Page 29

CHAPTER 29

ROSE

“W hat are your thoughts about the newest addition to the Orlando Wild roster?” I ask Cade, angling the camera at his face. About half of the team is running drills across the green in the background.

“It’s really exciting,” he says with that Texas twang that makes the vowels sound rounder somehow. “The fact is that our team was already strong enough to pike the interest of the league’s MVP. Now having him on board makes us a powerhouse.”

My shoulders shrink, trying to contain the giddy energy that threatens to come out. Cade starts struggling with holding back a smile—I don’t know if because he’s also as pumped or if it’s because I’m contagious—and I pause the recording to let out a squeal.

“Oh my gosh, Cade!” I make a series of little jumps. “This is huge! Huge , I’m telling you!”

He laughs and removes his hat to comb his brown hair back. “It really is, I still can’t quite believe it myself.”

“Are you all done?” Lucky asks from behind me. “It’s my turn to be charming in front of the camera.”

“Admit it, you have no interest in talking about Machado. You just want to grow your own social media followers,” Cade tosses back.

“ Obviously .” Lucky snorts. “I’m two thousand away from a million on Instagram. I just need a little push.”

“Just one million?” While he steps aside, Cade blows a raspberry in open mockery. “Talk to me when you have a million and a half, son.”

“Son?” Lucky’s outrage makes me laugh. “May I remind you that you’re three years younger than me, you literal child?”

“You guys are ridiculous. Normal people like me barely have two thousand followers,” I explain amid chuckles.

“That is only because you set your profile to private after you started dating Logan.” Lucky points at me with narrowed eyes. “If you make it public you’ll easily reach half a mill in a matter of days.”

And that’s precisely why I don’t, because I’m not really Logan’s girlfriend.

If that comes to light, or when we have our official breakup, I’m going to get tons of hate from his overeager fans. It’ll make handling the team socials a pain in the bootie, and I’d rather not have to deal with all that on my own profiles.

Then again, with any luck I’ll already be set to replace our retiring team broadcaster by that point.

I clear my throat. “How do you know I set it to private?”

“Because I tried to follow you and you completely ignored me.”

His bestie pokes the wound even more by asking, “Why weren’t you following her before, then?”

“What do you want me to do? Build a time machine and go back in time to follow my teammate’s girlfriend on social media?”

“So, Lucky,” I call his attention away from the silly argument. “Give me your take for our followers. If you make it really juicy, it might earn you those two-kay followers you want. Let’s go.”

“Listen, princesa…” I can tell by the mischievous glint in his eye that he’s going to do a Lucky-thing next. Sure enough, he untucks his T-shirt and begins lifting it. “What’s really juicy here is?—”

“Are you going to keep fooling around or practice?”

We all freeze at the sinister voice approaching from behind me.

The first one to recover is Lucky, and that glint hasn’t vanished from his eyes as he turns them to me. “Oh, no. Looks like the big bad boyfriend is jealous.”

My lips curve into a wane smile. So many falsehoods in that sentence, the main one being that Logan is bad.

When he catches up, I say, “They’re not fooling around. I’m capturing interviews about the big news.”

But if he hears me, Logan pretends not to. He grabs the back of Lucky’s T-shirt with one hand, and does the same to Cade with the other one. “Let’s go, clowns.”

“But—” Lucky waves his hands toward me. “My two thousand followers!”

Logan always wears a tight, purple undershirt under his team jersey, but even through the fabric I can see how tight his arm muscles are as he hauls the two clowns—er, the other players away. I shake my head. He’s such a dad.

But in a different way from Miguel Machado. He’s a daddy.

As in, he has a daughter. I think it’s so cute how one of the considerations for Miguel to come over to the Orlando Wild was so that his daughter can be surrounded by more Spanish speakers. I’m so going to use that angle for a series about our players and their families, and what playing for the Orlando Wild means to their loved ones. In the meantime, I need more testimonials about the team’s enthusiasm for this trade.

Practice right now doesn’t include live balls, so I don’t need to be super mindful about my position on the field. I skip over to the water coolers where three other players are camping out between their sets. As I approach, though, I start making sense of a conversation that I absolutely can’t share on social media.

“—Kidding me, right?” One of them grunts. “Like I know that he’s supposed to be one of us now and all that jazz, but I can’t brainwash myself that quickly.”

“Totally, man. We were literally up against him for the season opener. It’s just weird.”

“And besides that, look at him.” All three do. Even I turn. I don’t see anything special other than Miguel Machado wearing an Orlando Wild uniform and running drills along with Mike Brown, our third base. “What a stinking show off.”

Grunts and affirmations follow.

I pretend like I’m fiddling with my camera, waiting for them to rejoin the drills. My lower lip presses upward.

Call me naive, but it hadn’t occurred to me that anyone on the team would feel this way. Most of them have shown genuine excitement over what this could mean for the season, and a hundred percent have manifested clear shock that this is even happening.

But of course there will be guys who are jealous. The skills gap will become that much more obvious for some of them, even though it’s not like Logan and company were chump change before.

“Hmm…” I tap my chin. What can be done so that those three accept Miguel?

A figure breaks out from the drills, getting my attention.

Crap. I’m developing a Logan radar now.

