Page 14

CHAPTER 14

LOGAN

C hief among the things I don’t wish to do on a rest day before an away series… is leaving my house.

That is, however, what I’m forced to do tonight because Kaplan is in town, and apparently he has news.

“Spill, man,” I grouch when we’ve been sitting at this hibachi restaurant on the east side of town for what feels like hours. In reality, he’s only been perusing the menu for ten minutes, but we both know he’s going to order the same thing he eats every time. This is one of his favorite joints in town, after all, for reasons that escape me.

“Hmm, someone’s impatient—Oh, they have cocktails now.” He smiles at the menu.

Clearly I chose the wrong damn agent. I should’ve gone for someone like me—direct and efficient, respectful of other people’s times and desire not to engage in small talk.

At least Kaplan always has the decency of booking a whole table for the two of us. The last thing I want is strangers hearing about sensitive trade business, especially because I’ve already pinpointed two different groups of people who seem to know me. Or of me. I don’t know if they keep glancing my way because they’re baseball fans or if it’s because I’ve gone viral on social media.

Judging by the way a blonde two tables to the right looks at me, I take it it’s the latter. I double check to make sure that I am, in fact, wearing clothes and am not accidentally spilling some goods somewhere. With the way she stares, you’d think I’m naked.

By my calculations, I’ll have to put up with this for an hour to an hour and a half before the dinner is done. But hopefully she and her party will be done sooner.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” a waitress materializes next to me and offers us a red lipstick smile. “Do you know what you would like to order or do you need a few more minutes?” To this, she looks at me like she’s expecting something.

I’m normally quick on the uptake but it takes me a second to understand that this woman, who is about as old as my mother, has that little glint of interest in her eye, complete with the heightened cheek color and all.

So… another social media fan, I guess.

“We’re ready,” I respond firmly, before my agent can keep playing his waiting game. “He’s gonna get the chicken teriyaki grill, and I’m getting the mixed grill, no rice, extra egg, double the meat portion, please.”

Her eyebrows quirk like I just dropped a double entendre on purpose.

Unlike a lot of players—hell, men —I’ve learned the lesson of not looking for what I haven’t lost. Between my weird family and a string of bad relationships, I’m officially done. My life has zero room for more drama—I’m closed for the business of dating.

But the problem with that is that the best deterrent would be to already have a girlfriend or wife. Chicken or the egg, I guess.

“Any drinks?” she asks after a second.

“Water for me, please,” I kind of mumble, wanting to be done with this whole night already.

“And a beer for me,” Kaplan chimes in from behind me.

“Excellent, I’ll be right back with those drinks.” After a moment of drinking me in like I’m the tall glass of water, she finally goes.

I swivel on my agent. “You better tell me before dessert or else I’m gonna fry your face on that grill up there.”

Kaplan just laughed. “Logan, you’re by far my funniest client.”

Funny? I’ll show him funny.

I force myself to put away my fist because this is a family restaurant.

“Very well, I can see that the murder intent on your face is real so I won’t dally any longer. We have three offers.”

As far as I’m aware, I had no expectations about this moment. Yet it feels like suddenly the floor is tilting, like I’m the shrimp being tossed on the pan by the chef a table over.

Shouldn’t I be yippie yah yaying? This is what I wanted. Three offers is decent. One of them will be the change I need—crave, even. So why do I want to barf all over this pristine grill?

“I’m listening,” I rasp out.

“One is from?—”

“Here are your drinks,” the waitress interrupts and places the beer before before Kaplan, before rounding over to lean fairly close to me to set down my glass. Even though there’s an entire damn table next to me where she could put it. I fail to even mutter a weak thanks this time.

“Cheers.” Kaplan lifts his glass. “To a successful business transaction.”

By rote, I grab my glass and clink it with his. I’m more patient now and wait until he gets a good first sip.

“As I was saying,” he continues without prompting. “One is in New York, one in California, and one in Colorado.”

I blink fast.

The first one I zero in is New York. There are only two options and neither sounds appealing in the least. First, it’s the Eagles—the team that drafted me and my brother, where he still plays. I left in not so great terms and have no desire to go back, so I doubt it’s them.

Then there’s the New York Jets, historically a rival to the Eagles but with less accolades. Doesn’t stop the fans from punching each other in the throat in the streets, which is the least I can expect to receive for joining such an overt adversary of my former team.

Meanwhile, California has five whole options. But it means I have a fifth of a chance of playing for my father’s former team, which I have in my list of things to never do. Worse, it’d put me in the same state where my parents still live. That’s a hell freaking no.

Last, Colorado. There’s only one choice there, and I’m not keen to form a battery with Ben Williams again.

“No,” I say without further ado.

Kaplan chokes on his beer.

“Good evening,” a chef says as he reaches our table right about the same time. “How are you doing tonight?” He gets his answer as Kaplan keeps choking and I just fold my arms, doing my damn best to contain my irritation. The chef pivots. “So, I hear that it’s just going to be you two tonight? Any special occasion? Anniversary?”

The anniversary of my agent’s death, maybe.

“Business meeting,” I respond, giving great thumps to Kaplan’s back until he’s able to breathe again.

“Right on.” The chef smiles, nonplussed by the thunder on my face.

I turn it back on my agent. “None of those options are going to work.”

“But you haven’t even heard the deals.” Kaplan opens his blue eyes and they’re as round as the earth. He lowers his voice. “The Eagles are actually offering you a record sum for a catcher.”

“The Eagles?” I whisper-scream, fully offended. “Not even the Jets? What the hell, man?”

“Why is this upsetting? You loved your old team.”

“I did—until I didn’t and I freaking left.”

