“Perfect, I was just coming to find…”
I shove through the locked double doors that lead out to the field, almost running Jake Matthews over in my haste.
“Not now, Matthews. I’m right in the middle of something.”
That something being intervening between Brock Matthews and the twenty pizzas’ that I just found out that he ordered.
This shit is getting out of freaking hand.
I changed up the entire menu for these guys, and like the little babies that they are, they’ve all but ignored every ounce of it.
I’m out hundreds, if not thousands of dollars of the money that I spent upping the quality of the food the club was feeding these guys.
And I have Mr. McAbey breathing down my neck about it, since the catering company contacted him over how much of the food is being wasted.
Ok, actually, all of the food has been wasted, since the guys have all completely stopped eating at the field dining hall altogether.
The food plan that I created should have been a hit. Filet mignon, ribs, grilled chicken breasts…what kind of guy doesn’t want meat? Especially guys like these who use their bodies to make money. I guarantee that they aren’t eating it strictly because I’m the one who ordered it…but for real. It’s getting out of hand. They have all stopped eating at the field altogether, and started ordering their own stuff.
Monday, it was hot dogs. One of them ordered and entire fucking food truck of hot dogs and potato chips. Tuesday, it was a pork barbeque truck. Wednesday, fried chicken. Yesterday, at least they ordered Jimmy Johns, which isn’t nearly as bad as todays choice.
“Laci, for real, I just need a minute of your time.”
I exhale loudly, before stomping my foot and spinning around to face him.
“I don’t have a minute. I have to go and stop your bestie Brock from getting his ridiculously large order of pizza from the delivery driver.”
Jake smirks, actually freaking smirks at me, which of course, pisses me off even more.
“Two important things. One, do not ever say ridiculously large and Brock in the same sentence ever again. He would never let you live it down, and he will tell you more than you could ever want to know about all of the ridiculously large things on his body.”
I shudder, making Jake’s grin widen.
“Two? You’re about five minutes too late. Pizza already came.”
“Fuck!” I roar, stomping my foot, making his smirk widen.
“I guess that means you have a minute.”
“What do you want, Matthews? You need more disclosure forms? Need to set up an appointment for STD testing? What? What is so damn important that you are seeking me out?”
He cuts his eyes at me before crossing his arms across his broad chest.
“No. I’m particular about the women that I sleep with, thank you very much. And that isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to ask you how in the hell you learned all of that about batting. Because I’ve been in this industry a long time, and I have never, ever, had a woman actually give me correct batting advice.”
“Oh.” My arms drop to my sides and my head tilts. “You tried it?”
His lips flatten as he nods, his eyes firmly focused on mine. “Yeah, I did. And it worked.”
“Really?” He took my advice? I’m shocked. So shocked that I can’t stop the goofy grin from spreading across my face.
“I’m glad that it worked. See? Maybe you should listen to me more often.” I wink at him, before playfully nudging him with my elbow. His entire demeanor changes, softening ever so slightly, as his smirk disappears and a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
“How did you know that?”
I simply shrug. No way am I going to out myself here, and especially not to someone like him. I am not going to tell him that I basically grew up in the ballfield, listening to some of the best batting coaches ever, most of whom have now passed on, as they taught my dad and countless others.
Nor will I mention the fact that my dad also, is known for being one of the best coaches of all time, since he has retired from playing.
Nope. I leave all of that out, because if I admit the truth, then of course, everyone will know who I am. The bastard child of the ex-wife of Eric Monroe, the one that he raised, but then, didn’t even want.
That would be admitting my biggest weakness, the largest gaping wound of my heart, and from what I’ve learned of these guys?
They would have a field day with that kind of information. So, I keep my answer short and sweet, and completely elusive.
“I watch a lot of baseball.”
“You watch a lot of baseball.” He repeats, before laughing softly.
“Yes.” I flash him a grin, before shrugging. “And even more now. I’m glad that it worked for you Jake, but I need to get back to the matter at hand.”
I flick my thumb in the direction of the outfield, where all the guys are lounged around on the grassy field, shoving greasy pizza into their mouths.
“Good luck with that.” His smirk is back, but that’s totally fine. We shared a brief moment where we didn’t hate each other, and now, it’s back to business for me.
And what a mess this business is turning out to be.
I stomp towards them all, before crossing my arms across my chest.
“Really?” I cut my eyes at all of them, as I scan the group. They really do look ridiculous out here, all of these grown men laying around like little kids, shoveling food into their big fat mouths.
