Game On(13)

Mandy nodded seriously, her slight drunkenness indicated by how heavily her head bobbed forward. “My last boyfriend was like that,” she said. “All that mattered was what he wanted. He didn’t care about my photographs or really anything at all.”

“Exactly!” I waved over the waiter, ordering us another round. “Exactly. Nick never cared about my job. He wasn’t even proud of me when I got this article.”

Mandy rolled her eyes.

“He doesn’t even watch sports,” I confessed. “I showed him the series I wrote for an online magazine, the one that got me the job at the Register, and he didn’t get it!”

“What was it about?” Mandy leaned forward, eagerly grabbing one of the margaritas that was set down between us.

I could feel myself on the verge of nerding out. I was really proud of that article and so far everyone I had told about it hadn’t been very impressed. But I could tell that Mandy would be on the same wavelength. “I put together a historical dream draft of current and former greats. I built teams and then every week I would write up articles about them playing each other as if I was watching it and reporting on it, including famous plays and record breaks and all that kind of stuff.”

Mandy was silent for a moment, her eyes wide. “Wow,” she said, and I found myself holding my breath, hoping she wouldn’t think I was a total loser. “That is AMAZING,” she finally responded, and I couldn’t stop the grin that spread over my lips.

“Thanks,” I told her.

She took another long drink of her margarita. “You should tell Nathan about that.”

I shook my head. “I’m not here to talk about me,” I said. “I’m here to talk about him.”

“He doesn’t like to talk about himself.”

“Why? Does he have something to hide?” I joked, but Mandy went silent. Oh no. Did he? I couldn’t imagine handsome, all-American Nathan with a deep, dark secret. I also realized I didn’t want to.

Mandy cleared her throat. “I just think you’ll have more luck talking to him about baseball than talking about him.” She waved for the check. “Probably time to head back to the field.”



We were both still drunk by the time the guys were finishing practice. Mandy hurried back to get something from the stands and I waited by the locker room exit, trying to stay steady on my feet. I was joined by a swarm of undergraduate fans, holding baseballs and other paraphernalia waiting for Nathan. I couldn’t blame them.

He really was an amazing player. I had seen videos of him, but nothing compared to watching it in person. Complete control of the ball, spinning each curveball with a graceful, yet wicked edge. And he was fast. Really f*cking fast. There were a couple of times I had seen Chris, the catcher, wince after catching one of Nathan’s fastballs. It was magnificent. It wasn’t surprising that the majors wanted him now. Even though it was unusual for a college player to get recruited so immediately, I could tell that they were making the right choice. He was going to be a star. And if possible, I was going to help him become one.

He emerged from the locker room with Chris, Mandy’s crush, and the two of them were laughing and smiling. Even if I hadn’t been drunk, the sight of him might have made me dizzy. They both had that great athlete’s build, but Nathan was taller and leaner than Chris, who was stockier but just as handsome. Both of them had dark hair, but Chris’s was buzzed close to his head, while Nathan’s looked like it was due for a haircut, his wavy hair curling over his forehead. They both had just showered, and their skin glowed in the way that freshly washed skin did. It was damp against his neck. He looked fresh and clean and utterly gorgeous. Graciously, he signed all the items that his fans handed to him, keeping a smile on his face the entire time. He had such an amazing smile. Which completely disappeared the moment he saw me. He held up a hand as I walked towards him, making sure not to sway on my feet.

“I’m late. Can’t talk to you tonight,” he said. It was a lie. I could tell by the way his gaze shifted over to Chris and Chris’ eyes dropped to the ground. Neither of them wanted to talk to me. Dammit. Had I totally ruined my chances with him? Was I going to have to call the Register and tell them that the star of the story I was sent to interview refused to speak to me? Nope. Fuck that. I had worked for four years as a waitress, catering to customers who wanted grilled chicken without the grill lines on them and still managed to get a good tip at the end of the evening. I could get an interview out of one stubborn ballplayer.

“Then when can we set up our interview, Mr. Ryder?” I asked, flashing a smile. “I’m entirely flexible.”

Wrong wording, I realized as soon as it came out of my mouth. But it got him to look at me, that same hot flicker in his eyes that had been there that morning and last night. “I’m sure you are,” was what they said. But his lips remained tightly pressed and there was a slight tick in his clenched jaw. He sighed and took out his car keys.

“I would be happy to do the interview at whatever time would be best for you, Mr. Ryder,” I said again, trying my most winning grin on him, but he just sighed again.

“Call me Nathan,” he acquiesced, but I could tell he was still annoyed. Still, I would take my victories, no matter how small.

“OK, Nathan,” I said, widening my smile now that I had his attention. I was aiming for charming, but not flirtatious. Trustworthy. Honest. “How about tomorrow? You could give me that tour you promised.”