Page 20

Story: Wild Catch

CHAPTER 20

LOGAN

N ot to be dramatic but if holding Rose’s hand felt weird, it’s even weirder when I let go. It’s kind of like when I’ve spent the whole day wearing my mitt and I take it off at the end of the day, and my hand feels too cool and too light.

I flex my hand a few times, trying to get used to normal again.

Sometimes I’m able to engage in conversation with my teammates, or even joke around. But today hasn’t been the best day. The elevator in my building malfunctioned this morning while I was riding it. Once I was let out, I abandoned my plan of going grocery shopping and returned right home to put a cart online instead. Even though I was trapped for maybe five minutes in that metal box, it’s put me on edge since.

The original plan was that I was going to pick Rose up in my convertible Gran Cabrio Maserati, but I’ve been so frazzled that I didn’t think it’d be safe to drive. That left me with no choice but to call the clown of a pitcher and pack myself in his pickup truck.

Mistake, since I proceeded to make a fool out of myself.

Fine . Rose looks more than fine, for shit’s sake.

Sighing, I ignore the ribbing of the guys around me, and keep an eye out for Rose. She’s in the kitchen, now separated from Hope as a different group of women took the latter to the living room.

So far Rose’s body language doesn’t scream that she needs rescue. She stands by the kitchen island, chatting with O’Brian’s girlfriend. Unfortunately, I’ve met that girl before and while she’s more normal than Brown’s wife, she’s boring. A clever person like Rose will move on quickly.

“So, you and our social media girl, huh?” The host sets a paw on my shoulder, forcing my attention back to him and the group of guys around us.

“Uh, yeah.” I run a hand through my hair, which coincidentally shakes Brown’s off me. That’s a win.

“How did that happen?” Miller asks with a side eye. “Because I can’t see anyone like Rosie giving the time of the day to a grouchy cave troll like you.”

“Hear hear,” someone else says behind me.

I mumble, “It just happened.” Over Korean BBQ and a late night bike ride, but I don’t spill those beans.

“It was the power of a wild catch,” says Cade Starr, motioning for the kids to gather round. “Listen up, kids”—I scoff at that—“It’s not about rescuing the girl so you feel powerful or anything. It’s about anticipating her needs and not letting her die from a blow to the head.”

I cover my mouth with a hand because I would hate to give him the satisfaction of seeing me smile.

As ridiculous as it sounds, he’s kind of right. Yet, what makes him think he’s wise enough to advise anyone here? These guys have had WAGs way longer than him, and just because the thing between Rose and I is a farce, it doesn’t mean I’m receptive to his yapping either.

Thankfully, one of the guys intervenes—except it’s not to change the topic. “So does that mean that if anyone else had caught that ball, Rose would’ve fallen for him?”

“She hasn’t—” I stop myself. There’s no way I can explain this.

But the vultures lean forward.

“Well, well, well . Looks like our charismatic catcher hasn’t been able to fully charm the girl.”

“Do you need some advice?”

“You kiss like this.” One of the stooges makes beaks with his hands and touches them together. “Just make sure to get her permission first.”

“That’s right, my girlfriend says that there’s nothing sexier than consent.”

“Maybe also rearrange your whole face,” Starr says with a grin. “She’ll find you more attractive when you don’t look like you want to commit murder.”

“I only want to murder you ,” I offer acidly.

Funny enough, the person in this whole house who will test my patience the least is my alleged date. I glance back at her and find her in conversation with Brown’s wife.

The depth of my visceral reaction knocks the wind out of me. Brown’s wife is a narc—short of narcissist. I’ve known that since I met her. She’s all about being the perfect hostess, the center of attention, the perfect wife.

Meanwhile, she makes her husband anguish about pleasing her.

I only know that part because I once overheard a phone conversation by accident, and Brown swore me to secrecy.

That’s never been any of my business. This is. Rose isn’t my anything, but I have to hang out around her now. The last thing I need is for someone around me to catch the attention of the very type of people I want to keep out of my life.

The guys are still talking when I march back inside. A couple of women in the living room stare at me like they’ve never seen me before, but I keep going.

“—Would totally love to invite you and Logan for—” Brown’s wife is saying.

No stinking way.

Amber Brown stops mid sentence when I appear next to Rose and insert my finger in the belt loop of her jeans, tugging her toward me. “Can I borrow Rose?”

The Mrs. Brown lowers her eyes to the point of contact between my alleged girlfriend and I, and plasters on a brilliant smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s almost like looking right at my dearest mother. “Of course, we can continue later.”

The hell you will .

Rose flashes me a look of confusion, but she tags along as I keep pulling her belt loop into the hallway. I check the first door—a storage closet. Then a bathroom. Finally a bedroom. I usher her inside and close the door behind us, locking it. I don’t care if people talk, but I won’t have anyone barge in for this.

