CATFISH STADIUM WAS a very different place during away games. Without the presence of the players and the daily rhythm of ball games, things got quiet and casual. Without the anticipation of throngs of ticketholders or promotions to conduct, people went around in shorts and flip-flops, took long breaks, sunbathed in the stands. All the vendor stands were closed, so the stadium even smelled different. The cleaning crew took the opportunity to give all the aisles an extra wash-down, so the smell of bleach drove out the familiar peanut-mustard, burnt-cotton-candy scent.
Paige met with her father over coffee in the break room to go over the expense spreadsheets she’d worked up.
“I can’t believe baseballs cost ninety dollars a dozen. Do we really need this many baseballs?”
“Well, we do get hand-me-downs from the Friars, but yes, it’s hard to play the game without those little suckers.”
“I’m surprised no one has ever lobbied for balls that don’t use cowhide,” she grumbled. “Isn’t there a vegan baseball out there?”
Crush pushed his sunglasses onto his head. “You’d better keep that thought under wraps, missy. The cowhide baseball is like a . . . a sacred cow. You don’t mess with it. Especially in Texas. Especially to a Texas rancher.”
“Bullpen Ranch is hardly a real ranch. You don’t even have any cows.” Paige knew she was acting like a brat, but she couldn’t stop herself. Damn Trevor Stark.
No. Trevor was Trevor. She couldn’t blame him for that. Better put the blame where it belonged—on her. She was a certifiable idiot for falling for him. She should have let him get shot up by that guy with the BB gun.
“Paige? Honey?” Her father waved his hand in front of her face.
She started. “What?”
“Take the day off. You’ve been working hard. It’s going to take me a while to go through these spreadsheets. We’ll get to them tomorrow, how’s that?”
“Am I done with the accounting department?”
“Yes. I have to figure out your next assignment. I might take you with me to some meetings in San Diego so you can see the schmooze fest in action.”
“Okay.” She shrugged listlessly. “Whatever you like. Anything’s better than accounting.” Pushing the spreadsheets across the table, she dragged herself to her feet.
Crush watched her with narrowed eyes. “I thought you’d be a little happier about going to San Diego. We might take my plane.”
“Sure. Should be fun.” She couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for the idea. Since her fight with Trevor—if that’s what it was—she couldn’t get excited about much at all. More than anything else, she felt stupid. As if everyone had seen the truth except her. She’d been too infatuated to notice that he was a coldhearted bastard. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Oh . . .” She paused on her way out of the break room. “Any decision on Trevor Stark yet?”
“No.”
She nodded, as if it didn’t really matter one way or the other. And maybe it didn’t. Either way, he was no longer hers. Not that he ever had been.
Stopping at her desk to grab her backpack, she found a little envelope with her name on it, just delivered by the mail room. Heart racing, she ripped it open. But it wasn’t from Trevor. It was from Shizuko, a thank-you note featuring a sparkling Hello Kitty with a zombie superimposed over it.
Well, at least someone appreciated her interference.
Day off. Day off. What was she supposed to do with a day off? Being at loose ends was dangerous. She might do something crazy like Google Nessa Brindisi recipes or try to find a live-stream of the Catfish–River Cats game. She might call her mother and set off all sorts of alarms. Maybe she should go home and snuggle with Jerome. Decide which college she’d choose. Stream Gossip Girl episodes until her brain cried out for help.
Call Deanna in New York? No. Her best friend would never understand why she’d gotten involved with another pro athlete in the first place. This was her problem and she’d just have to claw her way through it on her own.
After all, wasn’t that what Trevor had meant when he said, Don’t turn me into another Hudson Notswego?
But then there was also the time he’d said, Be Paige. That’s more than enough. It’s a freaking miracle.
Gah! How was she supposed to make any sense of that?
Cruising down the concourse, she almost didn’t hear the voice calling her name. “Paige. Paige, wait up!”
She swung around to see Donna MacIntyre waving at her. She was with a tall, slim, dark-haired woman.
“Paige, this is my friend Sadie Merritt-Hart. We grew up together, and she recently got married to Caleb Hart, who used to be a Catfish. Sadie, this is Paige Taylor, Crush’s daughter.”
Paige forced a smile and shook hands with Sadie. “It’s nice to meet you. My father still talks about Caleb. Says he’s one of the best he’s ever seen.”
“And he doesn’t know the half of it.” Sadie gave the merest ghost of a wink. Donna burst out laughing.
“Sadie, I’m so proud. That sounds like something I’d say. About Mike, of course,” she added hastily.
“Well, your naughty ways had to rub off on me eventually.”
Donna clutched at her coppery head as if it might explode. “Rub . . . naughty . . . so many ways to go with this one. Paige, help me out here.”
Instead, Paige burst into tears.
