Page 5

TAYLOR SWIFT

“I walked into a fucking Disney movie,” I muttered under my breath as I saw what looked like chaos set to music. My new teammates were all spread out in the outfield, working on what looked like some oddly complicated dance number. An overplayed pop radio hit blared over a rather large wireless speaker by a woman’s feet as they all attempted to follow her lead in the outfield near second base.

The one woman who sucked the oxygen from my lungs the second I met her.

The one woman I couldn’t find words to utter a simple greeting to.

The one woman who I couldn’t stop thinking about.

The feeling had been peculiar, and it still had me in a tizzy this morning. Or maybe it was from the piss poor night of sleep, stressing about walking into this fucking bizarro circus that ownership tried to convince me was baseball. The only semblance that this field had anything to do with baseball was the fact that there thankfully were three bases and a home plate. But that was it .

Dancing had never been my strong suit. Hell, it was never even on my radar. Between high school and college, all I focused on was baseball. I didn’t even go to my senior prom. I had a ball game to be at the next day. God bless my supportive parents for dragging my sorry ass to ball games near and far. But they knew that I loved it. And all that hard work paid off.

Well, it had paid off. Up until a few days ago.

Now here I was, standing with a bag full of my practice gear, and feeling like I was facing a midlife crisis. A washed-up baseball player with nowhere to go but down.

This fucking can’t be my life right now.

“Hey! Jamie!” The crew of chaos stopped for a drink break when I was spotted. The shortest man in the bunch with dark wavy hair and a trimmed beard was excitedly waving me over. From what I could remember from yesterday’s introductions, he was the man whose job I’d be replacing. At least for the time being.

Might as well get this stupid fucking thing over with.

As I reluctantly shuffled my way over to the group, the woman from yesterday caught my eye. It was difficult to miss her. She was wearing a rather sinful pair of bright pink workout leggings. Sinful in the sense that none of her feminine curves could hide from the skin-tight fabric. Her wavy coppery blonde hair was up in a pony, revealing the sad excuse for a t-shirt that seemed more holy than a Catholic Sunday. Which only led to rather unholy thoughts as I caught sight of the matching sports bra through the artistically placed holes in the cotton .

In the off-season I’d seen countless women workout alongside me in the gym. Some much more scantily clad. None of them gave me this sudden and rather visceral response as my new coach did. Which only made me feel even more frustrated about this entire absurd situation.

Women were rare in the majors. Most were part of the medical or therapy teams. The others were involved with promotions and social media, so we didn’t interact with them much unless they needed some sort of nonsense filmed. None of them would have dared to wear such clothing to the ballpark.

None of them had to teach us guys how to fucking dance either. That sort of entertainment was singularly the mascot’s job and the furry green dude at the ballpark did a rather bang-up job of it. But that was the mascot’s job . Not the team’s job.

With a grumble, I tossed my bag down with the rest of the random piles of gear from my new teammates. The woman was seemingly startled by the commotion. What was her name again?

That’s right.

Cadence.

I caught her glance over her shoulder at me, only for her to look away as quickly as she had initially turned. As if she had been burned by even the thought of looking at me. There was an excited murmur among the guys as I surveyed the sad situation in front of me.

“You’re late.” Her icy cold tone cut through the chatter and was a harsh contrast to the already humid summer air. I didn’t care that she was right, it was how the words came across. On the other hand, the guys on the team looked stoked that I had actually shown up. But my new coach looked nonplussed. Great, way to go, Jamie.

“I’m just here to play baseball,” I muttered back as I shifted uncomfortably with all the eyes on me.

“It's choreography practice first.” The reminder was bristly. I couldn’t recall ever meeting anyone this tart. The fact that she wouldn’t even look at me didn’t bode well either. What the hell was up her ass?

None of the other guys seemed phased by her attitude. There were even a few snickers with her comment. Maybe that’s how she was.

Ignoring her, a few of my new teammates sauntered over to reintroduce themselves or extend friendly pleasantries to welcome me in. At least they were nice. But they were more thrilled about this situation than I was. I could only kind of pay attention to the greetings as I kept my eyes on her.

How she didn’t have this misfit group of ball players salivating at the mouth was beyond my comprehension. She probably had put them all in their place at one time or another. Perhaps she even dated one or two, or all, of them. Or maybe we were barking up the wrong tree.

With the distraction of the team on me, Cadence busied herself with whatever was on her phone. There was just something about her that was… odd . Whatever it was I didn’t exactly want to piss off any members of the coaching staff by interrogating people about the only female member of staff.

Perhaps I had offhandedly offended her at our initial meeting? Or maybe she was a real stickler for being punctual. Normally I was one of the first guys to the locker room on game and practice days. But here? I wasn’t feeling the same excitement to come to work.

“Alright boys, the break is over.” Cadence’s sharp voice broke up the chatter. “Let's tighten up the seventh inning stretch routine we’ve been working on.” She found whatever she was looking for as music started to pulse from the speaker in the grass. I watched as the guys listened without a second word. I almost jumped myself as she suddenly appeared next to me. Hell, she was short. I could see straight over her head. Her harsh tone dropped to a volume that was solely for me. “Fall in line with the other guys and follow along. You missed warmups.”

There were a few rumbles of low whistles from the guys as I found an empty spot towards the back of the group. Warm welcome my ass. But I’m sure I probably deserved it for not being my usual prompt self. They probably all thought I was the pretentious major league asshole that could show up whenever he wanted. Of which was the complete opposite of the usual me.

“Alright Sillys… Five, six, seven, eight!” The guys quieted down as all eyes went on Cadence. I kind of just stood there and took it all in as her vibrant outfit broke through all the drab tank tops, t-shirts, and shorts. For the most part, the guys followed her move by move. A few went the wrong direction or were off tempo just a smudge.

