Chapter Five
“Thank you for joining us on our second day together.” While Noelle spoke calmly, her brain worked feverishly to figure out what had just happened.
Yesterday, after their meeting with Deb, they’d held a brief prep session. By brief, she meant they’d talked for maybe two minutes. They’d agreed to talk about sports during today’s show. He’d come up with the topic. The end.
There’d been no mention of the incident.
No need. Nothing had happened. Nothing would happen. They’d lost their heads for a second, that’s all. She’d thought it best to move on and forget about it. But she was finding it impossible to ignore their latest exchange. She felt the heat simmering between them. Unwise heat. Unwelcome heat.
Focus, Noelle.
“Since we spent much of yesterday’s show talking about relationships and we’re at Win or Go Home today, we thought we’d stick to sports today,” she said.
It was one thing to admit to herself that she found him attractive. It was quite another to entertain the notion that he shared the attraction. She wiggled her shoulders. Whatever. She shouldn’t stress about it. Odds were good it meant nothing to him. He flirted with every woman who crossed his path. She’d witnessed it firsthand. That day, as a matter of fact. She couldn’t hear what was said, but there was nothing wrong with her eyes. Women leaning in close, Tate offering up his magnetic smile as he stared into their eyes and chatted.
But he’d never flirted with me before. Still. Best to forget the whole situation.
But she didn’t doubt for a second that he could and did back his words up with action. Imagine the best scenario you possibly can, and I guarantee I can make it ten times better.
She shifted in the chair as an arrow of heat landed between her legs.
No, no, no.
She adjusted her headset. “Since sports are your area of expertise, what do you have for us today, Tate?”
“Lucky for us, there’s a storm brewing in the Rangers’ clubhouse.” Cool and confident, like the last few minutes hadn’t happened. “In case you haven’t heard, the Rangers have demoted their promising third baseman, Rich Ramirez, to Triple-A because he’s developed a case of the yips.”
“What are the yips?” she asked, totally confused.
“Sometimes when a player loses confidence in his throw, he develops a hitch in it, so when he throws from third base to first, he can’t make a straight throw even during routine plays.”
“Hmm, okay. How did he lose his confidence?”
Tate shifted toward her. She did her best to ignore how his shirt pulled tight across his impressive biceps. She wasn’t very successful. His biceps were really impressive. Well-defined. Concentrate, Noelle. She jerked her gaze up to his, beyond grateful he couldn’t read minds.
“He had a few errors, which isn’t uncommon,” he said. “Plays tend to be bam bam at third base, but he couldn’t let them go and it mushroomed into this bigger thing than it should have been. Now every time he throws the ball, it’s an adventure. You can feel the whole stadium tense up when the ball comes his way. He feels it. He has to.”
She nodded, finally understanding. “Sounds like a mental problem rather than a physical one.”
“It is, but the Rangers can’t worry about that. They’re in the middle of a playoff race, and they need a reliable third baseman. It’s not called the hot corner for nothing. I’ve been looking at possible replacements and the best thing the Rangers can do is trade for Scotty Graze from the Cubs. He’s on the market, plays a great third base, and has put up some decent offensive numbers. The Rangers need to make that happen.”
Noelle held up a hand. “Wait. I don’t care about this Scotty Graze guy. I want to talk about Rich Ramirez. That’s his name, right?”
Tate’s brow wrinkled. “Why? He’s at Triple-A. I’ll care more about him when he’s ready to contribute to the Rangers again.”
“Do you think that’s going to miraculously happen overnight?”
“He needs a change of scenery. He’ll be fine.” He shrugged.
Was he really that unconcerned about the player? She frowned at him. “He needs someone to believe in him.”
Tate snorted. “Give me a break. He’s a grown man making a ton of money playing baseball.”
“None of that matters if he doesn’t believe in himself or think he has the organization’s support.”
“So what’s your solution, Dr. Noelle?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Ooh, he was getting annoyed now. Probably not used to someone challenging him. She shouldn’t take delight in riling him, but he was wrong, so it was okay.
“The team should’ve kept him in the majors and worked with him,” she said. “He probably needs to see a sports psychologist.”
“They shouldn’t have to babysit him.”
Noelle shook her head. “It’s not about babysitting him. You said the team is paying him a lot of money. I’m sure they’d prefer he earned that money in the major leagues. You also called him promising. What do you think it does to his confidence and ability to recover if he thinks the team isn’t standing by him?”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I’m not concerned about his confidence. I am concerned about the Rangers’ chance of making the playoffs. They can worry about hurt feelings after they win the World Series.”
