The Trade(127)

“Holy fuck, that was awesome,” Jason says next to my ear, helping me stand up from the ground. “I’m going to kiss you.”

“Don’t fucking kiss me.” I sidestep Jason’s attempt to pull me in just as Maddox wraps his arm around my shoulder and squeezes me tight.

“Hell, I might kiss you.”

“Not if I get to him first,” Marcus says, stepping up with puckered lips. I jump away from both of them, still on the field, everyone watching us and that’s when I hear it . . . a chant.

Standing tall, I scan the crowd trying to understand what they’re saying. As people pick it up, the rest of the stadium starts to join in.

“What are they saying?” I ask Maddox who stands next to me.

We both listen carefully as it grows louder and louder.

Clap clap . . . clap clap clap.

We’re . . .

“We’re what?” I ask Jason, who listens carefully and then snorts, laughing so hard that he bends at the waist holding his knees.

Clap clap . . . clap clap clap.

We’re bent over. Clap clap . . . clap clap clap.

We’re bent over. Clap clap . . . clap clap clap.

“We’re bent over?” I ask with a pull to my brow. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Maddox and Marcus both hold on to each other, laughing as Jason grips my shoulder and says between a fit of giggles—yes, giggles—“Because you told them to shove your bat up their ass. They’re bent over.”

Ohhh.

My head falls back as a laugh rips through my chest and up my throat. Oh fuck, apparently all I had to do was tell them to pretty much fuck off and I would win their “affection.” Who knew?

After a good laugh, I walk off the field with my boys, but not before giving the crowd another flip off and heading into the dugout. Hell, it felt good, really fucking good. So good that I have the motivation and the courage to move forward in my life, to stop living in this purgatory and get what I truly want: Natalie.

I shower quickly, change into a suit, and then head out to my car where Maddox catches me. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gives me a slight head tilt and then hops into his black Ford 1969 Mustang Boss, no motorcycle today. He revs the engine and then peels out of the parking lot without a second glance. The look he gave me spoke a thousand words: it’s time.





Chapter Thirty-One





NATALIE





“I can’t stop crying,” I say into the phone. “I feel like such a boob, but I seriously can’t stop crying.” I wipe away the fresh tears that just cascaded down my cheek.

“Yeah, I got emotional too,” Monica says. She called me the minute Cory hit the ball out of the park, sending the Rebels straight to the playoffs.

God, I can still see it, the determination in his eyes despite the fans booing him, the grip of the bat in his hands as he stepped up into the batter’s box, the strong set of his shoulders, and the most powerful swing I think I’ve ever seen. I held my breath as I watched the ball travel farther and farther back until it went into the stands.

A strangled sound came out of my mouth as I jumped off my couch and cheered. Happiness consumed me as I watched him round the bases, as Jason’s face came on the screen, him screaming and yelling like an idiot, tossing gum everywhere like it was confetti. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such joy, and then the fans showed their true colors and once again, I was disheartened. He just won the game, sent the Rebels to the playoffs, and that’s how they’re going to treat him?

Granted, he hurt me and I’m still having a hard time dealing with the fact that he thought of me as expendable, but I’m human, and I can recognize when someone needs a break, when we need to give credit where credit’s due. Cory has come so far and they couldn’t even cheer for him.

But then the best thing happened. He told everyone to shove his bat up their ass.

And that’s where I lost it, because when they started chanting for him, I saw pure joy on his face. So much joy.

“Jason’s going to be uncontrollable,” I say, thinking about how excited he was on the field and then how much more excited he’s going to be in person. It’s going to be obnoxious.

“Yeah, good luck with that. Hey, are you doing anything? Want to come over for cake?”

“Cake?” I laugh. “You just have cake at your house?”

“Black forest. I was craving it.”

“Black forest sounds—”

Ding-dong.

“Was that your doorbell?” Monica asks.

“Yeah. Give me a second.” In my leggings, long-sleeved Rebels shirt, and slippers, I pad across the hardwood floors of my apartment and open the door. My breath catches in my throat when I see a tall man in a suit standing on the other side, but not just any tall man.

Cory.

Cory Fucking Potter

“Are you being abducted? What’s happening?”

Swallowing and staring at the man with the most brilliant blue eyes I’ve ever seen, I say, “It’s, uh . . . it’s Cory. I have to go.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus, call me immediately after.”

I hang up and place my phone on the end table in my entryway. Trying to be as casual as possible, I grip the door and say, “Hi.”