Game Changer, page 18
I hop off the ice machine and bend down to retrieve my shoes. Getting up, I ram my finger into Brooks’s chest, wishing he would say something, anything. "Is that why you’ve been staying away from me? Because you knew about this?"
"Don’t worry, sweetheart. Brooksey knows what’s going on, but he doesn’t want any part of it," Drake spits out, making me want to die inside when Brooks doesn’t contradict him. "Landry let it slip what he almost walked in on in Texas. Once I heard that, there was no way I wasn’t going to find out everything I could about it. So I harassed Brooks for the details, but he wouldn’t budge. I haven’t given him a moment’s peace, and based on his obstinate reaction, I can tell he doesn’t want to have to deal with me on a daily basis for the remainder of the season, so he thought he’d stay away from you. Am I right, man?"
Brooks remains silent.
"I’m sorry that having me around is such a drag." I straighten the hemline of my skirt and slip my heels back on, wobbling on my feet. "I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of the guys." I swing my handbag over my shoulder, pushing past Brooks as I march out of the room.
I think Brooks is going to call me back, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t run after me and tell me that it’s all some sort of sick joke. He lets me keep walking. But I won’t cry. Not yet. Not until I’m able to get inside my lonely hotel room. Then I’ll sob my heart out because I know I’m not getting any sleep tonight.
Whether Brooks realizes it or not, he just broke my heart, and no transplant in the world can fix that.
Chapter Nineteen
Brooks
"You are such an asshole," I mutter under my breath to Drake.
"You’re welcome," he says flippantly, slapping me hard on the back. "She was going to find out eventually, dude. You should just be glad she heard it from me. At least I was up-front with her. It’s not like she heard the other guys talking about her sweet tits behind her back."
"I’m not gonna tell you again. Get the fuck away from me or I swear I’ll beat the shit out of you." I’m on the verge of throttling him. He better not push me if he knows what’s good for him.
"Testy, testy," he mocks me with a smirk. "Did K-Rob really think I was going to welcome his sister onto the team with open arms? She’s making us look like a bunch of pussies out there and you know it. This has to be eating him up inside, having his little sister take care of business for him. But then I guess it’s not bothering you if you’re getting a little sumthin’ sumthin’ on the side. You’re Chase’s boy, after all. He taught you well. Why don’t you step forward and end the bet already? We all know you hit that fine piece of ass. Why not own up to it and be a man for once?"
I lunge at him, pinning him against the side of a soda machine, bashing his head against its hard surface. But it doesn’t silence him; instead, he laughs in my face.
"Go on, Oklahoma. Do it. I’m the best hitter on the team. You injure me, there goes your one and only chance at a ring." He leers at me, and I hurl him away in frustration, knowing that he’s right.
But this drive to the Fall Classic isn’t for me. It’s for Kyle, and I won’t let Drake take that away from him. It’s the only thing keeping him going.
"After the way she stormed out of here, it looks like you won’t be getting any tonight, man, but you don’t have to take it out on me. She’s the one who decided not to invite you back to her room," Drake taunts, rubbing the back of his head while strolling toward the door. "All I know is I bet I could make her scream a lot louder than you did in Texas."
I make a move to go after him, but he just snickers, exiting as quietly as he came in.
Damn it. This is not what I intended to happen. I take a minute to collect myself, knowing that I very well might have blown it with Sasha this time. Yeah, I overheard the guys talking smack about her. I couldn’t deny it, but it was all in jest. Drake made it seem a lot more sinister than it really was. Everyone wants to be the guy who catches Sasha Roberts’s eye. Who wouldn’t? She’s currently one of the most famous women in America—hell, the world. Every guy wants to picture himself as the one in her bed. It’s how guys operate.
But it doesn’t mean I have to like it, and it doesn’t mean I have to join in.
