Cleat Catcher (The Cleat Chaser Duet Book 2) (4 page)

I couldn’t contain my grin, and Kyrie kept sneaking glances at me. She wanted to frown, but I could see the laughter in her eyes. This was my first chance to really show what I was capable of. Ever since we’d moved up to
Style and Substance
a few months ago, I’d been stuck with dealing with disputes over ad placement and reviewing boring ad copy.

I didn’t want to do the grunt work anymore. My dream was to be a senior editor, someone who ran an entire section of a magazine. Maybe the dream wouldn’t happen at
Style and Substance
, but I knew I’d get there eventually. I just had to keep working, keep doing my best, and—most importantly—never sacrifice who I was to fit into someone else’s mold. As long as I stayed true to myself, my dream would come true.

This was just the beginning. When Graciela agreed to let me do my own thing, my heart skipped a beat and a blush crept over my skin. I wanted to shine here, to work my way up to editor instead of editorial assistant. With Kyrie’s support, I knew I could make it happen. I wouldn’t waste this chance.

After the meeting, I scurried to my office. It was more like a closet, but I didn’t mind. At least I had a door. That was more than I ever had when I was at
Teen Sparkle
. My small desk took up most of the windowless room, but I’d decorated with brash art and even managed to wedge in a tiny bench for visitors to sit on. It was my little slice of home away from home. Working for Kyrie, my best friend, made it even more enjoyable.

I walked in, sank down at my desk, and leaned my head back against the leather chair. I may have even squeed a little.

“Way to go in there.” Kyrie perched her curvy ass on the edge of my desk. “Just out of curiosity, how many more words for pussy were you going to throw out?”

“Want me to keep on impressing you? I can always go with a nice hatchet wound or a poon, beaver, furburger.” I met her green gaze, loving it when they widened with each word I came up with.

Kyrie shook her head and laughed. “You are ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

“I do.” She nodded, still smiling, and tucked a stray wisp of brown hair behind her ear. “Is this new?” She pointed at my strapless green dress. “I love it. Too bad my tits are way too big to go strapless.”

I patted my chest. “Not a problem with me.” I’d always been petite. With my blonde hair, clear skin, and light brown eyes, my mother tried to get me into modeling, but I was always too short to land any big photo shoots.

“They’re as perky as the day is long. I’m jealous.” She sighed and ran her hands down her sides, highlighting her hourglass figure.

I wanted to throw my stapler at her. “Show off. And if I remember correctly, the last time I saw your big squishies, the nips were still pointing north, so I’m pretty sure you could go strapless if you wanted to.”

“Maybe, but I’d probably get written up for indecent exposure.”

I waved her words away as if they were an irritating gnat. “Days without a reprimand aren’t worth living.”

“Oh, Nik, what am I going to do with you?” She stood to leave. “I just wanted to stop by and congratulate you. I’m proud, and I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

I slapped her thigh. “Put that fine ass back on my desk. I’ve got news.”

A creaking wheel noise echoed through the hall. I knew the sound. I pretended to reach for my notepad and knocked it off my desk and onto the floor at Kyrie’s feet. Like a dutiful friend, she bent over to pick it up. Right then, Grady pushed past with the mail cart.

He stopped, his pervy eyes growing huge as he got a good look at Kyrie’s ass. Her skirt was short enough for me to wonder if he got a view of panties. When he reached down to adjust himself in his pants, my hypothesis was proven accurate.

“Here.” Kyrie straightened and handed me my notepad, then followed my gaze to the door. “Grady, get the fuck out of here!”

“Y-yes, ma’am.” Grady took off with his cart, but seconds later a crash sounded from down the hall. He must have run into the nearest cubicle.

I howled with laughter. Thank God that creeper followed us over to
Style and Substance
. His stalker ways always managed to lighten my day.

“You did that on purpose.” Kyrie, her cheeks red and her eyes flashing, grabbed a lock of my hair and yanked.

“I had that coming.” I couldn’t contain my laughter. “Just like Grady’s going to be coming all over your imaginary ass in the men’s room in about five minutes.” That comment got me another, harder hair pull.

“I’m leaving.” She huffed and turned for the door.

“No, don’t go. I’m sorry.” I grabbed her hand and stowed my giggles, though I had to push the image of Grady’s bugged-out eyes from my mind to do it.

She glowered. “You’re going to regret all this when I’m at the bottom of Grady’s well rubbing lotion on my skin.”

I gave her my most earnest look. “You have to do it, or else you’ll get the hose again.”

“Dammit, Nikki.” She fought a smile, but her lips won and she finally let out a laugh. “You are the fucking worst. You know that?”

“I do. I think you tell me about once a day. Now sit down. I’m being serious. I have real, actual news.”

She dutifully reclaimed her perch, though her eyes had a wary glint. “Good news? Bad news? What news?”

“Great news!”

“That’s my favorite kind.” She crossed her legs at the knee. “Hit me.”

“Well, you know how my parents moved back from Florida two months ago?”

She nodded. “Yeah, did they sell the beach house?”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you kidding? No. They’re having a major renovation, so they’ve come back to the estate for a few months. As soon as it gets cold, they’ll be flying south again for the winter.”

My parents had inherited more money than they knew what to do with. I’d learned long ago that vast sums of money allow people to be their real selves. They go about life completely differently than normal humans. My parents were a prime example. They’d returned to the city because of what they’d termed a “monumental hardship.” This “hardship” was the scent of Vietnamese food. They’d hired a new housekeeper at the beach house, but didn’t like the smell of what she cooked in her own personal kitchen in the servants’ wing of the house. So, they decided the only wise thing to do was buy the beach cottage next door, knock it down, and build a separate servants’ home. Totally logical to people like my parents, but batshit crazy to the normal people of the world.

