Curveball (22 page)

“Junior, that kiss was …”

Great?
Amazing? Mind-blowing?

She blinked away all of those. “Nice.”

“Just
nice
?” He grinned. “Were you at the same place I was? I could’ve swore I saw your lips
there.”

She smothered both a smile and the urge to leap across the elevator. “It was, but
it’ll have to be the first and last. I think us being anything more than friends would
be a bad idea.”

“Friends kiss.”

“Not like that they don’t.” The doors opened into the lobby. She tried to beat him
out but he was just as quick. “Or if they do, I need to think twice before friending
people on Facebook.”

A tiny chuckle slipped past his lips. “Okay. I wasn’t really lying to Paige; I do
have an early morning.” His flat tone was bad enough, but then he stared with undeniable
longing ... She found it impossible to believe him.

She smiled charitably. “Sounds good. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

He gave her a soft kiss on the cheek before turning to leave. She rubbed her arms
as she hopped back onto the elevator. His lips had left goosebumps sprinkled over
her arms. It didn’t matter if it was his lips or his hands; his mere touch sent chills
down her spine.

She knew a certain biologist who would be even more interested in this explicit biological
response.

Cat stood outside the hotel door for a good minute before opening it. With any luck,
Paige would be in the shower, avoiding what was sure to be an awkward conversation.
With any
bad
luck, her gossipy eye was glued to the peephole, delightfully waiting to humiliate
her.

“McDee, next time you should put a scarf on the doorknob.”

Naturally, this would be the one time Paige didn’t take a shower longer than the regulation
nine innings. Instead, she sauntered out of the bathroom in her fluffy robe, thwarting
Cat’s plan of pretending to be asleep when she came out.

Cat closed her eyes and tried to take a long, calming breath. Before she’d finished,
Paige spoke again. “Of course, if I’d just been a couple minutes later, I probably
would’ve heard the room rocking.”

Cat slammed the door and flipped the deadbolt.
“Paige—”

“You didn’t have to do the guilty school-kid jump on my account. I could care less
if you want to do the horizontal merengue with Junior De-Lame-eon.” She grabbed a
bottle of nail polish and shook it as she raised an amused eyebrow. “Been there, done
that, got the t-shirt that was a size too small, if you know what I mean.”

“I wasn’t— I— We were just hanging out.”

“I shudder to think what would’ve been
hanging out
had I come in thirty seconds later.”

Cat’s shoulders slumped and she threw herself on the bed. The rumpled duvet was an
unwelcome reminder of guilt. “Paige, for real. It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“So you admit it looked bad?” She pulled out a chair at the table, kicked her foot
up and began painting the hot pink polish on her toes.

Cat rolled over and scrunched a pillow under her head. “I can see how someone like
you would get a thought like that in her perverted little brain.”

“Someone like me saw two healthy adults, of varying attractiveness, who—”

“Hey.”

“Who chose to do their supposed ‘research’ on the bed instead of this very empty table.”
Paige patted the tabletop for emphasis. Then she picked up one of the empty beer bottles.
“With,” she sniffed the bottle and turned up her nose, “alcohol.”

Cat popped out of the bed, threw the pillow to the side, and ripped the green glass
bottle out of Paige’s hand. “You’ve solved another one, Jessica Fletcher. Can I get
ready for bed now?”

“Jessica who?”

Cat didn’t even bother. “Bed. Now.”

“Don’t you want to call your boyfriend first?” Before Cat could reply, she added,
“You know, like you told him you would last night?”

Cat shot her a glare, grabbed her cell phone off the table and charged out of the
room. Once in the hallway, she took a deep breath before dialing. It only rang once.

“There’s my girl. You sunburned yet?”

She may not have had Paige nagging in the background, but now she had guilt scolding
in the foreground.

“Hey.”

“What’s wrong? You sound different.”

“Just been a long night.”

“What’d Paige do tonight? Take in a cockfight? Crash a soiree at the National Palace?”

“No, it’s not Paige. Just some baseball stuff.”

“Aww. You wanna talk about it?”

“Yeah, right.” Benji wanted to hear about starters and rotations as much as she wanted
to hear about atoms and molecules.

