Did you say he’s an ass, or that he has the best ass? Don’t be jealous, Orson; it’s not pretty on you.”

  * * *

  “Dottie, why are you ruining this party for me?” Emory asks, sitting next to me on the couch.

  “What?” I sit taller. “How am I ruining it?

  “Well,” she huffs out, “technically you’re not ruining it, Jason is, but you started it.”

  “What did I start?” I glance over to where Jason is standing next to Carson and Knox, showing his ass off to them. He’s insufferable.

  “All Jason can talk about is who has a better butt, him or Walker. Why did you find it necessary to turn him into a neurotic mess?”

  In a calm voice, I say, “I had no idea he was going to be such a whine-baby about it. And,” I whisper, “Lindsay was spouting off facts I didn’t want Jason knowing.”

  “Ahh.” Emory nods her head. “Loose Lips Lindsay.”

  “Exactly. I had to distract both of them and get the hell out of there.”

  Biting her lip, Emory looks around and then says, “He really is a nice guy. You should give him a chance.”

  “A chance? At what? He brought dinner to my office to fulfil our charity date, because he was worried he’d offended me. About his potato salad, I think. And as an aside, he makes . . . from scratch . . . the best potato salad I’ve ever had in my life. And I know how he used to cook for the boys in the loft. He’s been a total jerk tonight—so have I—but you’ve told me how nice he is, and you and both know I don’t do nice. That man has boyfriend potential written all over him. He’s not someone I would date.”

  “Who’s not someone you would date?”

  I jump to the sound of his voice as the couch dips next to me, indicating his arrival. I swear he has a super sense and knows when I’m talking about him. What I want to know is why he keeps coming back for more. He can’t possibly see anything in me that he likes. Not many people do, unless they’re looking at my bank statement.

  “You,” I say, without being discreet anymore. “I would not date you.”

  “Who’s asking?”

  I thumb toward Emory. “This girl. She seems to have it in her head that you’re not a bad guy and that I should give you a chance.”

  Jason laughs . . . loud.

  Loud and hard.

  Even slaps his knee.

  Okay, it’s not that freaking funny.

  “You and me?” He motions between us with two of his fingers and then laughs again, this time buckling over. “Oh, that’s just rich.”

  Who says rich? What is he, an eighty-year-old man? From the way he’s coughing from laughter, I’m going to guess yes.

  “That’s great. Oh man, good one, Em. Wow, yup, me and Dottie, suurrrre,” he drawls out.

  I was okay with a little bit of laughter. I would even let the knee slap pass, but now he’s just being rude. What’s so funny on the off chance that we would date? It’s not like I’m a bad catch. I have a fun personality when I want it to show, and I have amazing boobs. Any man would be lucky to have me.

  “It’s not that funny,” I say through clenched teeth as he continues to laugh, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room.

  “Oh, but it is. You and me.” More laughter as tears fall down his face.

  Actual tears.

  “Dorothy Domico and Jason Orson. Keep wishing, you witty wench.”

  “Witty wench.” Emory bursts out as well, joining Jason in the humor parade. “Oh, that fits her to a T. She’s such a witty wench.”

  “Hey,” I snap at my friend. “That’s not true.”

  “Did I hear witty wench over here?” Lindsay asks, walking over with Milly.

  Emory nods. “It’s what he called Dottie.”

  The drunkard in front of me claps her hands obnoxiously while saying, “You. Are. Such. A. Witty. Wench.”

  It’s official, I hate my friends. The only person I possibly like at this minute is Milly—

  Wait, hold that thought. She’s smirking, so nope, she’s dead to me too.

  “Well, I’m glad I can give you all a good laugh.” I stand from the couch and step away just as Jason calls out.

  “Wait, Dottie.” I turn around and he holds his hand out to me, as if he’s clutching something.

  “This pole just fell out of your ass. Don’t want you to forget it.”

  I HATE him.

  * * *

  “Are you leaving because you really have work, or because you’re a little butt hurt?” Emory asks, walking me out to the elevator of her apartment.

  Did she have to use the term butt hurt after the whole flagpole comment?

  “I’m not butt hurt, so get that out of your head. I don’t get butt hurt. I’m leaving because I have work to do and to be honest, if I have to hear that man’s voice one more time, I might stab one of your cushions with a knife.”

  “Well, we don’t want that,” Emory says with a resounding sigh. “This is about the witty wench thing, isn’t it?”

  “Not at all. I love that nickname. I’m going to have it tattooed on my ass later this week.”

  “Your sarcasm is ringing through.”

