The Other Game: A Dean Carter Novel (The Perfect Game #4) (2 page)

“You need me to work some of that aggression out of you?” Jack offered with his typical smile that usually worked on all the ladies. Must be the stupid dimples.

“I’d rather eat dirt,” Cassie mumbled, her mouth filled with food.

This time I did laugh. The girl was funny as hell.

Jack chuckled. “I almost want to see that.”

“You would. Go torture someone else,” she said before looking away.

Not a bit fazed, he grinned and moved to sit in the empty seat next to her. “But I like torturing you.”

“Uh, no!” she shouted before throwing her bag right where he was about to plop down.

Jack stopped short and stood back up. “Why so angry, Kitten?”

“Why so annoying, jackass?” she said, mimicking his tone, and I shot Melissa an amused smile.

Jack bent over to bring his face close to hers. “You’ll come around; you’ll see. You can’t resist me forever.”

Cassie inhaled before she choked a little, and swallowed hard as Jack walked away, smiling.

“Sorry about my brother.” I forced a smile as I defended Jack. I liked Cassie, and could tell he liked her too. “He isn’t really a jerk.”

“He just plays one on TV?” Cassie said before coughing into a napkin.

“Something like that. Don’t take him too seriously. He’s just having fun with you.”

She half smiled. “
I’m
not having fun.”

“But you are. And he knows it,” I added, knowing damn well that a girl like Cassie enjoyed the verbal jousting match she seemed to have with Jack every time they spoke.

Jack walked back over to our table and shoved a napkin into Cassie’s hand without saying a word. I watched him walk back to his table, wondering what the hell he’d just given her when she crumpled it up and tossed it into her bag.

“What was that?” Melissa asked.

Cassie swallowed hard. “His phone number, I think. I didn’t really look at it.”

“H-he gave you his number?”

Shock rolled through me. My brother didn’t give his phone number to any girl.
Ever.

“I think. Maybe I’m wrong. I’ll look at it later.” Cassie’s cheeks turned pink, and I frowned.

Melissa turned to me, her brows drawn together. “What’s with the face?”

“He doesn’t give out his phone number. There’s no point with him.” I moved my gaze from Cassie to Jack’s table as I tried to read his mind.

“He has a cell phone, right?” Melissa asked.

“Yeah?” I squinted at her, not seeing her point.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, caller ID.”

I shook my head. “His number is private. It doesn’t show up.”

”Really? Who does that?”

“Someone who had to change his phone number fifteen times in high school because it never stopped ringing.” When both girls looked at me with amazement, I added, “Or pinging with text messages.”

I thought back to those high school years when girls posted his phone number on all the social media sites, or included him in group text messages so everyone else in the group could get his number. Whenever Jack’s number got out, he not only got calls from the girls at our own school, his phone blew up from girls all over.

Jack had been the subject of more than one national article on baseball and its future rising stars. He wasn’t only well known in our hometown; he was well known in the entire baseball community. And apparently the cleat chasers, aka baseball groupies, started early.

“
Fifteen times
?” Cassie said loudly, and everyone around our table turned to stare at us.

I shrugged. “It might have been more, but it was insane. Girls would post his number online, and his voice mail would fill up within a day. And then they’d all start calling my phone, looking for him when he didn’t answer.”

What I didn’t tell them was that I had to eventually change my number as well for the same reason. Not that those girls wanted to talk to me, but when you were a freshman in high school, you tended to believe the things that girls said. I learned my lesson about being used pretty early when it came to girls lying to get what they wanted.

“Holy shit, that’s bananas!”

Melissa broke out into laughter, but I didn’t join in. This was the story of my life, and it really wasn’t funny.

“That’s why it’s weird that he’d give you his number.” I frowned at Cassie, wondering just what game my brother was playing. “He doesn’t give anyone his number.”

“Well, like I said, I could be wrong,” she said quickly.