“Do you honestly think that’s going to happen? I’m sure the other players are looking over their shoulders to see if they’re the next to go if they’re not perfect. Sounds like a fun, productive place to be.”
“Sports don’t work that way,” he said flatly.
“How do they work then? I don’t know a lot about sports, but I do understand teamwork. If everyone isn’t playing his part and pulling his weight, then the team will fail.”
“Exactly.” He nodded once, decisively.
She held up a hand. “No, you misunderstand me. The solution isn’t to cut the guy loose, but to figure out how to get him to contribute to the team in the best way possible. Build him up, not tear him down.”
Tate shook his head. “Doesn’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve played sports. I’ve covered sports for a long time. History is a good indicator of the future. Your ‘Kumbaya’ attitude doesn’t cut it.”
Tate’s dismissive response pushed her to the edge of anger.
“Maybe it’s time to try something new,” she said. “If I take your cavalier attitude about marriage into consideration, then I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re willing to get rid of a guy at the first sign of trouble.”
His eyes flashed. “Dr. Noelle, you know nothing about how sports work. You should stick to relationship advice.”
That response pushed her headfirst over the edge. “No, our show is supposed to be about us combining our particular skill sets. I can’t turn off the psychologist part of my brain with a snap of my fingers.”
“Well try.”
The glare he sent her way let her know that if she didn’t, one of them wouldn’t survive the next few weeks.
…
Tate recognized Noelle’s floral perfume before he swiveled on his stool. “Hey, you stayed.”
He’d lost sight of her in the crowd when their show ended and some fans walked up to him seeking autographs. The bar had also filled up with listeners getting off work, many who’d made a beeline for her. Many being men.
Then he’d gotten wrapped up in his own show for the next two hours.
She offered up a tentative smile. “You showed up early and listened to my show. Only seemed fair that I stay for yours.” She pointed behind her. “I sat in the back. Good show. The give and take you have with your listeners is admirable.”
“Funny,” he said with a grin. “I’ve always gotten the sense that you thought they were all brownnosers.”
Noelle cleared her throat, her eyes sliding away for a second. “I don’t recall voicing that opinion out loud, but maybe I’ve thought it once or twice.” She sighed, her face scrunching up in regret. “I apologize for being a little strong in my opinion and taking the low road when I brought up your views on marriage during the Rangers’ segment.”
Good thing he was always prepared to accept an olive branch when it was extended. “Don’t sweat it. I was—how did you put it?—strong in my opinion, too. You were doing your job, offering your opinion, even if I disagreed with it.” He nodded at the empty stool next to him. “Have a seat. Where’s Caitlin?”
She slid onto the leather seat. “Long gone. She had a date. What about Bobby?”
Tate swiveled to face the bar again. “He had a family thing. Nephew’s birthday.”
“Oh, okay.” Silence fell for a few seconds. Noelle tapped her fingers on the burnished wood of the bar. “So, uh, do you want to talk about the bet?”
“Come on, now,” he said, shooting her a side-eye glance. “We’ve had a long day. It’s Friday night. Let’s relax for a few minutes before thinking about work again.”
Noelle winced. “You’re right. Work is never far from my mind. Bad habit.”
“You know what they say about all work and no play.”
She sighed. “It makes Noelle a very boring girl. I know you think I’m dull.”
“Hey, don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Even when they’re true?”
He grimaced, unable to deny her claim.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’ve had less than charitable thoughts about you, too.”
“Really? I thought you were declaring your never-ending love with those disapproving looks in the weekly meetings.”
They shared a smile, their gazes catching and holding. She really was pretty when she wasn’t frowning at him. Gorgeous, actually.
Clink, clink.
Tate jerked his head to the left. He met the amused eyes of the bartender, Steve, who’d tapped a glass bottle.
“Here’s your beer.” Steve slid the bottle closer to him. “Can I get you something?” he asked Noelle.
“Ginger ale, please.”
“You don’t want something harder?” Tate asked. “This place is known for its beers.”
“No, I’m good.”
He might have imagined it, but it sounded like her voice softened, hesitated, but her expression remained pleasant, so he let it go.
They watched in silence while the bartender poured the drink and placed it in front of her. “Can I get y’all anything else?” he asked.
Tate shifted toward Noelle. She shook her head.