Kaplan straightens his expression, looks around, and covers his mouth with his hands like we’re on the mound talking in front of cameras and sharp eyed managers. “Thirty million, Logan. For a catcher. That’s huge.”

I splutter but not because of the sum. “Why in the actual shit would they want me back?”

“Uh, only because you’re the best damn catcher in the league right now?”

“If so, why did I only get offers from the wrong locations?”

“The—What?” He does a double take. “These are the three best teams in the country right now.”

“Oh, great.” I lean back on my chair, now fully annoyed because with that hint I know which California team the offer is from. “The Eagles, the Riders, and the stinking San Francisco Goldens are the very last teams I want to play for.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so before I started negotiations?” He throws his hands in the air.

“Fried rice,” the chef announces, placing a bowl in front of Kaplan.

“Thank you,” my agent and I say in unison, with equal amounts of annoyance.

“You didn’t ask,” I fire back sounding like a five-year-old.

“Fine, I will ask now. What do you have against those teams?” Kaplan scrunches up his face, also like a five-year-old.

Placing my elbows on the table, I drop my face in my hands and sigh. “Because.”

“Just because?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m your business partner, Logan. I’m gonna need more than just ‘cause.”

“Here’s why…” I lift my head and pin him with a glare. “I refuse to go back.”

“Let’s say that rules out the Eagles, but not the other two.”

“Oh, but it does.” I frown even more. “I refuse to form a battery with that prick Williams again, and I refuse—categorically, I might add—to go back to my hometown.”

Kaplan doesn’t know the full extent of my family drama, only that I’m not in the best terms with any of them. But I can see him put two and two in real time. “Ah.”

“Yeah, ah .”

“Sautéed vegetables.” The chef puts a hefty bowl of broccoli, carrots, onions, mushrooms, baby corn, and water chestnut in front of me. As annoyed as I’ve been, I hadn’t noticed my hunger until this moment. My stomach gives out a great roar and I grab my chopsticks to start working on the bowl.

Kaplan also turns to his rice. “This will set back the timeline. We may not make it in time for the deadline.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“I thought the idea was to trade ASAP?”

“Not to the wrong, teams, no.”

He grunts. I grunt right back. We tuck into our food with surprising gusto for a business meeting that has gone so sour.

“Any other teams you absolutely cannot consider?” he asks after a while.

“No, literally those three.”

It’s not a lie. It’s kind of funny how those teams are even interested. The Riders and Goldens don’t really surprise me, but the Eagles? I distinctly remember the manager spitting on the ground after I left the premises for the last time. It almost smells like Lewis is the one trying to pull strings behind the scenes. He’d love nothing more than to have me in his hands again, especially now that I could make him the best damn pitcher in the league.

I’d rather eat my sweaty jockstrap. Or even keep playing with Cade Starr.

At least the food is decent, but it doesn’t compensate for how much of a waste this meeting has been. I make sure to tip both the flirty waitress and the chef exceedingly for putting up with my shit all night.

Unfortunately, the other flirty woman and her party are leaving the restaurant at the same time as Kaplan and I.

“Are you Logan Kim, by any chance?”

Ah, shit. Here we go.

I turn. The blonde woman is with a group of friends, men and women. They look like they’re in college or barely out of it.

“Yes, hi,” I say in as neutral a tone as I can manage under the circumstances.

“I’m such a huge fan. Do you mind please giving me your autograph on this napkin?”

I reassess. Yes, she definitely does look up at me like I’m candy. But she’s keeping a safe distance and her friends aren’t hounding me either. This seems like a normal interaction.

I relax a little and even attempt a smile. “Of course.”

She offers a clean napkin sporting the logo of the restaurant, and a regular Bic that has seen better days. I use my agent’s back as a table and when I’m done, return everything to her.

“Thank you!”

“No, thank you for your support,” I manage to say with the limited PR training after I once pissed off Audrey Winters from the Orlando Wild PR team.

“And also, congratulations on your new girlfriend.” The fan giggles while stuffing the signed napkin in her purse. With one last appraising glance, she says, “She’s a lucky gal.”

Some of her friends laugh too but they pull her away and veer in a different direction.

I’m still mulling about what she even was talking about as Kaplan and I head toward our vehicles. Maybe this girl confused me for someone else in the end.

“Girlfriend, huh?” Kaplan clicks his tongue. “Is this why you’re actually less amenable to a trade all of a sudden?”

“Dude.” I shake my head. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“What?” Kaplan stops, forcing me to do the same. “But even I thought you did, especially after your team called me about it.”

“They did what?” I tilt my face to the side, presenting my ear for better listening.

“They called me to talk about some publicity stunt with your girlfriend but I turned them away.” He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his slacks and cocks an eyebrow. “Should I have accepted?”

After buffering for a good moment, I ask, “First of all, who is my alleged girlfriend? And second, what stunt?” I raise my hand. “Actually, third. When did this happen?”

“The social media girl? The one you’ve gone viral with. Everyone and their mom is shipping you both, apparently including the team. They want you to do some kind of stunt with her—I don’t know. I said no because your time here is limited and this kind of thing won’t increase your value.”

When he adds nothing further, I grit my teeth and ask, “When?”

“Just earlier today, I didn’t think this was important.” He waves his hand.

“Kaplan.”

“Logan?”

“I hope you have a safe trip back. Good night,” I mutter, turning on my heels and heading for my bike waiting under a tree.

“So, was it important?” he asks in the distance, vague amusement in his voice.

Over my shoulder I say, “I’ll be the one who decides that.” I put on my helmet and hop on my bike, peeling out of the parking lot to go home and do what I do best.

Overthink the shit out of every word that was said tonight.