The Dugout(49)

The door to the balcony opens and I glance over at it quickly before turning back to the lake. When my brain finally catches up with my eyes, I realize Carson just stepped out on the balcony and is handing out high-fives.

I’m curled up on my chair, wearing a large Brentwood baseball sweatshirt but am hidden under my hood. At least I thought I was, until Carson spots me, smiles, and walks in my direction. I don’t even bother sitting up. I stay curled and keep my eyes fixed on the lake in front of me. That’s until Carson sits on the little coffee table blocking my view.

“Hey Mills.” He greets me with a smile.

Emotions clogs my throat, and I instantly hate that this man can make me feel more than any other person. I’m never like this, an emotional nutcase, but for some reason, just a small smile from him evokes such strong emotions.

I rest my chin on my propped-up hand and say, “Hey, Carson.”

He nods at my sweatshirt. “Way to represent, girl.”

“Always showing my support,” I reply with a lackluster lilt to my voice.

“Good thing.” From the pocket of his sweatshirt, he pulls out another bag of caramel M&M’s. He holds them out and says, “These are for you.”

Even though I feel frozen in place, I take them. “You know you don’t have to keep getting me these.”

“It’s tradition now. I leave for a road trip and bring you home some M&M’s.”

“Well, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He stands from his seat at the coffee table and stretches right next to my chair. He tips my chin up and stares at me before saying, “Have a good night, Mills.”

He takes off toward the crowd and starts chatting them up, speaking about the weekend games. Even though I try not to, my ears deceive me and I eavesdrop, wondering why he’s not having that same conversation with me.





Carson: Sorry, can’t make it today. I’ll catch you later.

I stare at the text for the hundredth time today, trying to decode it to see if there’s a hidden message. This is the first time since I started working with Carson on his swing that he’s missed a practice. The cancellation comes a few days after he gave me the package of M&M’s and then took off to hang with his “groupies.”

I might be a little upset, not that I have any right to be upset, but still, I have some bitter feelings, and I know it’s why I’m in such a mood this morning. It’s as though he’s used me to get what he wanted from me and wants nothing to do with me anymore. I truly was just Coach to him.

At least my shift is over and I don’t have to hear the clanging of metal plates and the grunts of male athletes lifting their weight in squats anymore. This is the first time I’ve been in the weight room and have wanted to leave earlier than my shift finished. I’ve even offered to stay longer to help out. Not this time.

With my backpack saddled up, I give Vinny a quick wave and head out and down the wide hallway toward the exit of the training facilities. My day is done and I have one thing on my mind: a giant Philly Cheesesteak, salt and vinegar chips, and a movie. Shane and Jerry invited me to their apartment for dinner and video games but I passed, telling them I was tired. Technically I yawned earlier, so that means I’m tired, right? I hate lying to my friends, but I’m not very good company right now anyway. They’d just be annoyed with me.

I open the door to the parking lot and run smack into a very strong and stable chest.

“Just the girl I was looking for,” Carson says, clutching my arms and steadying me. I’m pretty sure I just head-butted his right pec, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Blinking a few times and trying to gain my bearings, I look up at him and say, “Oh sorry, didn’t mean to run into you.” I wiggle from his grasp and start to move toward my car, but I’m stopped when he comes up beside me.

“Where’s the fire, Coach?”

“Huh?”

He stands in front of me now, stopping my rush. “I’m trying to talk to you.” He laughs.

“Oh, sorry,” I answer sheepishly, even though I know that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

“I have some things for you. Come with me.” He nods his head toward his parked car and I follow him, staring at his perfectly rounded ass the entire time.

I’m hopeless.

He opens the back driver side door and pulls out a stuffed duffle bag. “Here you go.”

When he hands it over, it falls to the asphalt. “Oh my God, what’s in here, bricks?”

Chuckling, he picks it back up and says, “I’ll carry it to your car for you.”

Following closely behind, I ask, “What’s in it.”

“Shirts, signed baseballs, tickets, and hats.”

“Oh, um . . . for me?”

I unlock my car for him, and he puts it in the back seat and then turns around to face me. “Well, if you want another hat and shirt, sure, but they’re for your little league team. I had all the guys sign balls for them and then I had the PR team hook me up with the rest. It’s for this weekend, so they can come cheer us on. There are enough tickets for each little guy to bring a parent. I’m sure not all of them can make it but if they can, we’d love to have a little cheering section. And I asked if one of the boys can throw out the first pitch. The PR team thought that was a great idea, so I nominated Dennis.” He winks, and I die a little inside.