Game On(45)

“Let’s go, Saucy,” Tim ordered, as if I was his personal secretary. Behind his back, I rolled my eyes, but followed him over to the field. I saw all three pairs of eyes widen as we approached, but I wasn’t sure which surprised Mandy, Nathan, and Chris more, my unusually professional duds or Tim’s ridiculous ones.

Most men Tim’s age weren’t especially known for their fashion savvy, especially if they worked in journalism, and especially if they worked in journalism in Texas. It just wasn’t that important to them. What mattered, of course, was the article, or so they said. The women in my office, of course, had to care about both, or risk getting called a slut or a slob. I had gotten both descriptors tossed my way, though it was mostly the former. Most of the guys at my office lived in wrinkled shirts, often flapping untucked from their ill-fitting jeans. Tim, however, was a special kind of unfashionable.

There was the leather jacket, of course, paired with a self-cut version of a 50s pompadour, which lay limp and overlong on half of his forehead. He also dyed it black so it looked like someone had spilled ink onto his head. Beneath the jacket, already beginning to show sweat stains under the arms, was a garish Hawaiian shirt combined with a ridiculously bright pair of yellow khaki shorts that were about two inches too short to be appropriate.

I was used to his attire by now, but I could imagine how shocking it would be to people seeing him for the first time.

“Morning,” Tim shouted, even though we were practically standing in front of Nathan. He thrust out his hand. Nathan shook it cautiously, making a point not to look at me. Behind him, Chris and Mandy seemed to be doing their best not to burst out laughing, their lips tightly pursed. As for me, I wished I were anywhere but there. The hotel, maybe. Or Houston. Or Mars.

“I’m Tim Malis.”

“Nathan Ryder.” Nathan pulled his cap down low.

“Oh, I know.” Tim had a big, fake smile. “But I’m here to learn a whole lot more than just your name.”

“I’ve already been talking to Soph—, to Ms. Hall,” Nathan said, still not looking at me.

“Yeah, well.” Tim slung his arm over my shoulder, smelling of cheap cologne and BO. I wrinkled my nose at the stench. “There’s a reason you should never send a woman to do a man’s job.”

“I’m sorry?” Surprise bloomed on Nathan’s face. Maybe he’d see that I had been telling the truth. That I wanted Tim here just as much as he did, which was to say, not at all.

“You know what I mean.” Tim pointed a thumb in my direction. “When it comes to sports, you need someone who understands it. Not some pretty girl who wants to make goo-goo eyes at players in tight pants.” Tim elbowed me. “No offense, Saucy.”

Nathan’s eyes went round and I saw him take a step forward, his fingers curved in a fist. Before he could do something that Tim would most certainly be thrilled to put in his article, I plastered a big fake smile across my face and unwound myself from Tim’s sweaty grasp, stepping between the two of them. I noticed that both Chris and Mandy had stepped forward to intervene as well. Luckily Nathan didn’t move, just stood his ground, his entire body tense. It wasn’t the time to admire the way his uniform stretched across his wide, wonderful shoulders, but my hormones had been unconcerned with what was appropriate since I had arrived in Austin.

“Tim is here to help me with the article.” I tried to sound as cheery as possible.

“More like totally rewrite it,” Tim snickered before turning to the others. “We want our readers to get to know you, Nate. The real you.”

“It’s Nathan,” Chris interjected. “No one calls him Nate.”

Tim squinted at him. “And you are?”

“That’s Chris,” Mandy said from the stands. Immediately I saw Tim’s attention shift. This time it was Chris who clenched his fists, but thankfully Nathan put a hand on his shoulder.

“We should get to practice,” he said, finally making eye contact with me.

“We’ll be here,” I told him, hoping that he and Chris both understood that I wasn’t going to let anything happen to Mandy. That I would take care of Tim if he got too, well, Tim-like.

Nathan nodded, but practically had to drag Chris away.

“I’ll see you after practice,” Mandy assured him, waving.

Tim, on the other hand, had settled into the stands and was extending his sweaty hand in Mandy’s direction.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

“Mandy,” she told him.

“Enchanté,” Tim said, taking Mandy’s tiny hand in his and giving it a kiss. I saw her squirm and I didn’t blame her a bit.

“Mandy is a photographer,” I told Tim. “She takes pictures for the college paper.”

“Does she?” he asked, leering openly at her. “Does she take private portraits as well?”

I felt like punching him in the face. “Don’t you want to watch the practice?” I asked him.

He sighed and leaned back in the bleachers. “I think we have enough of your rapturous prose describing the practice. We need something substantial. Something intense. Something personal. That’s why they brought me in after all. I need to talk to Nate.”

“Nathan,” Mandy corrected quietly. Tim didn’t hear her.