Immediately, the two girls surrounded her, patting her on the back, pulling her into an empty cotton candy stand saturated with the scent of burnt sugar. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?” Donna materialized a Kleenex from somewhere and Sadie found her a bottle of Coke. “What happened?”
“N-Nothing, it’s just . . .” It was just stupid, that’s what it was. “I’m just sad.”
“Hudson?” Donna asked sympathetically.
For a long, stunned moment, Paige drew a complete blank on the name. “Oh. Um, yeah, something like that.”
Donna’s face lit up as if she’d swallowed a firecracker. “It’s Trevor, isn’t it? You and Trevor have something going on. I knew it when I saw him crack a smile on the ball field a couple weeks ago. He never smiles. He was looking right at you, Paige. I’m telling you, the mighty Trevor has struck out.”
“Trevor Stark?” Sadie pulled a worried face. “That’s pretty radical. This might call for margaritas.”
“Well, duh.” Donna dabbed at Paige’s face with the Kleenex. “It’s a good thing you ran into us. You can’t go getting involved with a ballplayer without a solid blueprint and some Grade A advice from the experts. You in?” She clasped her hand around Paige’s wrist and led her out of the cotton candy stand, Sadie following close behind.
“It isn’t even noon yet, is it?” A margarita sounded pretty good, to be honest. But day drinking could be trouble. She might make a phone call she’d regret.
“Nope, it’s not noon,” Donna said, “but normal laws of time and space don’t apply when you’re dating a ballplayer. That’s rule number one.”
“Oh. How many rules are there? And honestly, I wouldn’t say that we’re dating.” In fact, every time they tried to “date,” something had interrupted them. Maybe that should have been her first warning sign.
“Screwing?”
“Donna,” scolded Sadie, while Paige turned guilty-as-charged red.
“If Paige is sleeping with Trevor Stark, that might call for more than margaritas,” said Donna ominously. “That might call for whiskey and a six-gauge rifle.”
Only one place in town served alcohol at eleven-thirty in the morning, and that was the Kilby Roadhouse. All the bartenders kept watching Donna suspiciously, as if she might spontaneously pick a fight while they restocked the Chex Mix. Paige had heard about a few of the crazy incidents that had taken place at the Kilby Roadhouse over the years, many of them involving the Catfish, and an especially famous one involving Donna and Sadie.
The three girls settled into the most tucked away table in the bar, nearly invisible behind the jukebox. Donna ordered margaritas and guacamole, waited until everything had been delivered, then pounced.
“If we’re going to be of any help, you should go ahead and tell us everything.”
She couldn’t tell them “everything.” Trevor’s secrets weren’t hers to share, and no way was she going to describe all the insanely hot sex. But there were some things she wouldn’t mind getting off her chest.
“You both probably think I’m crazy, right? Crush does. I know my friends would. What sane woman gets dumped by a future NBA player and immediately starts dating a future MLB player? Do I have some kind of sports star death wish?”
Sadie shook her head, her sleek dark hair swinging in its high ponytail. “I wouldn’t look at it like that. They’re two different people. I don’t know your ex, but I know Trevor a little. He’s kind of like . . . an iceberg.”
Paige groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “Exactly. Shows no emotion, made of ice, blah blah blah. That’s what everyone says, but that’s not how he is when . . . never mind. I guess I got fooled.”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant when I said ‘iceberg.’” Sadie plucked a piece of pineapple from the tiny red plastic sword that came with her margarita. “I meant that there’s a lot more underneath than you see on the surface. At first he seems like a play-the-field type, arrogant, full of himself. When Caleb and I first got together, Trevor was a total dick and nearly ruined things for us. But he actually apologized later and they made peace. They’re buddies now. Know what else Caleb told me? Most of the kids who walk up and down the aisles selling peanuts and so forth, they got their jobs because of Trevor. He’s got a side he doesn’t show to most people.”
Paige gave an even deeper groan. “I suppose you’re trying to make me feel better, but that’s not helping.”
Donna licked the rim of her watermelon margarita. “You want us to trash him? Sorry, I’d like to help, but I can’t lie. He helped me last year when I was trying to get custody of Zack.”
“Really, what did he do?”
“Well, he flirted with Bonita, my ex’s ex. She kind of lost her head over him. Maybe it doesn’t sound like a good deed, but it did the job. Also, he kicked some major Wade ass during that . . . incident here at the Roadhouse. He stepped in and took some punches aimed at Mike. Mike says Trevor probably saved the rest of his season. So I can’t hate Trevor Stark either. He’s a badass in the best way.”
Paige loaded up a tortilla chip with guacamole. “I have to tell you, you two are completely useless,” she said gloomily.
“Sorry.” They shared an embarrassed look.
