Cleat Chaser (9 page)

5:38 a.m. I’m sorry for all the messages except maybe the first one. Please call or text anytime. I have practice til noon, but then I’m available anytime. Talk to you soon.

“You own that D.” Nikki had been reading over my shoulder. She squealed and fell back, kicking her feet in the air.

“I don’t own a D.” I put my phone down and stared at it as if it were poisonous. “How did he get my number?”

Nikki stopped kicking and sat up next to me, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “It’s a mystery.”

“Ugh, Nikki!”

“What? Why do you always think it’s me?” She shrugged.

“Because it always
is
you.” I pinned her with a scowl.

She puffed her lips into a pout. “You aren’t going to text him back?”

“No. I need to slow things down.” I wanted to text him, call him, jump in my car and go watch him practice in those tight pants. But I wasn’t about to rush into anything. Stopping and thinking would be the key to keeping my heart safe.

“Slow down? No. You need to text him.” She tried to grab for my phone.

I smacked her hand away. “Give me a minute okay? I said I’d think about seeing him. I just need some time.”

She leaned back and stared at me, her brown eyes searching my face. “You promise you’ll give him a chance?”

“I’ll think about it. That’s all I’m going to say.” I stood and went to my dresser before donning a t-shirt and yoga pants. “Want to go eat big bowls of cereal and watch mind-numbing TV?”

“You know me so well.” Nikki rose and flounced past, giving me a playful slap on the ass as she went.

I stared at myself in the dresser mirror. Despite what I’d told Nikki, I couldn’t decide if I really wanted to give Easton a chance. I didn’t know if I could handle another heartbreak, especially when I already knew what it was like chasing after a man who ate, slept, and dreamed baseball. Would Easton be any different?

Nikki and I lazed away our weekend. I received a few more texts from Easton asking how I was and wanting to know if I was free, but I didn’t respond. Nikki gave me the stink eye when I checked my phone but didn’t type anything back. She didn’t press, but I knew she was dying for me to message him.

He kept trying, still texting me on Monday morning during the staff meeting. I flipped my phone so it was face down on the table as Tessa did her usual round robin of questions to each editor.

“The Justin piece?” Tessa asked. This morning she was dressed in an eggplant colored sheath dress with a mustard jacket and pea green tie. It was as if the condiment section at a hotdog stand had vomited all over her.

“I’ll have it by lunch. One final pass and it will be good to go.” I smiled.

“Good. Nikki, how about that piece on all-natural tampons I asked you for?”

“Don’t worry. I’m really plugging away at it. Shoving every bit of info into it. Our readers will really soak up the knowledge.”

I snorted and covered it with a cough as I kicked her ankle.

“So, today? I’ll have it today?” Tessa asked, oblivious as usual.

“I’ll ram it home before close of business.” Nikki grinned.

After a few more minutes, the meeting was over. Once I’d gained the relative safety of the hallway, I let out the laugh that I’d stifled as best I could.

“Nikki!” I tried to scold her, but it was too funny.

“You loved it.” She hooked her arm in mine and walked me to my office.

My phone buzzed in my palm as we turned the corner and stopped dead. A huge bouquet of flowers—blue and white hydrangeas, and large yellow roses—overpowered my desk.

“What the—?” I hurried over and snagged the card as Nikki leaned against my doorframe, a satisfied smirk on her face.

Kyrie,

I would really like to see you again. Hope these brighten your day.

Easton

“Flowers, bitch. He sent you flowers. Can you at least text him now?” Nikki strutted over and took a whiff of a rose. “Mmm. Text him.”

I sank down at my desk and stared at the enormous arrangement. My phone buzzed again. I checked it. Two more messages from Easton.

Still thinking of you.

That sounded stalkery, but it’s true. I would really like to see you again. And I may have asked Braden to ask Nikki to make sure I wasn’t bugging you. She said it was ok.

I put my phone down and glared at Nikki. “I told you I needed to go slow.”

“I know that’s what you said, but I think maybe you needed a little push.” She examined her bright red nails.

“No,
Nikki
, I need to go slow. You can’t just decide what’s right for me and then get Easton to play along.”

“Look, if a man wants to send flowers, let him.” She put her hands on her gray peplum skirt, squishing down the ruffle along her hips. “I didn’t get any flowers. I’m the one who should be bitching.”

“You want my flowers?” I had the impulse to clutch the vase to keep her away, but that was foolish. They were only flowers—big, beautiful, thoughtful flowers.

“That’s not the point.” She threw her hands up. “The point is that Easton is a good guy who deserves a chance. That’s all I’m going to say. Now, I need to go pretend like I’m working for a while until Tessa leaves for her bloody mary and mimosa brunch, food optional.” Turning on her heel, she strutted away.

I propped my chin on my hand and studied the arrangement. I’d never actually received flowers before. Maybe Easton wasn’t the sort of player I was used to. Maybe Nikki was right. I sighed at the thought of admitting that skinny maniac was correct about anything, but she had me this time.

I picked up my phone to text him back, but my email dinged and distracted me. When I saw who it was from, I almost knocked my mouse off the desk from trying to open the email too quickly.

