Page 11

CHAPTER 11

ROSE

O ne second I’m happy, humming a tune as I step out of Cade’s house with a bowl of salad I just finished tossing, and the next I’m completely annoyed.

What the heck is Logan Kim doing here?

I don’t think he’s seen me yet. He’s just closing the gate’s door behind Lucky, casting a first glance around the oddly shaped yard. I duck below the kitchen island by reflex. Curse this architectonic marvel of a house that has no walls, but the thickest panes of glass. It’s only a matter of time before Logan sees me in the kitchen.

“And why should that matter?” I ask my salad bowl, covered with cling wrap and safe from my germs. “I was here first. In fact, the idea of this whole BBQ was borne out of my roommates’s desire to cheer me up.”

And the reason for that need is him .

I’ve been fuming about last night’s conversation and look at him—the jerk has the nerve to act all easy breezy with his damn bike jacket that fits a bit too perfectly around his freaking perfect shoulders and arms, and the damn man bun at the top of his head that no one seems to have told him is out of fashion but looks amazing on him. The least he could do would be to sport a few bandages from the burns I gave him last night.

So why, even though he was in the wrong and I’m the one who won the argument, am I the one hiding?

“Hear me out,” I say to the salad bowl. “You don’t like good looking men and now you’ve learned that pretentious men aren’t really charming, they’re just pretentious.” I nod to myself. “So go out there and act like he’s a zero to the left.”

I jump to my feet and pretend like I was just picking something up and putting it in the kitchen sink. But he’s not even looking this way, so the act isn’t necessary.

Except Lucky is watching.

He opens the door as I come out with the salad, and I’m not sure why his eyes look all sparkly and amused, but they do. “Evening, princesa,” he says as greeting.

“Princesa?” I cock an eyebrow.

He shrugs. “Cade calls you princess, so it’s kinda stuck now. Need any help?”

“I’m good, thanks.” I use my lips to point at the grocery bags hanging from his hand. “You?”

“This is what I train for, c’mon.” He does some bicep curls with Publix bags, and I bite my lips not to laugh because it’s ridiculous.

“Okay, don’t hurt yourself there,” I joke while shuffling sideways to hold the door open with my body. “After you.”

“Chivalry is not dead!” he exclaims in an overly dramatic way, also shuffling sideways as if this door wasn’t wider than a normal one. But just as I’m giving him props for being mindful, Lucky gives me a casual little wink that makes me shake my head.

Yeah, maybe I should’ve crushed on Lucky last year rather than Ben. Lucky’s fun, yet polite. Unfortunately, he’s too attractive. His Latin American fan club will probably murder the woman who dares to tie the knot with him one day—if he even settles down.

With a deep breath, I turn away from the door and face the main gathering.

“Look who’s here,” Hope says with a forced grin that only I can see while she keeps her back to the guys. “It’s Logan Kim, your savior.”

Years of training for the Miss Florida pageant rush back and I let a brilliant smile bloom on my face, one that I know shows all my pearly whites. “Isn’t that great? How are you doing, Logan?”

If I think I’m ready for this, I swiftly discover that I am most definitely not when he turns those dark, clever eyes on me. Every muscle in my body locks with all the effort it takes to not launch the salad at his face. That would be extremely unfair to the veggies.

“Mena,” he returns with his deep voice and a tip of his chin.

“Why do you still refer to her by her last name?” Cade asks from the grill, pausing from flipping chorizos.

“I refer to everybody by their last name.” Logan makes an attempt to fold his arms but his helmet gets in the way.

Hope springs. “Oh, sorry. Let me attempt to be a good hostess and take your helmet and jacket.”

“Wait a damn second.” Cade turns around and places the back of his hands on his hips, tongs poking out from one side. He glances first at his girlfriend and then at Logan, and back again. “He does call you by your name and you’re so polite only to him. Why is that?”

“Are you jealous, Starr?” Audrey asks from a camping chair across the fire pit that we lit up just a few minutes ago.

Cade frowns. “Yes.”

For the first time in my life, I witness Logan’s hard expression morph into amusement. And I’m not the only one who remarks on it—Audrey’s jaw is equally as dropped as mine. In fact, we even exchange a glance that says are you seeing what I’m seeing?

He’s obnoxiously perfect when he’s serious, but just a hint of a smile makes him almost ethereal. Something in my mind shifts and I have the certainty that from now on, his face is the one I’ll picture every time I’m reading a romantasy hero.

Ugh.

“There’s no need to be jealous, Cowboy. Hope and I just went out on one date,” Logan says as he hands over his helmet to Hope, and unzips his jacket.

I restart walking over to the serving table by the grill, finally placing the bowl on it. I dust my hands, all proud of my contribution to the party, and turn around.

I choke in my own saliva.

Logan Kim has removed his jacket and he’s wearing one of those tank tops where the openings go as low as his waist. And I didn’t know his torso was tatted up too. Like, I don’t make it my business to glimpse at the players’s naked bodies. The one time I did it backfired tragically.

This time, as Hope walks into the house, Lucky’s the one who comes out. He takes one look at Logan and asks, “Dude, where’s the rest of your clothes?”

