Be My Game Changer: A Sports Romance(4)
“Oh, you’ll know. Ready for your fifteen minutes of fame?”
“No. I want to be left alone for fifteen minutes so I can find out how this damn story ends.” Lifting the book, I keep it in front of me but at an angle where I can see the screen. And fortunately, my face doesn’t appear on it again even though I can feel the heat in my cheeks as I do my best to avoid the game and all the chaos surrounding me.
The torture is finally over after nine innings, but I could swear it was more like nineteen. Bodie has joined the small crowd waiting at the edge of the field near where a sports reporter is waiting to interview the star pitcher. I sigh deeply, aware that I’m now stuck waiting on Bodie to stop fangirling.
The book had a good ending, but now I’m bored out of my mind. Propping my feet on the dugout in front of me, I rest my cheek in my hand and close my eyes. The day’s agenda is only half over because now we have to go shopping. I was already exhausted from staying up most the night, but as I doze off, I can’t decide if the baseball game or the shopping trip will be the most dreadful part of the day. But as I recall my face on the screen, I decide quickly that the game is indeed the worst part.
4
CARTER
“Carter Barlowe.” The reporter beams as she motions for me to step in front of the camera. It’s the last place I like being, but it comes with the territory. “Seven innings on your first game back. No scoring runs after you stepped off the mound, either. Bringing the Coyotes a win on the second game of the regular season. How’d it feel to be back?”
“It felt great.” And it did. Truly. I elaborate a little, thanking my teammates and coaches and expressing my happiness at being back in the starting rotation. I may be stalling a bit in order to brace for the question I know is coming, and the reporter doesn’t disappoint.
“Your father pitched for the Coyotes for twelve record seasons. Were there any nerves coming in to live up to his legacy?”
Keeping a straight face, I say the generic answer I’ve always given when anyone says anything about my dad. “My dad definitely left his mark on the sport.” Among other things since he’s a piece of shit off the field. “But I just wanted to come out here and do my best for my teammates and the Coyote fans.”
She asks a few more questions about growing up in Canaan Falls, and I’m able to easily avoid mentioning my dad in the response. Soon she wraps up, thanks me for my time, and moves on to interview another player who hit a two-run homer—the only run-scoring at bat of the game.
I notice the small gathering of fans, including a few kids waving their arms around to get my attention. Walking over, I sign a few baseballs, gloves, and a jersey, but my attention remains on the two guys standing on the periphery as they chat amongst themselves.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see the hazel-eyed temptress still in her seat, feet kicked up and her head propped on her hand, appearing sound asleep. Temptress is exactly the correct term for her. Even with her damn alluring eyes closed, she’s pulling me in. One of the guys chatting was the one sitting next to her. And I patiently sign my way towards him.
“Great game, man.” He offers his hand, and I return the handshake.
“Thanks. Your girlfriend doesn’t seem quite as intrigued.” And why is it that’s still scratching on my nerves? I had one of the best starts of my career, and one person out of forty thousand not noticing is bothering the shit outta me.
“Oh yeah, Avery.” He nods in her direction as he chuckles. “We’re not dating. I roped her into coming. Best-friend bro code. She’s not a fan. I mean … baseball fan, not that she’s not a fan of yours. She isn’t all that into sports in general.”
Avery. “I noticed.” A little more than I should’ve. A few of those points make me feel better, the most significant being that she’s not his girlfriend. Which shouldn’t matter in the least to me.
“I should probably wake her up,” he laughs as I sign something else that’s thrust in front of me.
“Allow me.” I give the small crowd a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
Hopping over the waist-high wall, I maneuver over to the seats where she’s as comfortably reclined as you can be in a hard, plastic stadium seat. Tilting my head, I watch as she stirs a bit before I plop in the seat next to her, my focus trailing up her tanned thighs. She sits up, rubbing her eyes while mine roam the soft-looking skin of her neck down to her chest where a delicate gold chain disappears, my fingers itching to trail along the same path. Shit. Since when are jean shorts and a button-down shirt so damn sexy? And more importantly, why is the clothing more appealing than any of the Coyote attire that every other fan was donning?
“It’s about time,” she says in a groggy voice.
“Great game, huh?” I grin as she turns a shocked expression to me. No way she’d expected to hear any voice other than that of her friend. At least I hold her attention for a few seconds before she gives me a once-over and jumps out of her chair.
“Yes. It was,” she says, pulling her bag onto her shoulder and surveying the area, spotting her friend. She gives him a look, eyes going big like she’s saying, Why are you over there and I’m over here? Help me!
He doesn’t though, which thoroughly amuses me. Instead, he gives her a wave as he stands talking, all casual as you please. When she moves to walk away, I ask, “How would you know since you kept your nose in a book the entire time?”