“What the?—”

I move away from the door and lean against the adjacent wall, folding my arms. “No, we’re not going to wherever the hell Amber Brown was saying.”

“But…” Her eyebrows do a whole lot of working for a moment. “She’s clearly the head honcho of the WAGs. I need to play nice with her.”

“You don’t need to do shit.” I huff and it deflates my chest. “First of all, you won’t have to hang out with them long, remember?”

Once again, she mirrors the exact way I stand, except there’s no wall behind her to lean on. “I want to be polite.”

“That is the worst thing you can be to a narc.”

“A what?”

“A narcissist.” I run a hand through my hair. “I’m saying this for your own sake, Rosalina. Steer clear of people with dead eyes and fake smiles.” This comes out a lot harsher than I wish, and I’m sure it’ll raise her hackles.

But it doesn’t.

Her shoulders droop slightly and she tilts her head, studying me. “You’re legitimately worried about this.”

“Yes,” I admit through gritted teeth.

“Fine,” she says with a touch of something. When a sardonic smile takes over her features I figure out why. It’s because of me and my inability to compliment her. “I’ll figure something out to evade her. Happy?”

“No.” My whole body is tense, and I try to alleviate that by running a hand down my face, then my hair, massaging my scalp. “I owe you an apology.”

Still with the same half annoyed and half amused air, Rose asks, “For thinking I’m naive enough to not know how to deal with a mean girl?”

“What? No.” I motion with my hand as if I could turn back time. “For what I said in the truck.”

Her eyes turn up like the scene is replaying in the air and she can’t pinpoint what I mean. “Wait, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“When I said fine ,” I spit out, and in case that’s not clear enough, add, “That you looked fine.”

“Oh!” She jumps a little, unaware of what that does for her curves. I force my eyes to stay on her face, but I wouldn’t be a professional baseball catcher if I didn’t have superb spatial awareness. An awkward laugh comes out of her. “Don’t you worry about that. I was just joking around when I was fishing for that compliment. I know you don’t find me attractive.”

I freeze.

The only part of me that moves is my eyes widening as far as they can go, then blinking hard.

“Who said I don’t find you attractive?”

Now her eyebrows rise. “I mean, it’s just obvious.” I continue to look at her like she grew five heads, and color starts to rise up her throat. Motioning at herself, she says, “I don’t look like the models I’ve seen you date. I’m too… big. And loud, I guess.”

Huffing, I tear myself from the wall. She watches me with the same wariness of a lion tamer who isn’t sure if her beast is going to pounce.

Our terms don’t allow for me to touch her nilly willy, which is fine. I don’t need to. I grab the belt loop of her jeans again, my eyes taking a quick peek at how the fabric stretches and exposes the skin of her side just a notch more. Just by pulling her belt loop, I position her in front of the mirror.

I stand behind her and take a step back, stuffing my hands in my pockets. I don’t care that she can see me, I allow myself do what I haven’t all night—I let my eyes get their fill of her. From the glorious curls that shine like tendrils of honey under the light. Down to the light purple blouse thing that I know must have some type of French name, cinched tight around her chest and flaring out over her waist. To the sliver of skin revealed between the blouse and her jeans. Down to the flare of her hips and lower. My hands tighten involuntarily, and I’m glad I don’t dare to reach out. I’m afraid I’d grab handfuls of her ass if she let me.

Slowly, I travel my eyes back up, committing her shape to memory. I’m not even embarrassed when I meet her eyes again. I’m a red blooded guy and she gets my blood pumping furiously.

“I’m not very good with words or with gestures or with much of anything that isn’t catching a ball,” I say, my breath catching a curl and making it swing. “But I’m really sorry for not telling you how hot you look.” I shrug. “Not just tonight. You look hot every day.”

Her breath hitches. Color explodes in her face. “Wait, are you for real?”

“Why would I lie?” I cock an eyebrow.

“No, you’re right. You’re too… too you to lie just to make someone else feel better.”

“You didn’t have to compliment me in return.”

Her face scrunches up and she gives out one of those twinkling little laughs that I’ve never heard tossed my way. It’s a lethal combination with the blush still lighting up her cheeks. A blush that I put there.

I force myself to retreat even farther, until the back of my calves hit the end of the bed. I cough into my hand. “Maybe we should go before people start suspecting that I just couldn’t wait to have my way with you.”

She turns around to face me, hands on her hips. “Right.”

Wordlessly, I offer my arm to her. She stares at it for a second and it reminds me of the rule. I’m not supposed to do shit on my own here, so I start to lower it.

But then she links her arm with mine and tugs me the way we came, not minding that this puts us much closer than we’ve ever been while sober and on firm land. Also not minding that we stay that way the rest of the night.