“Laci, you should try this. Its fucking amazing.” Brock tells me, closing his eyes as he bites into a piece, before letting a moan escape his mouth.
Brock, I have learned, is like a little boy in a grown man’s body. He’s hot, don’t get me wrong. Gorgeous in a California surfer kind of way. And just as airheaded as the stigma.
He’s also major trouble for me, since he seems to be one of the top guys to grace the tabloids. On the bright side, he’s also single, and as far back as I have searched, I have never found even a hint of him being in any relationship. So, while he is a major man whore, at least he isn’t cheating on his wife and kids at every stop.
That’s pretty much the only good thing that he has going for him in my book, besides being a damn good first baseman.
“Yeah. It’s so good. We should get pizza tomorrow too, guys.” Someone else pipes in, making a chorus of agreement erupt among them.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday. I don’t care what you eat tomorrow. I only care about what you eat Monday through Friday, and judging by all the crap you guys ingested this week? You’ll be lucky if any of you can even run the bases fast enough next week to score.”
Insert huge eye roll.
“Oh, ye of little faith. You know, Laci, mothers are supposed to be uplifting and supportive. They sell books on that, you know. How to be a mother…”
“I am not your mother. I am a grown ass woman, hired to keep you guys in line, and you all make it so damn difficult! Maybe you all should read a book…”
“Here, Laci, try a piece.” Emilio, the centerfielder interrupts, taking a slice of pizza out of the box, before rising to his feet and starting towards me.
I freeze slightly, having never been fully addressed by him. I’m not sure exactly what it is about this guy, but while the rest of them obviously dislike me, none of them scare me.
But it’s different with Emilio. He’s never been outright mean to me, but it’s just something about the way that he carries himself. Something about his eyes, where just plain meanness lurks beneath the surface.
It could very well be the fact that not too long ago, his wife pressed domestic assault charges against him. A few photos made it to the tabloids, showing a very pretty, albeit petite woman whose face was completely unrecognizable due to the amount of bruising and swelling to her cheeks, her eyes, and lips.
The charges ended up being dropped, and they are still together, but. Still. I could totally see him doing something like that, and I barely know the guy.
“No thank you.” I tell him, taking a step back from him.
“What? Too good for pizza?”
“No, it’s not that, I just don’t really want…”
He trips as he steps towards me, or at least, he tries to make it look like he tripped, as he falls into me, both pieces of pizza in his hand flying into me.
The other slice hits me square in the chest, right in the middle of my white shirt.
I scream and stumble backwards, but the force of Emilio knocks me flat onto my ass.
I hit the ground with a loud oomph, pain shooting up my body and to make matters even worse, I hear the distinct rip of my shirt, as it splits open on the arm seam.
While I hit the ground like a mac truck, Emilio lands far more gracefully. He hits his knees and rolls slightly, before like a cat, landing on his feet.
The force of my fall knocks the wind out of me, and instead of trying to get myself back up to a standing position, I am fumbling, trying to get the pizza sauce off my face.
“Oh my god.” I moan, trying to get my bearings enough to stand, as laughter erupts from all the guys.
I blink hard, once I can open my eyes that is, and begin blindly wiping at the sauce with my sleeve. My ass hurts for sure, but that’s not why I have to swallow down a sob. It’s definitely humiliation that has tears building.
I swallow hard, forcing myself not to show any emotion here. Lord, they would probably love to see me cry, but no way in hell am I giving them that kind of satisfaction.
It’s just a little fall, and a lot of pizza on my clothes. It’s not a big deal at all, yet, still.
It was really fucking mean.
I manage to at least get myself up on all fours, and after a deep breath, I start to get a grip.
My head snaps up, as I hear the distinct sounds ringing out across the field. They are all fucking high fiving each other, and pointing at me.
Assholes.
I swallow hard, and start of stand, when two cleat clad feet step in front of me, before a hand is held out to me.
I glance up past the big hand, to the face attached.
Jake Matthews stands there, holding out his hand to me, frowning.
He gives me a concerned look as I take his hand and he pulls me to a standing position.
“Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
The lump in my throat grows from the softness in his voice. Seriously, the very last thing that I need right now is for someone to be nice to me. That is a guarantee that I will burst into tears.
“I’m fine. The only thing hurt is my pride.”
“Here. Take this. I only have the one, but…I think you need it more than I do.”
He thrusts a napkin into my hand, which I accept.
I mumble a thank you, before glaring at Emilio, who is crouched over, hands on knees, losing his shit right now with laughter.
“Asshole.” I mutter under my breath, before turning on one heel and stalking off the field, back to the safety of my office.