“No I’m serious, I really want to hear. It’ll be just like you’re here lying next
to me, confusing me with pillow talk about cans of corn and rhubarb.”

“Don’t forget pickles and good cheese.”

He sighed. “Instead you’re three thousand stinking miles away on a beach, probably
not using that natural zinc oxide sunscreen I gave you.”

She scoffed. “If only I had time to lie on the beach.”

“So what’s the situation that’s got you grumped?”

“Oh.” Her mind raced. “Well … there’s a player who, uh, can’t decide what team to
go with.”

“Is one of them the Soldiers?”

“No, they’re uh, teams down here.”

“Well what’s wrong with the team he’s on?”

“Nothing!” Cat caught herself and lowered her voice. “Nothing. It’s a great team.
He’s been with him—uh,
them
, for a while now and is just wondering if he’s missing out.”

“Well, the grass is always greener, right?” He paused. “Actually, that’s true. The
dentist’s office across the street just resodded their lawn and the grass is like,
emerald. It’s almost worth the eutrophication.”

He paused again, but Cat knew this delay was his way of asking for a cue. She played
along in a fake falsetto voice. “Eutrophication? Whatever would that be, Professor
Levy?”

“The phosphorus added to yard fertilizer runs off into the groundwater supply and
creates these algal blooms. First it turns the water green, then it gets cloudy and
starts stinking and eventually the oxygen for the fish and other species is exhausted,
causing them to virtually suffocate.”

“That’s awful. There was nothing wrong with Dr. Graham’s grass to begin with.” The
lights in the hallway flickered. Cat frowned, fearing another blackout. “Four out
of five dentists agree: dull grass causes cavities.”

“Maybe that’s what you should tell your player. The grass is always greener, but fish
will die a horrible death.”

“How about ‘the grass might seem greener, but at what cost?’ ”

“Well there you go.”

Cat smiled softly. “I miss you.”

He laughed; it was a genuine laugh that she knew came with two dimples. “You like
that? Then let me tell you about the pigeon poison the old witch next door keeps putting
out on her balcony.”

“Let’s not get carried away. Besides, something tells me it goes missing before the
pigeons get to it.”

“You know it. I’ve been waiting for her light to turn off every night at nine and
going out to my balcony to make pigeon calls toward her window. I’m hoping she’ll
think she’s being haunted by angry ornithological spirits.”

They both started laughing.

“Obviously, I miss you too,” he said.

Cat sighed. “Well, I better get back to the room. I’m standing out in the hallway.

“Okay. Give Paige my best.”

“Hmm. She doesn’t deserve your best; I’ll give her your fair-to-middling. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Her guilt could fill the fifty-six thousand seats of Dodger Stadium and still spill
out to Chavez Ravine.

Cat turned the Mustang into the strip mall and pulled into the first spot she saw
in the front row. It wasn’t the
Catedral Primada de América
but it sure beat the ratty location she and Paige had mistaken for Chance’s office
earlier in the week. The building—a one-level, glass-front ranch-style—stood next
to a small accounting firm, a barber shop, a dry cleaner and a vacant space with the
windows painted “EN ALQUILER/FOR RENT.” Each business had a different color canopy.
Worldwide Baseball Talent Management was the second one down. Its name was emblazoned
onto the orange canopy and etched into the glass door in playful script lettering.

She stepped inside the small lobby, happy to note that the building was just as decent
inside, despite the steamy temperature and chemical fumes—the downside to sharing
a wall with a dry cleaner.

“
¿Te puedo ayudar con algo?
”

A pretty Latina woman sat behind a desk—not a card table—winding her brunette ponytail
into a twist and fastening it atop her head with a tortoiseshell clip. She looked
over at the door and gave Cat a onceover from her bare legs to her auburn hair. Pressing
her lips together into a tight, condescending smile, she added very slowly, “Can I
help you?”

Because
pale redheads could never be Spanish speakers, native or otherwise
.

Cat shook off her annoyance and decided to run with it, figuring a language barrier
might make her seem all the more legitimate to the assistant.