That night with Jilly, I couldn’t hide my feelings from everybody. They were written all over my face. The camera caught my jealousy, my rage, my desire. When it comes to Sasha, I’m an open book, it seems. She stirs things inside me that I don’t even know I’m feeling until it’s too late. Whenever I’m around her, all I can think about is her, no one else—not even myself.
I don’t know what she thinks of me at this point, why I’m running so hot and cold. I can see it in her eyes that she knows that I’m holding something back from her; she just doesn’t know what. And I can’t keep slipping up like I did just now, letting her get me alone. I can’t trust myself not to react like that when I’m around her. It’s impossible for me to keep my hands to myself whenever she’s nearby. It’s just not going to happen. If I have one weakness, she’s it.
I trudge wearily through the lobby, taking a quick glance at the room number on my keycard. It looks like everyone’s gone up until I spy Tony lounging in the corner, waiting for me. As I dutifully walk over to him, I know what he’s going to say before he even says it.
"You better make up your mind about her soon, son, because you’re twisting that poor girl up inside," Tony greets me, getting right to the point. "She has enough to deal with as it is."
"It’s a lot more complicated than that," I say as diplomatically as I can.
He nods, surprising me. "You’re probably right. I know how this team operates. You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. But don’t let them mess with your head, kid. If you love that girl, don’t let her slip through your fingers. She’s worth her weight in gold, that one."
"We just can’t be together right now. The timing’s not right," I protest, making every effort not to raise my voice to my manager.
"And will it ever be right?" Tony questions me, exhaling sharply. "That’s not how life works, Brooksey, but I thought you already knew that. Don’t you remember how you felt when Chase came back and you got sent down to Triple A? You thought you’d never play for the Kings again. Am I right? If Chase remained healthy, then he had at least eight more years in him. The only way you’d ever be a starting shortstop in the majors before your thirtieth birthday was if they traded you away. In fact, didn’t you ask Terry to see if another team might be interested in you?"
I nod, grimacing. "But it’s not the same thing."
"Sure it is," Tony counters. "The only difference being, this time, you’re in the driver’s seat, not Terry."
"How do ya figure that?" I ask, my drawl coming out extra thick because I’m too distracted to hide it.
"You’re worried that they have you over a barrel, right? That Terry holds all the cards? But I don’t think he does." Tony laughs at my shocked expression. "He’s going to have a heck of a time replacing Sasha. In fact, the only other person I think the fans would accept would be the guy who originally held the position in the first place."
"But what if that’s not possible?" I argue. "What if Kyle can’t make it back? Am I supposed to stay away from her forever? It’s not good for the team. It’s—"
"Let certain people believe what they want to believe, if you catch my drift." Tony winks at me before rising out of his chair. "One of you had a creative enough mind to get you into this mess. I’m sure the two of you together can think your way out of it."
I stand there, processing everything Tony just said, and then he slides his arm around my shoulders as we amble toward the elevator.
"But what if—?" I start.
"Not tonight, Brooksey. You have time to hash it over. Now c’mon up with me and get some rest before your brain explodes. I need you fresh for tomorrow’s—or should I say, tonight’s—game."
He presses the elevator button and the doors open automatically. He guides me in, getting us to the right floor before leading me to my room. He knows I’m in a fog and that what he said is a lot to take in.
But damn if he didn’t just give me something worth thinking about.
Chapter Twenty
Sasha
Who is that slut and why does she keep trying to get Brooks’s attention?
After taking three off of Tampa, we flew out to the West Coast. Now, we’re on the field, stretching and getting loose before a game in Los Angeles. I should be concentrating on warming up my muscles, but I’m too distracted by the blonde in the sundress waving furiously at Brooks. I mean, who wears a sundress to a friggin’ baseball game? A few of the guys rib him about it, but he looks like he’s just seen a ghost. He turns ashen, sporting a classic ‘oh shit’ expression. My stomach churns. Wait a minute. Does he know her?