“No, I think we’re good for now,” Tate said.
“Okay. I’ll be here if you need anything else.” Steve saluted and headed to the other end of the bar.
Silence again descended, while Tate tried to think of something to talk about. Work? No. Hobbies? Weak. “So where’s your boyfriend?”
Shit. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Should he say never mind? No, that would draw more attention to the stupid question.
Noelle took great interest in her beverage, running her fingers down the ridges in the glass. “Don’t have one.”
Tate made a noncommittal noise and did his best to tamp down the unexpected thrill that raced through him.
“I know, I know,” Noelle continued, raising the ginger ale to her mouth. “How can I give advice when I’ve never been married? I rely on training, observation, common sense, and hope.”
He held up both palms toward her. “I didn’t say a word, Doctor.”
“But you were thinking plenty of words.” She studied him with dancing eyes over the top of her glass.
Tate laughed, enjoying the moment. Enjoying Noelle.
Someone, a man, coughed behind them. “Excuse me.”
Tate and Noelle turned on their stools.
The guy, who looked to be in his late twenties, a few years younger than Tate, held out his hand to Noelle. “Hi, I’m Ford. It’s nice to meet you.”
She shook his hand. “Hi, I’m Noelle. This is Tate.”
The guy didn’t spare him a glance. “I’ve been a fan of yours for a while. My girlfriend made me start listening to your show. She broke up with me a month ago, but I still listen every day.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out with your girlfriend, but I’m glad you like the show.”
“Absolutely. You’re the best,” Ford said. “You’re always so positive and give great advice.”
“Thank you. I try.” Red crept into her cheeks and she looked down. Noelle shy? That was a word he never would have thought to associate with the good doctor, who never had a problem letting him know what was on her mind.
“I really identify with your three Cs.” Ford stroked a meticulous goatee he must have spent an hour in front of the mirror grooming. “I think that’s what I’ve been doing wrong this whole time.”
Tate frowned. This dude was good. Too good.
Noelle’s face lit up. “Thanks. I’m glad I could help. All I want to do is help people, but I can’t ever be sure that I am. It’s nice to get positive feedback.”
“Do you mind if we talk some more? I could use some advice. I’m too shy to call into the show.”
But not shy enough to not walk up to a woman he’d never met before at a bar. Tate didn’t like the way the guy’s actions made him feel. Like he wanted to punch him in the face. Which was ridiculous. He had no claims on Noelle. Wanted no claims on her. He didn’t like her. Except that wasn’t true, was it? He was starting to like her—a lot more than he’d assumed was possible.
A concerned expression settled on her face. “About what? What’s going on?”
“I…I need some direction in my life,” Ford said, earnestness filling his beady eyes. “Someone to tell me that’s it’s going to be okay, that there’s someone out there for me.”
Tate stared at him. This fool was really trying to get one over on her, even if Noelle remained oblivious because she’d slipped into doctor mode. He heard rustling and craned his neck to identify the noise. What was Noelle doing? Seriously? She’d reached into her purse, taken out her wallet, and was now handing the guy a business card.
“Send me an email, and we can set up a time to talk,” she said.
Dude smiled a player’s smile. Tate could spot them a mile away. He should know. He’d written the player’s handbook, after all.
“I’ll email you soon.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Noelle replied.
Finally, the guy left. Tate turned back to the TV mounted on the wall behind the bar and took a hefty swallow of beer. He didn’t like to see a woman, who was too damn nice for her own good, being taken advantage of. That’s all.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“No. What makes you ask?”
“The scowl on your face.”
Tate relaxed his features and forced his lips upward. “I’m fine. The Rangers need to win this game.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do they need to win?”
“Because they’ve lost the first two games in the series and don’t want to be swept.”
“Oh, okay.” They watched the game in silence for a few minutes.
He twisted toward her. “Didn’t you say that sports are mind-numbingly boring?”
Noelle took a sip of her drink before answering. “I said some people feel that way, not me. I don’t have a strong opinion either way except when they take over your life, but I feel that way about most things that cause discord in relationships. Truth be told, I’ve never paid much attention to sports. I try not to hate things I don’t know about.”
“Hmm.” He turned back to the TV and took another pull of beer.
“He needs to get some heat on that ball.”
Tate looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?”
“Yes, I do.” Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t take her eyes off the action on the screen.
“Really?” He stared at her profile until she turned to him, stubborn denial plain on her face. He raised his eyebrows. And waited.