Dear Ms. Kent,

We have reviewed your body of work and have an interest in interviewing you for the executive editor position at
Style and Substance
. Please send us your latest pieces from the next
Teen Sparkle
issue. If all is in order, we will set an interview at that time.

Yours,

Graciela Froggart

I tamped down my excitement and re-read the email several times. I just had to get my fluff piece on the pop star finished, perfected, and printed, and I’d have my foot in the door at
Style and Substance
.

“Ms. Kent?” Grady, from the mailroom, stood at my door.

I schooled my features, though a stupid grin kept threatening to overtake my face. “Yes?”

“I forgot this came for you, too.” He walked in and I hastily minimized the email.

“What’s this?”

He handed me a box wrapped in brown paper.

“From a Mr. Holliday. I signed for it along with the flowers but forgot to drop it off. See ya.”

“Bye Grady.” I spoke as I ran my fingers beneath the folds in the paper and pulled.

The torn paper revealed a brand new Kindle, top of the line. On top were two tickets, right behind home plate, for the Thursday night Ravens game. I smiled, my cheeks heating as I ran my hand over the smooth Kindle box. Easton was relentless. And did I really want to keep fighting my attraction to him?

Picking up my phone, I texted:

Thanks for the flowers and the Kindle. I look forward to seeing how much heat you can bring on Thursday.

I hit ‘send’ before I chickened out. I stared at my phone, willing it to buzz. Anxiety ramped up inside me. Had I made him wait too long? After a few moments, I was rewarded.

You’re welcome. I’ll bring the heat. You bring the Kindle. We’ll see who blinks first.

E
ASTON

W
E WERE UP
two runs in the bottom of the ninth with one out. Rodriguez walked the last batter and Coach called for me to warm up. The tying run was at the plate.

I’d tried to focus the whole game, but all I could think about was Kyrie. Braden said I was acting like a total pussy, but I thought the Kindle was a perfect gift, and I was proud of myself for thinking of it. It was an added bonus that I got to preload it with
The Encyclopedia of Baseball
.

She was at the game. She’d told Nikki, who’d told Braden, who’d told me that she’d show; plus the fact she’d said she would be here via text.
I wonder what she’s wearing.

“You gonna throw the fucking ball or what, Easton?”

I snapped out of my daydream. “Yeah, bro. My bad.”

Our bullpen catcher, Harrison, was tapping his cleat on home plate and had his mask flipped up. He flipped it down and squatted behind the plate as I started my warm up pitches.

I got in all of two throws when I heard a crack, and looked out to see the single go up the middle. The runner on first rounded second and headed for third, but the strong throw from center field sent him scrambling back. Coach started out from the dugout and motioned for me.
Fuck, I’m not ready!

A worker opened the gate in the outfield wall and I trotted through. It was unusually hot for a mid-April game, and the humidity created a pressure cooker inside the stadium. It hit me like a brick wall. Sweat formed on my forehead, and began to bead up on my arms. The crowd roared around me from every direction. My feet pounded the ground, the spikes leaving small tufts of grass in my wake as the cheers grew louder when I neared the infield.

Usually, I would be focused on the hitter and his scouting report, the inning and out situation. I didn’t even know who the hitter on deck was. All I could do was look for Kyrie in the stands. And then...I saw her.

She wore a flowery spring dress, with a short sleeve lavender cardigan. Her eyes locked onto mine, and her lips formed the most gorgeous smile I’d ever seen. Nikki was with her, but I couldn’t even give her a glance. My eyes were focused on Kyrie.

“Easton! Fuck son, what’s the matter with you?”

I glanced to my coach, though I hated losing the sight of her. “Sorry, Coach.”

“Get your goddamn head in the game. Johnston hits a ton, and he’s on fire lately. We need a groundball or a strikeout right here. So either work him in with the sinker or away with a slider.”

“Sounds good.”

Coach slapped the ball in my glove and sauntered back to the dugout.

I threw my warm up pitches, but not without ogling Kyrie every chance I got. I even smiled at her. I never smiled on the mound.
You’re so fucked.

Braden caught my last pitch and then walked out to me. He stood there with his catcher’s mask sitting atop his head, grinning his ass off. “She came, dude!” He gave me a light jab with his catcher’s mitt.

“I know. I’m starting to think it was a mistake. I can’t focus for shit. All I think about is her.” I looked over to her sitting down, her eyes locked on me, her lips still slightly curved like she wanted to smile, but was trying to hold back.

“Bro, strike these whores out and go fuck the prom queen. It’s the jock code.”

“I’m trying, man.” I pulled my cap down to hide more of my face. "She is in my head.”

“Look, pussy. You know what’s at stake. You’re a free agent at the end of the year. Sack the fuck up and work this guy low like Coach said. Bust him in, work him away with a slider. I got your back. Don’t even look at her. She is not there.”

The sound of footsteps approaching from home plate alarmed us that it was time to go to work.

“Let’s go guys,” said the ump.

“Yes sir.” Braden tapped my glove and retreated with the umpire toward home.

I circled to the back of the mound and grabbed the rosin bag, popping it up in my hand a few times. I wedged my glove in my armpit and rubbed the ball with my hands, my sweat mixing with the powder to help my grip.