“At home, where I wanted to be tonight,” the other guy sasses right back.

“Hey, I’m telling you.” Cade points at Logan with a big frown on his pretty Texas boy face. “If you want to keep calling my girlfriend by her first name, you’ll have to call everyone by their first names too.”

“Fine.” The big guy in the man bun shrugs powerful shoulders. Copying Cade’s gesture, he starts pointing at each person, “Audrey?”

“Yep.” She salutes him.

Logan moves on. “Lucas.”

“I go by Lucky. I’m the team’s lucky charm.”

“Lucas it is,” Logan confirms to himself. Right then, Hope marches back out to the yard and he points at her. “Still Hope.”

She freezes and glances back. “Uh, yeah. Last I checked.”

Then Logan’s finger veers to the pitcher. We all can tell this one’s tough by the way Logan’s jaw muscles jump. He grits his teeth and finally, painstakingly, he grumbles, “Cade.”

Audrey mutters, “Atta boy.”

And that’s when Logan’s finger turns to the last person. Me.

“Rosalina.”

I gasp in Spanish.

And then, in a fraction of a second, I know that I wasn’t supposed to show a big reaction to this. After all, the earth has spun exactly twenty six years since people have been calling me by that name, and no one’s voice has made me break into goosebumps all over. My damn goosebumps have goosebumps, and I don’t get it.

So I mask it by choking and waving my hands, hoping they think it’s because of the smoke from the grill next to me.

“She goes by Rose,” Audrey adds in a breezy tone.

“Then Rose,” he says without inflection, looking around as if searching for other people whose first names he’s going to have to get familiar with.

Lucky frowns. “How come she gets her preferred name and not me?”

“That’s not the important question here.” Cade grunts. “Was using Hope’s name so important that you’re willing to make these many changes at once?”

That’s when I figure out that Logan wasn’t looking for other people, but for the cooler full of chilled bottles. He sinks down to a camping chair that looks like a toy beneath him, and I’m satisfied by the disappointment in his face as he opens the cooler and doesn’t find beer inside. Hope filled it up with sweet and unsweet iced tea.

“What the hell is this?” the grouch murmurs.

Cade waves the tongs. “I’m talking to you, Kim.”

Of course, the latter flashes that transformational smirk. “Now you’ll have to call me Logan, though. Equality and all that.”

Hope lowers herself to the chair beside Audrey and leans closer to our roomie. “What the hell are these two weirdoes even talking about?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. The gist of it is that your boyfriend is jealous about you and the catcher.”

“Anyway,” I cut in, turning to Cade. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Our starting pitcher gives me an appraising look. “This right here, ladies and gents, is the real MVP.”

That causes a chorus of grumbles and mumbles from the rest, and they all get off their behinds to come over and fix themselves a plate. Cade turns into a one-man fast food restaurant, dropping burger patties on one bun after the next, along with pieces of Venezuelan style chorizo that Hope and I bought at a Latino supermarket.

I take a seat next to Audrey since we promised to split an extra chorizo between us. And then someone sits beside me.

Logan.

I check my surroundings, just to make sure there really were no other choices. But Lucky’s already parked next to Audrey, and the lovebirds are whispering sweet nothings to each other behind the chairs they intend to take, marking their territory clearly.

Six chairs. Like all along they did plan on inviting Logan. Why did I not notice it before?

“Ugh,” my mouth slips.

“Easy there, Mena,” Logan says beside me. “People will think I didn’t shower.”

I lift a glare at him. “Don’t worry, that’s not what stinks.”

This catches him in the middle of taking a swig of unsweet iced tea, but he cocks an eyebrow at me because he’s multitalented that way. After a moment, he asks, “Something else of mine stinks?” He cups his hand over his mouth and sniffs. “My breath? I haven’t even started eating that spicy chorizo yet.”

“No—”

“It’s your attitude, you big oaf,” Lucky says before sinking a big bite on his heaping burger.

That’s when Audrey sets her plate on her lap and clears her throat to call our attention. “Logan, Rose, this is an intervention.”

“What the?—”

“Excuse—”

As if pulled by a string, I turn to exchange an incredulous glance with the catcher. I feel equally shocked at the outrageous statement I just heard, and also at the fact that he agrees with me—at least going by the expression on his face.

“It’s my fault.” The pitcher raises his hand. “I happened to overhear you two arguing in the cafeteria last night, and I told my girlfriend…”

“Who told me,” Audrey says, “And that’s before you arrived home all ragey and told us.”

Lucky’s done swallowing his mouthful and speaks. “And I had no idea until Cade called me with the plan and asked me to make sure to bring Kim—I mean, Logan.”

My face heats up enough to compete with the fire licking at the air in the middle of this awkward circle, especially when I feel the laser beams of the man on my right.

“Ragey?” he asks.

Huffing, but without looking at him, I say, “You really pissed me off, okay?” Damn it, I didn’t want him to know that last night caused such a big impression on me. I pin the girls with a look. “Did we really have to hash this out in public?”