Noelle slumped. “Okay, maybe not.”
“I knew it.” He grinned. “Want to know how I knew?”
“No. I thought I was doing a good job faking it using the miniscule sports lingo I have in my arsenal.” She sighed. “But yes, tell me. What gave me away?”
He leaned in closer, catching another trace of her scent, and pointed to the pitcher on the mound. “You said he needs to get some heat on the ball.”
She stared at the TV, her face screwed up in confusion. “He’s throwing the ball so slowly.”
“Yeah, because he’s a knuckleball pitcher.”
Noelle spun toward him, putting their faces, their lips inches apart. The air between them sparked with an electric charge. After a taut second, she pulled back and looked down at her glass. “A what?”
Tate took another swallow of beer, hoping the comfort of the familiar would calm his suddenly jangling senses, and turned back to the TV. “Watch. See how the ball kind of goes crazy at the end?” He quieted as the batter swung and missed.
“Yeah.”
“That’s intentional. Unlike most pitchers who grip the ball with the pads of their fingers, he only uses the tips and then throws it, giving the ball the unpredictable trajectory. He’s not sure where the ball is going and neither is the batter, so he doesn’t have to throw it as hard as other guys.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” She sighed. “Guess that’ll teach me to talk about stuff I know nothing about.”
“You don’t like being wrong, do you?”
Noelle’s brow furrowed. “What gave you that idea?”
“That frown on your face. It’s the same one I see when I contradict you in a staff meeting or during the show.”
“Probably because what you’re saying makes no sense.”
“You just proved my point,” he said, fighting back laughter.
Her lower lip stuck out. If she were any other woman, he would swear she was doing it on purpose to entice him, but he’d learned over the last few days that she didn’t believe in such frivolous games. She just hated being wrong. He was 99 percent sure she had no idea she’d poked the plump lip out. She definitely didn’t know the lip with its lush curve sent blood racing through his veins faster than a NASCAR driver in the Daytona 500.
Tate froze at that last dangerous thought. Distraction time. “Let’s get a table and talk about what we’re going to do about Mike and Shannon and the bet.”
A smile flickered across her lips. “So we’ve killed enough time hanging out?”
Tate laughed, surprised, but strangely pleased, that she continued to keep him off balance. “Yeah, I think so.”
Tate eased off the stool and waited while she did the same. He put his hand at the small of her back to guide her through the busy restaurant. If there was one thing his old man had taught him, it was how to treat a woman in public. With respect and chivalry. Too bad his father hadn’t felt the need to continue the behavior behind closed doors. Although, at breakfast that morning, he’d claimed he was a changed man.
They sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant, which offered a modicum of quiet in the noisy bar. Noelle reached into her oversized purse, pulled out a notebook, and flipped to a blank page. “So did you figure out what your outings are going to be?”
“I think so.”
Her eyes flicked to him. “Care to share?”
“In due time.”
“Tomorrow is the first date.”
“Impatient?”
“I like to be prepared.”
Aww, there was that snooty tone she did so well. Knowing it would needle her, he said, “We didn’t decide what the winner gets.”
“You mean what I’ll win when Mike and Shannon stay together.”
“Pssh. They’ll decide that being exclusive isn’t worth it.”
“You actually believe what you’re saying, don’t you?”
“I do.” He tensed, waiting for the psychoanalysis to begin.
She intently studied him for a second, then relaxed against the bench seat. “Then it’s going to be great proving you wrong. How about this? When I win, you have to list on air the many, many reasons I was right and you were wrong and then admit that I know more than you about love and relationships. Oh, and that I’m a better talk show host than you. It’ll be the highlight of my year, trust me.”
She’d surprised him yet again. “Not going to happen. You’ll be too busy admitting you were wrong.” He paused. “You can admit you’re wrong, right?”
Noelle pursed her lips. “On those rare occasions it happens, yes.”
He laughed lightly. She definitely didn’t bore him. “When I win, not only will you admit that I am the better host and that I was right, you’ll call me Tate ‘The Great’ Grayson at my command and list the countless reasons why I’m great.”
“We’ll see.” Her lips curved confidently.
“Back to the first outing.” He propped his elbows on the table and leaned in. “What I’m planning on doing—it’s probably not your thing. I’ll understand if you don’t want to participate.”
“I’m up for anything.” Her voice and expression remained steadfast.
It was his turn to offer up a sly smile. “We’ll see.”