“So, if they aren’t back for good, what’s the news?”

“They want to meet Braden!” My voice was too loud for the office environment, but I didn’t care. “I can’t wait for them to meet him. They are going to love him.”

Kyrie smiled but crossed her arms, pushing her boobs up and straining the button on her white cardigan. “Does Braden know?”

“Yeah.” I fidgeted in my seat. The chemical burn on my pussy had entered the itching stage of healing.

“Is he excited?” She raised a brow.

“Well, not as excited as I am—”

She sighed. “Oh, Nik. Nobody gets as excited as you do. That’s a given.”

“I know, but I think he wants to meet them. He didn’t say no or anything. We’re supposed to go to their house for dinner this weekend. I can already imagine him wowing my dad and flirting with my mom, and oh my God, it’s going to be perfect.” My words ran together in a jumble of excitement.

“Just make sure he’s comfortable with it. Boys are weird about meeting parents. And sometimes parents, not just yours, get overly protective. But yours … I can see Catherine and John playing good cop, bad cop.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t want to hear about my parents’ perverted sex games, you deviant.”

She held my gaze and ignored my attempt to deflect. “You know what I mean.”

I shrugged. “Just because that one time my father shot my boyfriend when they were out hunting. I mean, it was an accident, and Clay didn’t die or anything.”

“Yeah, but where did he get shot?”

I looked away and chewed my lip. “In the groin.”

She kicked my leg with her black pump. “In the
dick
. Have you told Braden about that?”

“Ow!” I rubbed my knee. “I mentioned it in passing. Said it was a hunting accident.”

“Did he buy it?” She pulled a strand of dark hair between her teeth and bit down.

She must have been really worried. She didn’t do the hair-biting move unless something had her riled up.

“Look, they will love Braden because I love him, okay? Don’t worry so much. And I won’t let him go hunting with Dad, so none of that will be an issue.” Despite my words, worry swirled in my stomach. Was she right? Had I underestimated the pressure this situation would put on Braden and me?

“What about Vanessa and Ben?”

“Vanessa’s away at school, and Ben might show up.” My little sister was the sweetest soul in the world, and my older brother wasn’t far behind. If a black sheep was allowed in the Graves family, I was it.

Even so, my parents had always been polite to my boyfriends. Except that one incident in the woods, they had never openly declared war against any of my dating choices. Braden was my first long-term relationship since college, so surely they would realize it was serious.

I tapped my index finger on my thigh. Come to think of it, I
had
failed to mention we were living together. And by ‘failed to mention,’ I meant ‘intentionally did not mention.’ Not that I was ashamed of Braden, but I didn’t want to rock the boat with my parents. They wouldn’t be too pleased about me shacking up with a baseball player they’d never met. But I hadn’t lied to them or anything. I just hadn’t mentioned it. That was different, wasn’t it?

Kyrie put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, drawing me from my thoughts. “I’m sure everything will be fine. It has to be, right?”

“Right.” I nodded, though I wasn’t quite so sure anymore.

She stood and smoothed down her plum skirt. “Now, let’s get to work. When are you going to start on the waxing article?”

I shook off the worrisome thoughts and grinned at her. “No time like the present. So, when was the last time you had your cooter waxed?”

B
RADEN

R
AUCOUS CHEERS MORPHED
into a steady roar from the crowd as Cox slid into third. I swung my bat in the on-deck circle to the right of home plate.

“Hell yeah, kid!” I yelled.

Cox popped up on third and fist-bumped our assistant coach before brushing the dirt from his uniform. The frenzy continued in the stands. I turned my gaze out to second base where Hamilton stood after driving a double to the right centerfield wall. “Atta boy, Ham Chops!”

He stared at me with a bright-white, toothy smile and pounded his chest twice with his fist. I returned the gesture.

I strode up to the plate from the on-deck circle, and the thunderous applause grew louder as my name rang out over the speakers. Pendleton had struck out to start off the inning, but now we had two runners in scoring position with one out. Momentum was on our side. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I looked up to the scoreboard—a giant picture of my face covered half of it—to verify the scenario. We were down three to two in the bottom of the ninth.

I couldn’t help but notice my batting average taunting me underneath my pretty face.

.247

It was fifty points lower than the numbers I usually put up each year. The breaks hadn’t gone my way at all this season, and those three little numbers were all that the people in the front office cared about. Not leadership, or heart. Fucking numbers.

Focus, goddamn it.

I slapped the hard lumber into my palm, and inhaled a huge breath through my nose. Hot dogs, beer, and fresh cut bermuda flooded my nostrils. The smell of the ballpark was heaven.

I propped the bat between my legs and scooped a pile of fresh dirt into my hands, before rubbing them together. I clapped a couple of times, sending a cloud of dirt swirling out toward the mound, and grabbed the handle of my bat. Gripping it hard, I squeezed the wood tight in my palms, gaining the necessary friction to go to work.

Fuck the numbers. Get your teammates a win.

“Let’s go, B. Light his ass up,” hollered Easton.

E and the others were in my peripheral vision, leaning on the barrier in front of the dugout. I kept my focus on the mound. Glaring at the pitcher, I dug in with my right foot as the cheers of the stadium turned to pandemonium.

“Time!” The ump threw up his hands, cutting off all the energy that had built inside of me moments before.

What the fuck?

I shot a glance to the opposing dugout as their fat fuck manager waddled his ass onto the field.
Cunt.

I stepped out of the box, my concentration now broken, and walked toward our dugout. I headed right for Coach.

“Fucker is going to bring in Martinez. He’s trying to ice me.” I glared at the old man.

“Looks like it’s working. Get your fucking head in it.” His eyes bore into my skull.