He walks over to the coolers while removing his hat and wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm. Right as he places his cap back on his head, I set out to review the footage on my camera once more. There’s no denying how my heart picks up speed the closer he gets, or how I can now detect the subtle piney scent that clings to his skin even from afar.

From the corner of my eye, I observe as how he grabs a bottle. It must be empty because he uncaps it and starts to fill it back up. In silence. And without acknowledging my presence.

Come to think, he’s been acting like this all day. Pretty big contrast for a guy who left a card and chocolates at my desk when I wasn’t looking.

I click back to the video I caught earlier in the locker room with Miguel, where he told me about his daughter and how happy he is to become a Wild player. I’m sure the news are already blowing up the baseball internet, and I cannot wait to contribute to it with this video.

“Do you like him or what?”

My head whips up. “What?”

Logan turns around and leans back against the table. His eyes are out on the field, but the hand holding the drink points at me. “Machado. Are you his fan or his fangirl?”

“Is there a difference?” I’m so confused right now.

“Yeah. A huge one.”

“I definitely don’t identify as a fanboy. Do you?” I tease back, grinning.

For the first time all day, Logan turns his serious, deep set eyes on me.

My breath hitches and I’m really glad for all the noise in the field. Hopefully he didn’t notice how just a glance from him made me, well, fangirl on the inside.

“Absolutely the hell not.” His vehement answer makes me grin.

“Well, neither do I.” I tip my head toward the new player at a distance. “But as a baseball fan, I think that this is the absolute best move our management has ever done. I can’t help feeling on top of the world right now.”

Logan tips his head back, opening his mouth to squirt water into it. I try not to stare at the trickle that runs down his chin to his neck, over his Adam’s apple. And I fail miserably.

“Hey, Logan…” I catch myself right in time before asking him how dare he be so freaking hot all the time. After shaking my head and readjusting my brain, I tackle a different topic. “I heard some of the guys talking smack about Miguel?—”

“Miguel?” He looks at me.

“Yeah, you know? Machado.” I wave a hand. “Turns out that not everyone is as thrilled to have him on board as I am.”

“You don’t say,” he mumbles.

“Wait.” I frown. “Don’t tell me you’re also one of the jealous haters?”

The long pause that ensues is unnatural. His voice comes out way too measured when he says, “No, I am not.”

I groan and roll my eyes. “Logan! You’re the unofficial captain of the team. You’re supposed to set a good example for the rest.”

“I said I’m not.”

“And I’m a legitimate princess of a far flung kingdom.” I open my eyes wide.

Logan shrugs one powerful shoulder. “What do I have to be jealous about?”

“Exactly. Nothing .” I slice the air with my hand. “It’s true that you don’t average as many homeruns as Miguel”—Here his eyes narrow—“But you’re the most valuable catcher. Your strategic approach to the game is the envy of every other team. And that big brain of yours has to know that this is a—wait a damn moment.”

“What?” He turns to stone, other than his brow that furrows a little.

I check our surroundings and lean closer to whisper, covering my mouth from onlookers. “Are you annoyed because you’re trading away and now the Wild might be stronger than your new team?”

“No.” Logan turns to drink some more water. With the bottle obscuring his mouth, he mumbles, “I may not move at all now.”

This time I don’t bother to hide the way I gasp.

Logan turns back to me, his eyes roaming all over my face. “Does that make you fangirl?”

“Are you kidding me?” I grab his arm—but that feels like too much contact for two virtual strangers, so I drop it. I wish I could wrap my arms around him instead, though, and all I can do is cover my grin with my hands. “That is the best freaking news ever! Is it confirmed? Are you sure? Or are you just thinking about it? Do you?—”

“Stop,” he commands, suddenly digging his index finger under my chin and forcing my mouth to close. I do, but only because that brief touch shuts my brain down. “Breathe. I’m not sure, I’m just thinking about it in light of these news.”

Oh, please. Stay , I beg with my eyes. Stay so this farce between us can continue, so I can feel what having a good boyfriend is like for a little longer .

I don’t say any of that. Instead, what comes out of my mouth at last is “then we’ll be invincible.”

“Maybe.” Pulling away, Logan twists to return the plastic bottle to the table and picks himself up to leave.

“Wait.” I bite my lips. What I don’t want is for him to leave quite yet, and I scramble to figure out a way. Then I remember my earlier point. “About the guys talking smack, shouldn’t something be done?”

“Like what?” he asks, looking at me over his shoulder.

“I don’t know, like…” My brain is scrambled right now and I just spitball. “Maybe you should do some kind of welcome thing for Miguel? I’m sure the guys will fall in line once they see that you approve of him.” As he keeps staring at my face in silence, I ask, “Do I have something on my face?”

The corner of his lips twitches. “No, I was just thinking that you’re starting to sound like a WAG.”

I open my mouth. Close it again. End up asking, “So you’ll do it, then?”

“If you help me organize it.” With that, he takes off in a light jog, his low pony tail swinging behind him.

My eyes drift lower to his actual tail, the two perfect mounds of muscle working with every step.

“Damn it,” I grouch as I ogle him. “Stop getting ideas about this man, Rosalina. Just because he has a perfect butt and might be staying, it doesn’t mean you can do anything about it.”

But so help me, I’ll act like a WAG until the very last moment. I retreat back to my cubicle to eat my chocolates and think about how to welcome Miguel Machado into the team.