The Lineup(27)

“Good to know, because I made it.”

My mouth pauses, the beautiful dill and sage flavoring immediately turning sour and before I can stop myself, I lean my mouth over my plate and let my half chewed-up potato salad fall past my lips and back onto my plate.

“What the—?”

I set my plate on top of his, stand from my chair, and go back to the buffet where I serve myself again, this time, avoiding the potato salad altogether.





“You look tense,” Lindsay says, carrying a glass of champagne in her hand and when I say glass, I mean a pint glass filled to the top.

Class doesn’t exist within her.

“You think?” I look around, spotting Jason talking to Carson and Knox. They all laugh at the same time, three perfect smiles gracing all their handsome faces.

“Does this have to do with Jason? Is it because you’re so overwhelmed with his hotness? Tell me about it. It’s hard being in this apartment right now with all these athletes. I mean, just look at the way they all grip their beer bottles. By the neck, like they’re choking the bitch for some nectar.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I take her pint glass away. “You need to start drinking water before you embarrass yourself.”

She retrieves her pint glass and takes a big gulp. “Embarrassing myself is in my nature. Why are you trying to change me, Dottie? Let me live.”

“Yeah, let her live, Dottie.” Jason stands in front of us, “choking” his beer while the other hand is casually tucked in his pocket.

Where the hell did he just come from? It’s as if he floated across the hardwood floor and appeared out of nowhere.

Why is he talking to me? I’m sure he doesn’t find me pleasant at this point, I don’t even find myself pleasant. Have you ever gotten yourself in a mood and have to go to bed in order to press the reset button? It’s the only way out. That’s where I’m at.

I’m mad at myself for being rude when I shouldn’t be. I’m mad at myself for allowing one single man to ruin future interactions with men to the point that I’m quick to defend and retaliate rather than befriend. And I’m mad at myself for not being able to actually be normal around someone who I’ve actually thought very highly of for quite a long time.

But for some awful reason, even though I can calculate those thoughts and feelings in my head, it’s as if I can’t translate them for my body so it will act like a normal person. And I’m sad that he probably thinks I’m a horrible human now, most definitely not worth his time. And that is not what I want, not deep down.

“Oh, Jason.” Lindsay giggles uncontrollably. “Look at you standing there with all those muscles.”

Great, Loose Lips Lindsay just made it to the party.

Like the cute doofus he is, Jason flexes his bicep and says, “Thank you.”

I pretend not to look, but who am I kidding? The man is a walking sex machine, and seeing him flex, his bicep popping up like a second head, makes me want to claw at his shirt to see the rest.

I’ve seen the rest with all my cyberstalking, but in person is a whole other beast.

I bet he’s a beast in bed.

An animal.

An animal with a really good tongue.

“Tongue,” I mutter, startling myself.

“What?” Jason asks.

Eyes wide and panicked, I stand there mute. Umm . . .

Lindsay thankfully says, “You’ve met Dottie, right?”

“Yup, we’ve met.” He smiles at me. “She loves my potato salad.”

Lindsay laughs, and then slides her hand unapologetically down Jason’s arm, giving his bicep a squeeze with a giggle. “Oh, there’s a lot more Dottie loves about you than just your potato salad.”

You know . . .

I should have seen that coming.

I’ve known Lindsay long enough to recognize what stage of drunk she’s in, and Loose Lips Lindsay never holds back, meaning, she’s about to unravel all of my secrets.

“Is that so?” Jason’s brows lift as he faces me.

“She’s drunk; she has no idea what she’s talking about. I need to get her some water.” I pull on Lindsay’s arm, but she doesn’t budge. “Come on, time to sober up.”

“I’m not drunk and I do know what I’m talking about.” Shit, we’re about to have a confession in three . . . two . . . “She thinks you have the best ass in all of baseball.” In all the world technically, but we don’t have to go there.

“The best ass?” The smile that crosses his face makes me want to crawl in a hole and die, literally keel over from sheer embarrassment.

But because tonight I’m the stiff wench who can’t control my tongue from self-destruct mode, I shake my head. “Lindsay, you have it wrong. I said Walker Rockwell on the Bobbies has the best ass. Remember that picture I sent to you last week of him on deck?” I did send her a picture, and I’m hoping she’s just drunk enough to get confused.

“Huh, you did send me that picture.” See, piece of cake.

Jason’s face grows stern as he says, “Walker Rockwell? You think he has the best ass in baseball? No fucking way.”

“Easily. No competition and believe me, being a Bobbies fan, I’ve had plenty of time to stare at it, especially when I’m sitting first row, right next to the dugout.”