All I could manage to do was stare, completely perplexed by the entire situation before me. Cadence didn’t call out any moves or offer verbal instruction. The guys just magically fell into line in front of her as they copied her moves .

How the hell was I supposed to follow this? Was I supposed to do what she was doing? Was I supposed to go the opposite way because she was facing us? There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for the nonsense. Maybe I could kind of half-ass it until it was time for fieldwork. Exactly how much time did the team waste on such pointless exercises?

I could only stand there, metaphorically scratching my head. Nerves were starting to churn in my gut. It had been quite some time since I did training in which I had no idea what the fuck was going on. It was almost as if it was like the first day of school.

The group did a little spin and then a single clap. All I could do was offer up a panic clap a few moments after theirs in a vain attempt to sort of follow along. Which only brought all of their attention back to me. The music cut off sharply.

“Mr. Rheems if you weren’t aware, you are required to participate.” Her words sliced through the sudden quiet. She did tell me to follow along, but how could I when I had no idea what the dance moves were? I had no fucking clue how this all worked.

“Dude, just move. Even if you fake it.” The man to my right whispered under his breath. His dirty blonde beard was neatly trimmed. Which made it easy to hide the fact that he was talking to me.

“Don’t fuck it up or else she will make us do quiet yoga again.” I cocked my brow as the younger guy in front of me turned around to share that interesting little tidbit. What kind of fresh hell was this place?

“Kellan is right.” Cadence interrupted, loud enough for everyone to hear. Fucking hell and she had super hearing? For a woman who had so much authority she sure couldn’t look me in the eye as she scolded me. Her face was pointed in my direction, but her eyes were off to the left. There was a telltale bit of mirth to her smirk. “Personally, I like quiet yoga days.”

I almost jumped from the resounding groan that echoed through the guys. Like Cadence, I didn’t mind yoga. It sure as fuck was better than dance practice. But the yoga she threatened them with had to be some wicked sort of hell for this ice queen to procure such a response from the team. Maybe it was safer just to attempt to dance. I didn’t want a reason for my teammates to be pissed at me from the get-go.

The music started again after a drawn-out, steely, indirect stare from Cadence. A shiver went down my spine, almost as if her eyes were glacier-like.

Despite her clunky demeanor, she moved with effortless grace. Her body was toned like a dancer. She was a brightness in the crowd of heather gray and navy blue. A goddess on the ball field.

Why the fuck was I haphazardly swaying to music and musing about my new coach’s body? But she was much more appealing to look at than a bunch of sweaty men shaking their asses. Much more appealing…

My foot tangled with my other and I tipped forward before catching myself. If I wasn’t careful, I’d end up with another fucking injury. An injury that would be more embarrassing than just being an old-as-dirt baseball catcher. This dancing stuff was more dangerous than having 90-mile-per-hour fastballs chucked at my head .

What was it about this woman that had me all tangled up in my thoughts? And limbs for that matter. She was like a perplexing enigma that moved with such effortless grace. With a sway to her hips that would even make a blind man take a second look.

I glanced at each of the guys, trying to gauge how they felt about her. From what I could tell, no one was ogling her with wagging tongues, waiting for her to bend forward so they could get a better view. Despite her chilly output, she held the guys’ attention. She had to be a hell of a woman to keep this bunch of guys in line.

My trail of thoughts had turned aggravating again. Why was she so stuck in my brain? It had to be from her piss-poor attitude and not about how good her wider-set curves looked in spandex.

After the less-than-ideal breakup with Vanessa, I promised myself no more relationships. Not even a tryst. It wasn’t fair to bring a woman into this life on the road, no matter how willing she was. Because it was the overly willing ones who were the gold diggers or who wanted to share the spotlight.

I hated the spotlight. I wanted to be as far away as possible from it. I wanted someone who didn’t want it either, someone who was understanding and genuine. The women I encountered previously were the farthest things from it.

Sure, there were decent ones in the bunch. My colleagues in the majors somehow managed to find incredible partners and some of them…not so much. Some of the younger guys were there to party and enjoy all the other various nonsense that came with it .

It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried. Between my teammates trying to set me up on dates to managing a few on my own, it never ended well. The demands of my career were the biggest contention. Even if I needed to blow off some steam, I wasn’t going to sleep with a woman for fun.

Call me old-fashioned, or my southern North Carolina charm, but I needed to have a connection with someone if I was going to take them to bed. Sex wasn’t just a physical thing for me. It was mental. Emotional. Just like baseball. Whatever that switch was that most men had that focused on getting off with the next hot thing, I didn’t have it.

Although it didn’t mean I wouldn’t look .

I would admire an attractive woman as much as the next guy. Especially ones with soft pink curves…

That mental distraction somehow put me in the way of the guy in front of me with messy black hair and deeply tanned skin. He spun around with his arms out. Ducking away from the man tornado, my face avoided the brunt of his helicopter as he backhanded my shoulder. Which only sent me stumbling forward into the next row of players doing the same motion.

There were a few shouts of surprise and grumbles before the music came, once again, to a sudden stop.

“Mr. Rheems! Seriously. Is there a problem?” The hips that distracted me in the first place were cocked to one side, with her hand perched on the tasty jut of her hip bone. Move your fucking eyes elsewhere, Jamie.

“Uh…no.” My gaze shot up to hers, completely called out on multiple fronts. All eyes turned to me along with some chuckles as the guys took the in terruption to grab water or wipe the sweat off their faces.

“Good, because I’d hate to bring you front and center.” There was a playful chorus of “oohs” from the peanut gallery. “Alright, guys, from the top!”

On second thought, maybe retiring wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.