Melissa gestured toward her bag. “Then get it out and read it now.”

“No. Not in the freaking student union while he’s right over there. Later.”

Cassie grabbed her things and pushed back from the table to walk toward the trash cans. Jack jogged over to her and they exchanged words, their body language resembling that night at the frat party.

“Come to my game tonight!” Jack shouted as she stomped away and opened the glass doors.

“I don’t think so,” she snapped back.

“Don’t you want to see me pitch?” he asked, his voice cocky.

She paused, holding the door open with one arm. “I saw you pitching earlier. In slow motion, remember? I think I got the gist.”

As Cassie left, I turned back to Melissa, who was frowning.

“Well, this oughta be fun,” I said with a laugh, but she shook her head.

“Fun for you, maybe, but there’s no way this is going to end well,” she said sadly. “He’s going to wear her down, and she knows it.”

“I honestly think she likes him,” I offered with a shrug before taking another bite of pizza.

Melissa watched as Jack stared after Cassie.

“I think so too,” she said. “And that’s what worries me.”

“Gran, are you almost ready?” I yelled from the living room where I waited with Gramps.

“Don’t you know better than to try to rush a woman, son?” Gramps looked at me over his glasses.

I glanced at my watch as I paced the small living room. “I don’t want to be late for the game. And you don’t either.”

“No. That’s why I let you yell for her, so I don’t get in trouble.” He shot me a devilish grin, and I rolled my eyes.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Gran shouted from their bedroom.

The smell of lasagna filled the entire house, and my mouth watered at the thought of digging into it later. Jack knew Gran would make him whatever he wanted, but he always made me ask anyway.

“Dinner smells amazing, Gran,” I told her when we finally headed outside.

She snorted. “It better. I spent all morning making it.”

“No one does it better than you do,” Gramps said with a smile as we piled into their car, an aging Honda that flipped over the odometer long ago.

Gran buckled up in the front seat and narrowed her eyes at us. “You two stop buttering me up. What do you want?”

“I don’t want to be late,” I said from the backseat.

“Then you’d better get going.” She smacked Gramps’s shoulder as he stepped on the gas and pulled away from the house.

Thankfully we didn’t live too far from campus, so the drive there was quick. I hated missing a single pitch when Jack played. Watching him was one of the coolest things ever. He had a presence on the mound that you couldn’t teach, and it filled me with pride every single game.

From the moment he stepped onto the field, Jack was all business. Screaming girls shouted his name from the stands, many of them wearing jerseys with his number on them, but none of it mattered. All he saw was the catcher’s glove sixty feet away from him, and all he focused on was hitting the pitch that was called.

We’d spent too many nights to count talking about baseball and his love for it. It actually made me a little envious sometimes, and I wished I loved something as much as he did. I often reminded Jack how lucky he was to be great at the one thing he wanted to do for a living.

Many amateur athletes loved the sport they played and wished for a future in it—a career—but it would never happen for them. That was just how life worked. It wasn’t enough to want something; it had to want you back.

And baseball wanted Jack. He not only excelled at the sport, he exemplified it.

Gran, Gramps, and I made our way to our regular seats above the dugout. I glanced to my right once I was comfortable and noticed Cassie and Melissa arguing before taking their seats.

The sight made me smile. Cassie
had
come to see him pitch after all. I made a mental note to let my brother know she had shown up. Jack never paid attention to anything or anyone in the stands during a game, so he wouldn’t have a clue if she was here or not.

I smiled to myself, happy that she was here to watch him. He liked her; I knew that much already just by the way he acted around her. Cassie might be a challenge for him, which was always attractive, but his interest in her seemed to be something more than that.

Jack wasn’t used to being told no by a girl, but it also wasn’t in his nature to waste time on one. There had to be a reason he couldn’t leave her alone whenever he saw her, why he chased her.

Gran leaned forward, scanning the stands. “There’s a lot of people here to watch him tonight,” she said, probably not even aware of her hands twining nervously in her lap.