“If it helps, everyone says they’ve never seen Trevor like this,” Donna added. “I’m around the ballpark a lot, and I hear everything. The players think he’s crazy about you. Since you came along, he hasn’t even looked at any of the baseball groupies flinging themselves at him after every game. The players keep mentioning your name to see what happens. They say his ears turn pink. It’s like a game to them. Then again, they’re idiots.”
Paige felt her eyes fill with tears again. “This guacamole is so spicy,” she murmured, hoping to hide the fact that she was embarrassing herself with all these tears. “I don’t know, guys. I thought Trevor and I had something pretty amazing going on, but then he froze me out. He acted like he didn’t care if I lived or died. It was like talking to a . . . a . . . giant icicle.”
“He has that badass thing down,” Donna said sympathetically. “Especially on the field. It might be his comfort zone off the field too.”
Paige took a sip of her margarita, the sting of tequila barely registering. “I think he was trying to get rid of me. Honestly, it’s working.”
Sadie smiled at her gently. “Listen, Paige, the life of a ballplayer is pretty intense. They’re on the road a lot. They’re under a lot of pressure. The most important thing is that you have to trust each other. If you’re not on the same page with your relationship, it’ll be a disaster.”
“Oh, I think we’re on the same page. It’s the one that says ‘The End.’”
Laughing, Donna lifted her glass in a toast. “She made a joke. Things can’t be too bad if she’s making jokes.”
Paige smiled along with the other two women, but was it a joke? Maybe a dark one, based on the sad fact that things with Trevor were as dead as one of Jerome’s squeaky toys. “Let’s talk about something else. Something completely unrelated to baseball players or men of any kind.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Donna clinked her glass against Paige’s. “But first, I have to say one thing, and I’m finally buzzed enough to do it.” She put down her glass, planted her elbows on the table and leaned toward Paige. “Nessa Brindisi’s recipes are crap. I’ve been trying to learn to make better meals for my kid, so I made a few things from her show. Zack wouldn’t eat a single one. I’ve been wanting to tell you that for ages, but the moment never felt right until now.”
Paige caught her bottom lip between her teeth, laughter bubbling up. “That’s . . . uh . . . thanks?”
“I’m just saying.” Donna sat back, as if she’d finally fulfilled some kind of mission. “We can go on now. I got that off my chest.”
“Thank you for sharing, Donna.” Sadie exchanged a mirth-filled look with Paige. “On a completely different topic, do you all remember that we’ve actually hung out together once before?”
“What?” Paige pushed her hair behind her ears. “When? I don’t remember that.”
“You were probably about thirteen. You were riding your bike near Lake McGee. Donna and I were swimming out there. You offered us some of your marshmallow fluff and peanut butter sandwich. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted in my life.”
The memory flashed back. Paige sat bolt upright. “I remember that day! That was so much fun, I lost track of time and got in huge trouble with my dad’s housekeeper. It was one of my last summers here. After that, my mother started sending me to camp.”
“We thought you were great, and not at all stuck up the way we thought you’d be.”
Paige frowned. “Stuck up?”
“You were gorgeous and tall,” Donna said, “you had that long wavy hair, you looked like a movie star to us. And you were Crush Taylor’s daughter—like a rich celebrity kid.” She winked. “We were totally jealous, except that you were so nice and fun.”
The waitress appeared, and Paige signaled for another round of margaritas. “That’s crazy. I was the most awkward kid alive. I think that was the time I rode my bike into a tree, as a matter of fact. I was actually jealous of you two, because you were such good friends. I was lonely all the time when I was growing up. My mom kept moving from one TV market to another. Every time I made a friend, she’d get a new job. And I went back and forth between my parents, but they were both really busy. I remember riding back to the ranch, thinking, ‘If only I had friends like them.’”
“And look!” Donna spread her hands wide. “Now you do. As long as you keep those marshmallow fluff sandwiches coming.”
Paige grinned. “Done. I bet Zack would love them too.”
The next round of margaritas arrived, and Donna launched into a hilarious story about the first time Zach tasted peanut butter. Sadie told them about the crazy competitive stunts the students at her law school pulled. Paige talked about plans for the fund-raiser for the tutoring program. Sadie offered to locate prizes for the silent auction, and Donna asked if she could emcee the event. As they launched into party brainstorming, Paige sipped her margarita and tried to put her finger on what was missing.
No one was comparing stats. No one was talking about free throw conversions or after-game parties or who signed what contract with which team.
And that’s when the truth behind Trevor’s statement dawned on her, clear as day. For three years she’d poured her heart and soul into Hudson’s career. Hudson’s career. And then—she’d started to do the same thing with Trevor! But Trevor was different from Hudson. He was a grown man, not a shy kid, and he didn’t want that from her. Not only that, but he was right, the jerk. She didn’t want to lose herself again. Couldn’t . . . wouldn’t . . . lose herself again.