Hope offers a sheepish grin. “We all work and travel together. And Cade and Logan are a battery so they’re basically joined at the hip these days. I figured it’d be best to clear the air.”

“I’m here for the free food,” Audrey says placidly.

“Everything would’ve worked out if you had agreed to delete the video.” Silence descends upon the circle and we all turn to Logan. He’s casually spearing a whole chorizo with a fork to eat it like that. “What?” He frowns at the attention.

The first one to react is Audrey. “Turns out that you’re all brawn and no brains, huh?”

“No, he has brains,” Lucky mutters. “He’s just being deliberately obtuse right now.”

Cade smacks Logan’s knee hard enough to cause an eye twitch. “You were supposed to apologize, you clown.”

“Apologize?” said clown asks like Cade just created a brand new word.

“You know what? Yes.” I set my plate down on the ground and twist in my chair to face him. “That’s exactly what you should do. Apologize for giving me shit about doing my job.”

Logan hastens the process of chewing a mouthful and swallows it down before shifting to also face me, putting his elbow on the armrest of my chair and leaning into my space. “Excuse me, Mena, but you could just as easily do your job by recording the shenanigans of literally anyone else on the team.”

“I thought we were all on a first name basis by now,” Lucky says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Well, excuse me right the hell back, Kim ,” I say in a saccharine tone, “but then it wouldn’t go viral and I’d be doing my job poorly , which unlike your case, could really jeopardize my livelihood.”

“Hey,” Lucky protests. “Are you saying that the rest of us are less beloved by social media?”

“Dude, this isn’t about you,” Audrey tells him and chuckles.

Kim is giving me the same look as last night, like he doesn’t know in quite what category to place me.

I realize we’ve barely interacted one-on-one until the past few weeks, and if anything he’s just getting to know me and understand the fact that I’m not the Afro Latina version of a pretty bimbo, whose life revolves around his and the other players’s.

I take advantage of his lull. “Imagine if one day you’re practicing with the team and I go over to tell you that your catching form isn’t balanced enough. Or that you’re relying too much on your brain and not enough on your pitchers. Or that maybe you should consider rubbing Megababe on your butt cheeks so you stop getting wedgies. How would you feel about that, huh?”

Someone chokes.

Kim tilts his head. “Megababe?”

“Oh, c’mon. That’s not the most important part of my speech.”

“No, I’m genuinely interested in knowing what I can do to mitigate in-uniform wedgies.”

I can’t tell whether he’s being sardonic or not. Clearing my throat, I explain, “It’s an anti thigh-chafing product that looks like a deodorant stick.”

“Ah.” Oh, no. That dangerous amusement is back on his face and it makes his eyes glint like they have their own constellation of stars. “And where exactly would I rub it?”

Lucky bursts out laughing with no self restraint. He has one of those contagious laughs and as the others start to join, and the extent of ridiculousness comes to me in waves, I crack.

And something terrible happens. Horrible. The kind of thing one can’t come back from.

Logan Kim also joins in my guffaws. It crumbles my annoyance like it’s but a soda cracker.

Damn, he has a warm laughter. I didn’t even think there was any warmth in this man.

But it starts ebbing away almost as soon as it comes. He coughs into his hand and leans away from me. That same hand travels to the top of his head, but the man bun doesn’t let him play with his hair. He ends up massaging the back of his neck.

After clearing his throat twice, he finally recants. “Okay, I get it. I’m sorry for overstepping.” He slouches on the chair, which makes the fabric of his tank top crumble awkwardly and I catch a flash of corded muscle. “It’s just that I don’t enjoy having the attention on me.”

“What?” If anything Lucky laughs harder. “ You? The fully tatted up Asian viking?”

“Asian viking?” Kim shakes his head.

Audrey snorts. “So glad there’s no one from HR in here.”

“ Ahem .” Cade calls us to attention indiscreetly. “So, does that mean you’re back to being friends?” Then he turns to his girlfriend and asks her, “Did I do well, darlin’?”

She shakes her head slowly. “Cade, they weren’t even friends to begin with.”

“It depends…” I give the half Korean, half Swedish, all American guy a side eye. “On whether he’s going to act up the next time I have to do my job and it involves him.”

“That depends…” His eyes bore into mine, no longer amused and more like inquisitive. “On how much saxophone plays in the background.”

“No saxophone.” I stick my hand out to him. “Deal?”

He dares to cast a dubious glance at my hand, like it could be hiding one of those zapping toys or something. But finally he takes it into a businesslike shake. “Deal.”

But instead of doing the same when he tries to pull away, I tighten my hold and keep him in place. “Cutesy Kpop okay?”

“Rose.” He utters my name in the same way as one would are you shitting me .

“Oh, he used her name,” Lucky whispers so loud that even the neighbors must’ve heard.

“Logan?” I return sweetly.

His lips curl into a smirk and he tugs my hand toward him, closing just tighter enough around mine that I can no longer equate this to a businesslike handshake. “I love Kpop so bring it on.”

Bring it on? Every cell in my body’s telling me to run away. Except, as I glance at the extremely entertained jerks around me, I have a feeling that I’m in trouble.