The scouts were out in full force tonight. It was always a spectacle when Jack pitched, but each game drew more and more of them.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” I told her. “His crowd seems to get bigger every time.”

“I always get so nervous when he pitches,” she said with a sigh before resting her head against Gramps’s shoulder. He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

I waved a hand as if the pressure were no big deal. “Don’t be. Jack’s not.”

But I understood her anxiety. I felt it too each time he pitched. You couldn’t help it when you cared about the person and knew their hopes, dreams, and fears. I wanted the best for my brother, and each time he took the mound, I wanted the same thing for him that he did—to get drafted this June. And to do that, he had to impress the scouts in the stands each and every time he pitched.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Fullton Field!” The announcer’s voice filled the air as the screaming fans slowly lowered their volume. “Here to sing the national anthem is our very own Fullton State student, Laura Malloy!”

Cheers filled the stadium as Laura smiled nervously before closing her eyes and singing the opening words beautifully.

I glanced over at Melissa, but was distracted by the camera in front of Cassie’s face instead. It looked complex and professional, and she actually seemed to know what she was doing. She leaned forward, adjusted the lens, and clicked the shutter multiple times before placing the camera back on her lap.

“We have a sold-out crowd tonight, folks, and we all know why! Taking the mound against our rivals from Florida is the one and only Jack Carter!”

The announcer spoke Jack’s name like he did every Friday night when Jack pitched—reverently, as if Jack was all that mattered. Thankfully, Jack knew it took a team to win ball games, and he never let it go to his head, or acted like it was all about him. Off the field, he was a different beast altogether, a cocky campus stud, but on the field, he was the consummate professional.

I leaned over Gramps and poked my grandmother in the arm. “Hey, Gran, want to see something?”

“What?”

“See that blond girl over there with the giant camera?”

Gran squinted as she tried to find Cassie. “Oh yes, I see her.”

“Well, your grandson harasses the living shit out of her every day at school,” I said, finding pleasure in ratting out my brother.

“Dean! Language!” She scowled at me, and I bit back a smile. “And which grandson might that be?” She waggled her eyebrows at me as Gramps leaned over to check out Cassie too.

“The baseball-playing one,” I said, then added, “I like her friend.”

“Hmm,” was all Gran said about my revelation before turning away to face the field.

Gramps elbowed me. “I’d date ’em both,” he whispered before casting a quick glance at Gran to make sure she hadn’t heard him.

“Now taking the field,
your
Fullton State Outlaws!” The announcer paused for a few seconds before continuing. “And now taking the mound, Jack Car-terrr!” He dragged out our last name, just like one of those wrestling announcers on TV.

The stadium erupted with enthusiastic noise. Every Friday night home game started out the same way with ear-piercing shouts, cheers, and screaming girls as Jack walked toward the strip of white rubber on the tall dirt mound. He kicked at the dirt in front of the pitching mound, adjusting it to his liking before he stood tall on top of it. After he warmed up with a handful of practice pitches to the catcher, the game officially started.

The first pitch flew by in a rush, and I sensed that he was
on
tonight. The sound of the ball hitting the catcher’s mitt was so loud, it echoed against the backstop. The batter stepped out from the batter’s box and looked nervously at his coach before stepping back in. Two more pitches screamed by, and that was out number one of the night.

“Strike three! You’re out!” the umpire shouted, and the crowd cheered loudly.

Jack was in the zone.

The rest of the game played out much like the first inning. When it was all said and done, Jack had pitched the entire game, giving up only three hits and one run.

Afterward, Coach pulled Jack aside and escorted him over to the press area where he was besieged by reporters, scouts, and fans. This was the usual post-game wrap-up, and it could take up to an hour or longer.

Gran, Gramps, and I took our time leaving our seats, shuffling behind the rest of the crowd as they filed out. I looked over to where Melissa had been sitting, but her seat was empty.