“Yes, uh, my name is Cat McDaniel. I’m from the Buffalo Soldiers Training Facility.”

“Oh!” Her dark eyebrows raised and disappeared behind her long straight bangs. Her
tone became more respectful. “How can I help you?”

Cat pretended to fumble through her purse. “I don’t have any business cards with me.”

Because
I don’t have any … yet
.

“But Chance knows me and while I don’t have an appointment, I was hoping to get a
minute of his time.”

“
Sí, sí
.” She smiled from ear to ear. “I am sure he can find time for a scout from the Soldiers.
One moment. Feel free to have a seat.” She wiggled out from behind the desk and shimmied
her tight skirt into place before disappearing down a narrow hallway behind her, her
platform heels clicking on the ceramic tile.

Cat chose the first of the three plastic classroom chairs that sat in front of a coffee
table littered with backdated issues of
Sports Illustrated
and
ESPN Deportes
. The small waiting room contained little else, other than a Culligan dispenser and
a ficus.

The receptionist came sashaying back to her desk a minute later with Chance in tow.

“Cat? What a nice surprise.”

Cat hopped to her feet, straightened out her ruffled skirt and forced a smile. “Chance,
nice to see you.”

He leaned his face into hers and turned to the side.

She stared at him, clueless.

He gave his cheek a tap with his index finger.

“Oh.” She grudgingly brushed his cheek with her lips, fighting the overwhelming urge
to wipe them with the back of her hand.

“I hope you don’t mind me just dropping in. I’m sure you’re busy wooing players.”

Screwing
players
.

“Oh please, I’ve got an open door policy for beautiful sportswriters.” His bleached
teeth jumped out at her through a cheesy smile. “Come back to my office.”

She followed him down a short hallway only a few feet from the lobby. The entire establishment
didn’t seem to consist of much more than the front entrance room, Chance’s office
and a restroom. She wondered if he was the only agent here at the Worldwide Baseball
Talent Management.

He closed the door behind them. His office wasn’t much bigger than an on-deck circle,
but then again, given the tiny quarters she shared with a sorority girl, who was she
to judge? His walls were a sport collector’s dream. Cat eyeballed the autographed
José Bautista jersey, Francisco Cordero ball, and Albert Pujols bat. His desk held
framed cards signed by Aramis Ramirez and David Ortiz. It was a nice trick. Placing
the Dominican-born superstars’ merchandise in his office gave the impression that
the hometown heroes were his clients. Cat knew they weren’t, nor had they ever been.

She tucked her skirt under her thighs as she sat in the chair across from his desk.

Chance eased into his leather chair and crossed his hands on his tidy desk. “So what
brings you in to see me?” The broad, fake smile remained in place. “This isn’t about
Paige, is it? Is this where you warn me not to hurt her?”

She let out a tiny laugh and shook her head. “No, I’ll leave that to her dad.” With
the reminder, she couldn’t resist throwing in a warning for good measure. “You know,
Rakin’ Aiken—the six-three pile of bricks that oversees a twenty-five man army of
equally beefy bat-wielding soldiers?”

Chance laughed in response, completely unthreatened, either because he was too stupid
or too arrogant to think that dragging Paige Aiken through the dirt might end badly
for him and his pretty face.

She opened her purse and pulled out the doctored-up stat sheet. “I’m actually here
to talk business.”

“Excellent.”

“Um, I guess I’ll cut to the chase.” She handed over the paper. “I’ve got a player,
a local guy, who I was hoping you might be interested in.”

He sat up and leaned on his elbows, grabbing the sheet with eager hands and giving
it a quick glance. “You do?” His eyes scanned her face before he said anything further.
“Isn’t that a conflict of interest? I mean, if he’s already one of yours—”

“He’s not. I actually met him the other day. He approached me outside of the facility
and begged me to listen to him.” Considering how vehemently she’d tried to get Chance
to let her take a look at Cristian, she knew he’d buy this. Even better, it would
remind him of her kindness. Callous crooks always assumed that anyone with a bleeding
heart must be a fool.

“Which of course you did.”

She gave him her best
you caught me
smile, with a touch of a
can’t slip nothing by you
twinkle in her eye.