Game On(38)

“What about girls?” I asked when he sat back down at the table with our drinks.

The sexy grin flickered; he was clearly sensing that I was not f*cking around anymore. No more Miss Nice Reporter, I thought. You brought out the bitch and she’s not leaving until she has her on-the-record details. “You don’t even give a guy a moment to settle down, do you?” he asked. I still needed that story and I was allowing myself to get distracted by his great ass and fantastic smile.

“It’s just getting late,” I said, pointing to the rest of the arcade which was half as full as it had been when we arrived. I hadn’t looked at my phone, but I was going to bet there were at least three more messages from my editor asking for a draft of the article and I still didn’t have anything of substance to put in it. I was going to have to prod a little more aggressively. “Girls,” I repeated, pushing my phone a little closer to him.

He frowned at it. “Are you asking for yourself or for the article?”

“For the article, of course,” I said, wishing that were the whole truth. I could sense that there was something there, but I did want to know why a guy like him seemed to be so interested in a girl like me. My lips and hair were nice but they weren’t nice enough to land a soon-to-be major league baseball player. Were they?

“Well.” He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Off the record, there’s no one.” He gave me a smug smile.

I glared at him. “I don’t know what the problem would be in telling people that you’re single.”

“Because that’s something that seems unnecessary for anyone to know except myself and a person I might be interested in.”

I did my best to ignore him. It was like skee-ball again, only instead of brushing against me, he was going to distract me with comments like that.

“What about high school,” I tried again. “Did you date in high school?”

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked abruptly.

“This isn’t about me,” I reminded him.

“It’s about baseball,” he told me, but there was a glimmer in his eye. Maybe if I gave him something, he’d give in return. An answer, of course, though I had the impression he’d give me anything else I might ask for. I shuddered.

“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms.

“Do you think I would make it in your fantasy draft?” he asked.

I was confused. What was he talking about?

“Mandy told me about the piece you did for that online magazine,” he clarified. “The one where you drafted all the historical players and reviewed the season. I read it the other night.”

My mouth dropped open. “You read the whole thing?” That had been an entire season’s worth of articles. Several hours’ worth of reading. Nick had gotten through half a paragraph.

“Stayed up late,” Nathan confessed. “Couldn’t stop reading it, actually.”

I felt myself blush, but for the first time with him, it wasn’t because he was making me feel all hot and bothered. I was truly touched by what he said.

“You really know your stuff,” he said.

“I’m just a nerd who likes baseball,” I told him and he grinned.

“And I’m just a nerd who likes to play it.”

We just stared at each other for a moment before Nathan cleared his throat. I looked away, feeling strangely emotional.

“Come on.” He abruptly rose from the table. “Let’s get out of here.”

Before I could say anything, he grabbed the trash from the table and tossed it in the garbage, took his beer, downed it, and headed out the door towards the parking lot.

Dammit, I thought to myself as I followed him. I had lost my chance to get something out of the interview.

But when I got outside, instead of spotting him halfway across the parking lot, waiting by his car, I found him completely distracted. By the batting cages. A guy and girl, clearly high school sweethearts, were in one of the cages together, the guy with his arms around the girl, showing her how to hold the bat.

“Ever tried one of these?” Nathan asked as I came to stand next to him.

I shook my head. Even though the arcade my mom had often left me in had a batting cage, I had never really given it a shot. It seemed a little scary, the whoosh and smack of a ball hurtling at uncomfortable speeds often towards your head. For the first time I realized how terrifying it must be to experience that in front of a stadium full of people, all of them hoping you’re going to hit the ball and win the game.

But the look on Nathan’s face was one of excitement, not fear. It was clear he absolutely loved all aspects of this game. He smiled fondly at the couple, still trying to get the girl’s stance correct, and I found myself with a stroke of genius.

“Nathan,” I said, coming around in front of him. “What would you say to making another bet?”





Chapter Sixteen


Nathan eyed me with caution. “I’m not playing skee-ball with you again,” he said. “You’re a hustler.”

“Now you’re just being a sore loser,” I told him, not sure yet if my idea was going to work.

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s the bet, Rose?” he asked, once again invoking The Titanic. That’s when I knew for sure I had his interest.