My stomach growled, reminding me of Gran’s lasagna waiting for us.

I tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Gran, we can start eating before Jack gets home, right?”

She looked back at me like she wanted to smack me upside the head, and I was thankful when she didn’t. After glancing at the delicate gold watch on her wrist, she said, “Only because it’s already ten. And I’m starving.”

• • •

When Jack walked through the door an hour later, we all shouted our greetings at him from the kitchen table.

“Thank God for lasagna and you, Gran,” he said as he came into the kitchen and planted a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Great game tonight, bro.” I put my fist in the air, and he tapped it with his before grabbing a plate.

“Thanks. I felt really good.” He shot me a quick smile.

“You looked better than good.”

“You threw so well tonight, Jack. I’m really proud of you,” Gran said with a smile before giving him a hug. “Now, eat.”

“I’m starving.” Jack dropped into his seat at the table and piled his plate with more lasagna than a normal person should be able to consume in one sitting.

Since the rest of us had already finished eating, Gran placed her hands on the table and slowly lifted from her chair. “I’m going to bed. You boys clean up, will you?” she asked as she headed toward their bedroom.

“Of course. Thanks again, Gran,” Jack called out, and I knew damn well he’d make me clean up while he watched. Supervised, as he called it.

“I’d better go with her,” Gramps said with a wicked grin, and then clamped a hand on Jack’s shoulder before shuffling out behind her, and I tried not to think about them being an actual married couple who did married-couple things.

Shaking my head to rid myself of any gross thoughts about my grandparents, I swallowed another bite and waved a finger in the air toward Jack. “You know who was there tonight?” I asked, hoping to surprise him.

“I saw,” he said with a smirk.

“You saw?” That shocked me. Jack never saw anyone. He never looked in the stands, never paid attention to anything or anyone when he was pitching.

“I saw,” he repeated matter-of-factly.

“When the hell did you see? You never see,” I whisper-shouted, not wanting to disturb Gran and Gramps, but still not believing what I was hearing.

“At the end of the game. I looked right at her.”

“Shut the hell up.”

“I know.” He shrugged. “I never do that shit. But she makes me crazy.”

I couldn’t stop the smile that crept over my face. “I’m well aware. You turn into a complete idiot around her. But it’s fun to watch.”

Jack forked a pile of lasagna and threatened to toss it at me, but I shook my head in warning. “You wouldn’t do that after all Gran’s hard work, would you?”

He shoved the food into his mouth instead. “She wants me.”

“Who, Gran? Gross, man.”

“Not Gran, asshole. Melissa’s best friend. She wants me.”

“Melissa’s best friend? Don’t you know her name?”

“No. She’s never told me. I keep calling her Kitten and it pisses her off, which I think is funny. I like getting a rise out of her.”

He munched on a crunchy piece of garlic bread, sending crumbs all over the table that I knew I’d have to clean up later.

Frowning at him, I said, “I noticed. I think she secretly likes it. And her name’s Cassie.”

“No!” He threw the rest of his bread at me. “Why’d you tell me that? Now I’m going to have to pretend like I don’t know her name so I can keep calling her Kitten and pissing her off. Damn it, Dean.”

Realizing he’d lost his bread, he groaned. “Give me my bread back.”

I chucked it at him. Jack caught it and shoved it in his mouth.

“Anyway,
Kitten
came to my game tonight. And she brought her camera. I saw her taking pictures of me.”

My jaw dropped open slightly. “You really were paying attention to her tonight. I’m shocked.”

“You and me both,” he said with a shrug.

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

“Get her to go out with me, of course,” he said as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

“And what if she says no? She’s pretty good at blowing you off.”

“I won’t let her.”

“You won’t let her say no? How the hell are you going to manage that?”

Jack pointed his empty fork at me. “Don’t you worry, little brother. I’ve got this.”

I had no idea what he meant, but I couldn’t wait to watch and learn.