  I let out a pent-up breath and give my pregnant friend a hug. “Listen, I love you dearly. I’m so happy for you, but I think I’ve had my fill of Jason Orson for the day.”

  “Fair enough. He can be a bit much.”

  “Just a little,” I say while lifting my fingers up and showing off a small space between my forefinger and thumb.

  “Before you leave, can I ask you a favor?” She clutches my hand.

  “If it’s go on a date with Jason, the answer is no.”

  She chuckles and shakes her head. “No, I wouldn’t do that to you. But I was wondering if you could apartment sit for us. You
know how I am about my plants, they need love every day and repositioning.”

  “Are you serious? Where are you going?”

  “We decided last night to surprise our parents and fly to them to tell them the good news. I would ask Lindsay, but she has to stick close to her son’s school and activities. Carson and Milly are headed to the Bahamas for a week—”

  “And what about Jason? He lives across the hall. There’s no way I’m going to be here when he is.”

  Emory shakes his head. “He’ll be out of town too. It’s after baseball season, so all the guys are going on vacation. I know it’s asking a lot but I would be super appreciative.”

  “What about my plants?” I ask, folding my arms.

  “You have a fake cactus.”

  “It still needs friendship and company.”

  Emory pulls me into a hug. “You can bring it with you. I’m sure your fake cactus would love a vacation to Auntie Emory’s. Please, I would love you forever.”

  “You should already love me forever.”

  We pull away, and she says, “Forever and ever.”

  “Ugh, fine. But Jason won’t be here?”

  She shakes her head. “Nope, he’ll be gone. It will be a nice, easy stay for you. And we’ll use the fancy sheets for your bed. And you know how Knox feels about having strangers in the house. He doesn’t want to ask the concierge to do it.”

  “Yeah, I get that. It’s no biggie. My mom and dad are in town. I’ll convince them to stay longer and have them ditch the hotel and stay at my place. It will be nice to have them here but not on top of me.”

  “Oh perfect. This means a lot to me. Thank you so much.”

  “Of course.” With a resigned sigh, I pull my friend into another hug. “I really am happy for you.”

  “I know. Thank you so much for coming today.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” But how I wish I’d found the ability to withdraw my claws and interacted with Jason with less . . . aggression. That’s just not me. Or rather, it didn’t used to be me . . .

  Chapter Eight

  JASON

  “Natalie, don’t do this to me,” I beg.

  Sitting across from me in our favorite booth at our favorite bar, Natalie smiles wickedly. “What’s done is done.”

  “Why would you cancel my vacation? You know I don’t get to do nice things during the season. I want to feel the sand in my toes.” I’m bloody exhausted. Finishing out the season and then moving was way more tiring than I thought it would be. The whole Dottie debacle didn’t help either. But knowing I was getting away for a total break kept me going. And now this.

  She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t cancel it, I just moved it. I didn’t have a choice. There are quite a few things we need to get done before the end of the year for The Lineup. You’ll still get your vacation, but for now, you’re stuck here.”

  I slump over the table. “But I packed my Speedos. I was going to rock the shit out of them.”

  “Speedos? With the size of your ass?” She shakes her head. “You would be showing crack the whole time.”

  “I had them custom-made,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “Well, the tailored Speedos can wait. Especially since I got the photographer you wanted. She can only shoot next week. I already set everything up with Joseph, so you’re the only one who needs to adjust his schedule.”

  “She better be worth it,” I say, my voice full of sadness. Although playing baseball for a living is fun, it’s also a long-ass season during the summer, meaning we never really get to enjoy the summer. It’s very common for professional baseball players to vacation in the tropics after the season is finished, and I was going to the Bahamas with Carson and Milly, ready to proudly wear the third-wheel badge. But now I’ll have to go by myself. Not a bad thing, but company is always nice to have.

  Personally, I was excited to clink cocktails decked in umbrellas and pineapple together. Think of all the possible Boomerangs we could have made.

  Such a lost opportunity.

  A thought comes to my head. “Are you pushing back my vacation so it works better with your schedule?”

  She smiles. “It just so happens and Ansel and I can go with you now.”

  I point my finger at her. “You’re an asshole.”

  “I’m okay with that. Now, let’s get down to business. We have a lot to cover, and I want to know your ideas for the photoshoot. Joseph only had one requirement, that you don’t force him to match what you’re wearing.”

  “What are you talking about? We look good matching.” Ever since I can remember, my mom dressed Joseph and me together, matching like two goddamn angels. When I was young, I remember being jealous of his walker, asking my mom if I could have one too. Joseph still makes fun of me for that.

