Page 13

Harper

I had spent nearly the entire series replaying the images in my head of Jamil pulling at his hair while on the phone in the hotel lobby. The sound of him screaming “fuck” still echoed in my ears.

What I hated the most was my curiosity of the conversation. Was it something worthy of a story? Was it what the network wanted to cover?

Every time I watched him joke with Tommy or smile when he crossed home plate after another home run, I wondered what was hiding behind it. Then there was a small part of me that wanted to know because I cared .

I jotted down notes as the final half inning of the last game of the series played out. While sitting in the media section next to the Cougars’ dugout, Jamil had caught my eye only once this entire game and that one look had turned the bones in my legs into jelly.

I tracked him as he ran out of the dugout, hoping for another chance to see those hazel eyes, when someone slid into the seat next to me.

“Who are you interviewing after tonight’s game?” Olivia Thompson said as a way of introduction.

It had been years since I had any kind of girlfriend, so when she gave me an arresting smile like she was interested in talking with me, I clammed up. Do I compliment her? Do I ask her how her day is going? Do I ask her about her pictures? Why am I acting so weird?

“Uh—”

“I’m Olivia Thompson,” she swooped in to save me as I sat there gaping at her with an open mouth like a fish.

Olivia extended a hand toward me and I worked up enough courage to take it. “Harper Nelson.”

“Are you covering the team this season?” She and I both knew that she already had the answer to that question. It was just her way of treading lightly into the conversation.

“I am. Last-minute change with the network.”

Maggie Redford claimed the seat on the other side of Olivia a moment later, her camera hanging around her neck. “Hi! I’m Maggie. I hope Olivia isn’t grilling you too hard.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “I hadn’t gotten to that part yet. You spoil all the fun, Mags.” I watched the two girls share a smile just between the two of them as if they were speaking their own language.

Is that what it was like to have a friend?

“Are you interviewing Jamil?” Maggie asked as she brought her camera back up to her face, completely unaware that Olivia had already been questioning me on that topic.

“I hadn’t decided yet,” I told them just as Jamil made the final out with a diving catch that sent the stadium into a frenzy. Olivia jumped up from her seat to cheer while Maggie snapped away, attempting to get the perfect shot. Judging by her previous work, she probably did.

“I think he just decided for you,” Maggie replied as she brought her camera down from her face.

My crew stood up to get ready and I followed suit after I consulted my notes on the game one more time. I’d been avoiding interviewing Jamil these past few series, for fear of looking like a fool on camera, but now it seemed I couldn’t any longer.

Postgame interviews were normally a flurry of moments. As the teams ran into the dugout, the stadium began to empty, and the families were allowed out onto the field, my crew and I had to weave through the chaos to corner the player I was hoping to get a quote from. I called this the hunt.

Normally the hunt gave me a thrill. But as I worked my way through the crowd with my camera crew following behind me, I only felt nerves latch on to my throat and squeeze the closer I got to the dugout.

All the players with families at the game were in the outfield with their wives and kids. The others were packing up their things and heading into the locker room to get ready for the plane ride tonight to the next series in Seattle.

Jamil was putting his glove into his bag when I walked up to the edge of the dugout. I cleared my throat to grab his attention. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled when he saw it was me. “Have a moment for an interview?”

“For you?” he asked. “Always.”

I ignored the crackling sensation erupting in my stomach.

He’s just a flirt. That’s what he does, I told myself.

I smoothed down my hair and checked that my mic was on before stepping into the camera’s frame next to Jamil.

Our hands smacked into each other’s, and I went to pull mine back, but was stopped by his fingers looping around mine for a split second before they disappeared.

Dear God, it’s me again. Please let me make it through this interview.

“Jamil, congrats on another great game. After today’s win, the Cougars have put themselves two wins above the Milwaukee Crows, who are currently second in the league.

Eleven runs put up in today’s game and you contributed to over half of them.

Talk to me about how you feel the team is doing coming off a World Series win.

” I extended the microphone toward Jamil who was looking at me with rapt concentration.

“Thanks, Harper. You look beautiful today by the way.” He smiled as he watched me attempt to control my facial expressions.

Surely, he had lost his mind greeting me that way, but he powered on as I stood there floundering.

“We lost some key pieces off last year’s team, but I think we’ve filled those gaps well. We are just now hitting our stride.”

“You’ve also been on a tear at the plate so far this season. What’s your goal?”

Jamil’s eyebrows shot up. I knew most interviewers had been asking him if he was gunning to break his own record this season and I noticed the way his shoulders tensed at the pressure that question implied. I wanted to give him the space to claim what he wanted—whether that was anything at all.

“I’m just having fun this season. Which is easy to do when there’s such good company around.”

The cheeky smirk was back, and my mouth grew dry. From the look in his eyes, he knew exactly what he was doing. Every person watching at home probably saw the flaming red coloring in my cheeks.

“Uh, thanks for your time,” I rushed to finish before turning my microphone off, and Neil took the camera off his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

That stupid smirk remained on Jamil’s face even as I came nose to nose with him.

My crew slowly backed away to pack up, leaving us in a standoff.

The picture we painted was probably a treat—Jamil staring down at me trying to contain his laughter and me staring up at him with hands on my hips ready to go down swinging.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Moon.”

I wanted to be mad that Jamil thought it was necessary to flirt with me in an interview that would be seen nationally, but all I could focus on was the unguarded look on his face.

The lack of heaviness pulling his shoulders down.

The mask that he had been wearing for months was gone.

He looked happy . So instead of letting the fuse of my anger burn to ignition, I took a step back to put space between us.

“You can’t do that,” I told him simply, my steady voice a juxtaposition for the racing beat of my heart.

“I did nothing but state facts.”

The space between us didn’t feel wide enough as Jamil brought me back to that night in Florida.

You are perfect.

Moon.

Something unsaid flickered in his eyes. A question from Jamil to me of if there would ever be a chance we could pick up where we left off.

“Harper!” Olivia’s voice fizzled out the tension building between us as she approached. “Will you be in Seattle tonight before dinner time?”

With one more sparing glance in Jamil’s direction where I noticed him still admiring me, I turned to Olivia. “We land at seven tonight.”

“Would you want to do an eight o’clock dinner? With all of us?”

Any other season I would have landed and ordered room service to my hotel room with only reruns as company. This season was anything but normal. Apparently, everything about the Chicago Cougars was thrusting me out of my comfort zone. “Sure?” I replied hesitantly.

Olivia smiled triumphantly. “Great. Let’s exchange numbers and you can let me know when you get to the hotel.”

It was a foreign experience exchanging numbers with someone who wanted to have some form of communication with me outside of business purposes. When my phone dinged with the notification that Olivia had texted me back with her name and a smiley face, I was walking into new territory.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight,” Jamil told me as he walked past me to the locker room, his voice low and sultry. “For dinner.”

Standing alone in the middle of the outfield grass, I wondered if this season was fate or if it was quicksand that would render me immobilized.