I should be used to women falling all over Brooks by now, but I’m not. It rubs me the wrong way every time I see the shiny, bouncy hair, dazzlingly white smiles, and killer figures. He could have his pick of any girl he wanted. It’s what makes that nagging fear linger in the back of my mind—if that’s the case then why would he ever choose me?
And what he does next surprises the heck out of me. Instead of booking it into the dugout like I thought he would, he approaches her. She smiles at him, leaning over the rail suggestively to give him a full view of her bountiful assets. A crowd quickly forms around her as everyone starts shoving stuff in front of Brooks for him to sign. They think he came over to sign autographs, not flirt with the one hot girl who happened to catch his eye. That’s not the kind of guy Brooks is—even the fans know it.
But if he’s going to play games, then so am I. I push myself out of a semi yoga position and get to my feet, wishing I weren’t wearing the poncho-like batting practice jacket that gives me no shape whatsoever. I look about as unisex as it gets—just the way Terry wants it.
Some of the kids are hanging around the periphery, trying to get closer. They see me coming and immediately bolt in my direction. But if I’m going to hear what Brooks is saying to that hooch, I’m going to have to get close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation, and I don’t know if that’s going to be possible with everyone screaming my name.
Brooks throws a sidelong glance over his shoulder, appearing guilt stricken when he sees me coming. What the hell is going on? Whatever it is, I don’t like it. He’s acting so unlike himself that it’s starting to freak me out.
"When I saw that the Kings were going to be in town, I drove all the way from Vegas to see you," she gushes, blinking up at him as he continues to sign for those around her.
Brooks doesn’t respond, which is right out of the Kings’ PR playbook. Acknowledge fans, but never engage them. Be friendly and polite, but don’t interact. Say just enough, but not too much.
"I just wanted to tell you in person what a great guy you are," she babbles on, falling all over him, not seeming to care that he’s ignoring her. "You really go out of your way for people."
That’s it.
"My brother had his bachelor party in Vegas." I shoot her a withering look. Hell, the Kings’ rules were made to be broken. I’m proof of that.
"Yeah, I know," she snipes back.
"How?" I bait her, and Brooks’s hand pauses in midair over the baseball he’s signing.
"A little something called the Internet. You should check it out sometime. There’s some really fascinating stuff on there," she taunts me in front of everybody, getting more than a few people to give her a scrutinizing look. No one talks to America’s Sweetheart that way.
"I wouldn’t believe everything you read," I answer back hotly, failing to control my temper.
"Oh, I don’t know. Eyewitness accounts tend to be pretty credible," she fires back, casting a quick look at Brooks.
His head lowers almost imperceptibly, but it was enough for me to notice.
He slept with her. He fucking slept with her, no doubt at Kyle’s bachelor party. I think I’m going to throw up.
"Still striking out, I see," Scott chimes in, joining the party and nudging Brooks with his elbow.
The fans go absolutely crazy when three of the most popular New York Kings line up to sign for them. The size of the crowd starts to multiply. We’re not supposed to sign in groups like this. We’re told to space it out, go one at a time, don’t overwhelm security. We’re going to get in trouble, but I have to know what Scott’s referring to. Unless Scott isn’t talking to Brooks. He’s talking to her.
My eyes snap up to her face and I try not to smile when I see that she’s pouting. She knows that Scott’s dig was meant for her, and that makes me feel a little better inside, just a little.
"I bet you’re a pro at rounding the bases," she remarks, turning her full attention to Scott.
"Well I certainly don’t like getting stranded in scoring position," he flirts back, but not before giving me a pointed look.
I hate when people use baseball metaphors to talk about sex. It makes me cringe. But with kids and camera phones all around us, it’s probably the only option Scott has at his disposal to set me straight.
Is Scott implying that Brooks hooked up with this bimbo but they didn’t go all the way?
"Yeah, me neither." She gives him her full-wattage smile, and typical Scott, he grins right back at her.
"Do you have something for me to sign, honey, or are we just going to stand here shooting the breeze?" he goads her until she digs a napkin out of her bag and writes something on it before handing it to him.