  “He made it known he doesn’t want to have to match with his little brother anymore. He’s a grown-ass man.”

  “Little brother? He’s two minutes older than I am.”

  “Are you really going to cry about matching with your brother?”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “Maybe.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  So I’ve been told.

  * * *

  Carson: It’s beautiful here. All you can drink piña coladas.

  Jason: I’m going to puke, I’m so upset.

  Carson: Why do you always have to go to the extreme?

  Jason: I have emotions, let me feel them.

  Carson: You feel them too hard.

  Jason: My dick is hard just seeing your feet in the sand.

  Carson: ^^^ and that’s why you have two friends.

  I laugh to myself and turn the corner to my apartment, dinner dangling in a bag off my forearm as I text Carson back. One of the things I love about my “two friends” is that I can be a dick to the extreme, over-dramatic, and effeminate just to get a reaction from them—because I’m that guy—and they’re still friends with me.

  Jason: You know you love it when my dick gets hard.

  Carson: This might shock you but I really don’t.

  I look up and catch George, holding the door open for me. I give him a tip of my cap. “Thanks, man.”

  “Any time, Mr. Orson. Have a good night.”

  “You too.”

  I spot the open doors of the elevator and jog toward them as they start to close. “Hold the elevator.” A small hand blocks the doors, giving me enough time to make it inside.

  “Tha—”

  My voice falls short when I almost collide with Dottie in the elevator. The look on her face tells me she wasn’t expecting to see me, and I’m sure I’m mirroring the same shock, because she’s the last person I expected to see after our interaction a few days ago.

  “What are you doing here?” she sneers as the doors shut behind me.

  “Nice to see you too. I’m doing great, thanks.”

  She folds her arms across her chest, and that’s when I take her in. Pressed wide-legged black pants that crawl up her hips and button above her belly button. A tight red and black shirt that covers her arms is tucked into her waistline, framing perfectly how small she is. Thin suspenders connect from her pants over her shoulders, and she’s paired the whole ensemble with black heels.

  Business sexy . . . really sexy.

  I want to play with those suspenders.

  I want to snap them over her tits to see if I can make her nipples hard.

  Bet her nipples are like fucking torpedoes.

  “What are you staring at?”

  “Your boobs,” I answer honestly. “Want me to stare at something else?”

  “Yes, for God’s sake, have some class.”

  “Eh, having class is boring.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”

  I look from side to side and then whisper, “I live here.”

  Groaning in frustration, she clenches her fists at her side and says, “I’m aware, but you’re supposed to be on vacation.”

>   “Keeping track of me, sweet cheeks? That’s cute.”

  “Don’t call me that, and no, I’m watching Emory’s plants while they’re away.”

  “Plant-sitting?” I scoff. “People are so weird.”

  “Why aren’t you on vacation?”

  Persistent. I wonder if she’s as relentless in the boardroom. For some reason, that pulls up an image in my head: Dottie naked, bent over her desk, demanding to be fucked from behind until the task is complete. My fingers digging into her hips, smashing back into me until she cries out my name in sweet surrender.

  Huh. Being fucking horny around this woman is dangerous. At least her caustic façade is enough to settle the ol’ dong down. It has been a long-ass time since I last got laid though, and I’m not really sure what I can do about fixing that. Random hookups haven’t been my thing for a while now.

  I chuckle to myself, which only pisses off the woman next to me.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “Whoa.” I pretend to tamp her down with my hand. “Easy there, killer. If you get any more tense you might snap.”

  “Whatever,” she answers like the mature woman she is. “Now that you’re here, I don’t have to watch the stupid plants. You can do it.”

  “Oh, no can do.” I shake my head. “Plants aren’t my thing.”

  “What do you mean plants aren’t your thing? They’re easier than a dog. You just water them.”

  “Yeahhh.” I cringe. “All those leaves? Nah, I’m good.”

  “Are you serious right now? You’re not going to water their plants because of, and I quote, ‘all those leaves’?”

  “Yup. I’m good.”

  “You have got to be—”

  Her sentence is cut short when the elevator makes an abrupt stop, jostling both of us into the walls of the small carrier.

  “Huh, would you look at that?” I glance around the small room, wondering what’s wrong.

  “No, no, no,” Dottie says over and over again, as she rushes to the panel and presses the emergency button.

  When nothing happens, she presses all the other buttons.

  “That’s intelligent,” I say, arms crossed and observing her from behind. “Confuse the damn thing so it has no idea what to do.”