Scott smirks, sticking it in his back pocket as she smiles at him. Yep, she just gave him her number in front of all these people, and Scott being Scott, he kept it.
Brooks hands the last item he was signing back into the crowd and turns to leave despite the groans begging him to stay. No way is he getting away from me that easily. I want answers.
"Sorry, folks. Gotta run!" I announce lightly, pretending to jog up next to him like it’s the most innocent thing in the world.
He doesn’t turn his head and neither do I, but when we’re far enough away, I pounce all over him.
"Who the hell is she?"
"A stupid mistake," he mutters, not breaking stride.
"Did you sleep with her?" I hold my breath, hoping my instincts are right.
"No," he replies vehemently, making eye contact with me for the first time.
"But you wanted to."
"Don’t go putting words in my mouth," he warns, turning away from me again.
"That’s what you guys do in Vegas, right? Get drunk. Hook up with random chicks. I mean, you’re the shortstop of the New York Kings. Why wouldn’t you have girls hanging all over you?" I reply bitterly.
He stops dead, throwing me off-balance. "I didn’t sleep with her because, before that, all Kyle could talk about was you. He was drunk and he wouldn’t shut up about you, showing me pictures of you on his phone, videos of you playing softball. All I could think of was that I was gonna get to see you at the wedding the following week, and I wasn’t about to screw it up by sleeping with some stranger I had no interest in ever seeing again."
He storms by me and into the dugout, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.
He was thinking about me even before Jamaica? How come he never told me? Well, I guess he just did, but still.
If he wasn’t still giving me the cold shoulder, I’d run after him, but I don’t. How could he tell me something like that and then walk away from me?
Girls are all over him all the time. But again and again, he keeps telling me that he doesn’t want any of them. He just wants me.
And I want him.
Too bad life as we know it doesn’t seem to work that way.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sasha
After that, the game in L.A. goes much like it always does. Brooks and I do our jobs, and I’m able to lay down at least one good bunt. I don’t get a hit, but I’m able to advance Jake to third and he eventually scores. We end up winning a nail-biter, two to one, vaulting to the top of the division for the first time since July. It should feel good, but it doesn’t. We’re one step closer to achieving our ultimate goal, but without Brooks to share it with, it feels empty, pointless.
I can’t look at the guys the same way after what Drake said. I cringe when they thump the top of my helmet on my way to the on-deck circle, and I shudder when they tap my shoulder encouragingly when I return to the dugout after making an out. It seems harmless, but I just don’t know anymore. I’m questioning their motives, the looks in their eyes. Are they just being friendly or are they secretly lusting over my body? It makes me feel gross inside not knowing for sure.
Jilly came in to pitch the ninth, so Tony is all geared up for another hitting session. Since Brooks’s suspension, Pedro started catching these after-hours practices of ours, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Brooks talking to him, taking the gear out of his hands, and putting it on. Jilly doesn’t seem to like it either as he storms to the mound, not even waiting for Brooks to get set up behind the plate.
I jog after him. Jilly isn’t so bad. Not really. I try to make small talk with him near the mound, but he’s having none of it. He scoops his hand into the bucket of balls he dragged out there with him and keeps firing them at the backstop until Brooks is ready for him. Reluctantly, I leave his side and take my place in the batter’s box. Brooks kneels down behind me, and even though his face is obstructed by the catcher’s mask, I still feel the heat of his gaze on me.
"Where’s Pedro?" Jilly growls over at Tony.
His frown deepens when Brooks answers instead. "It’s his anniversary. Give the guy a break."
"I want Pedro," Jilly snarls, throwing his glove onto the rubber like a little kid having a tantrum. "I’m not pitching to this jerk."
"‘This jerk’ is your teammate, and you very well are going to pitch to him. You’ll pitch to whomever I tell you to pitch to," Tony states, not the least bit ruffled over this show of defiance by his closer.
