Page 5

CHAPTER 5

ROSE

I s it bad if what I’m most excited for about this trip is the food?

My favorite restaurant in Mills Avenue back home is a taqueria that people say sells the most legit Mexican tacos in all Orlando. I can only assume that tacos here will hit it out of the park.

But first, I have work to do around the literal park where balls are hit out of.

My personal preference is to use the Canon that belongs to the team for the wide angles and the faraway takes, but my phone for the up close and personal interviews. The former looks more professional that way, and the latter more genuine to a social media audience that is used to consuming content that comes from other phones on their own phones.

It’s why I hang out with two cameras at the same time. One is strapped to my neck and I hold it on my right hand. The other one is strapped to my left hand, ready to rock and roll the second the next unsuspecting player joins me for a water break.

For I am standing right next to the coolers in the shade, while the players warm up across the field.

That’s the privilege I get from being part of the team’s organization. Meanwhile, the press has no choice but to camp out at their designated area in the stands, which happens to be somewhere behind me where they can stare me down in jealousy.

We have maybe half an hour left before switching back to the gym so that the Miami Hurricanes can use the field, and then a meal before the game. I’m so excited about that. I don’t care if it’s healthy food for athletes. I have no doubt it’ll be delicious.

“Okay, that’s enough,” a voice breaks through my taco fantasies.

I search for the source and find Logan Kim rising to his feet and lifting his mask. “No more pitching until the game.”

From a distance, Cade Starr groans. “But I was just getting the hang of it.”

“Finish getting it during the game,” Logan fires back with clear annoyance. “Let’s get you hydrated, c’mon.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“I’m too young to be your mother, Starr.”

“You’re also too hairy.” The latter laughs.

I gasp a little. Crap, where do I go?

But I’m too far from the dugout to make a retreat appear natural. I’m definitely not hiding under the table. And the rest of the players are strewn across the field—some running, some stretching, some throwing and catching—and I can’t just sidle up to them without interfering.

I resign myself to staying in the path of Logan Kim. As they approach, still having their intellectual conversation, both guys note my presence and give different reactions to it. The catcher—nothing. The pitcher—a grin.

“If it isn’t my favorite social media professional,” Cade says, stopping at the table to grab a bottle of water and squirt it in his mouth.

“If it isn’t my favorite starting pitcher in franchise history,” I return with amusement. After framing him in my phone camera, I ask, “What is it like to be starting pitcher for tonight’s game?”

From the corner of my eye, I catch Logan stop by the table smack between Cade and I, but staying out of reach from the camera. It also means that we’re not letting him grab a bottle.

Maybe Cade notices this because he gives a very brief answer. “As a Texan, it truly is an honor to visit the land of actual tacos not butchered by Texans. Oh, and I’m excited about the game too.”

I burst out laughing. What talent he has of charmingly insulting everyone, from himself, to his home state, and to the opponent.

I shift my phone toward Logan as he finally grabs a water bottle. Unlike Cade, though, he squeezes it on his face, spraying water to refresh himself rather than quench his thirst.

And I got it on camera, which is great because this is the definition of a thirst trap.

Droplets trickle down his cheeks and nose even as he finally drinks water, oblivious or uncaring that I’m recording all the action for the thirsty people of the internet.

Before this gets weirder, I ask, “And what’s your take, Logan?”

Anyone who finds themselves the recipient to the attention of an extremely good looking guy would feel a little something, right? Butterflies in the belly. A little more heat in the face. Some lack of air in the lungs.

Not me.

His eyes turn to me even as he’s still drinking water, and all I want to do is run and hide. It’s the only real course of action, because it’s not like I can turn back time and undo the fight with my ex. It’s all I think about when I’m near Logan Kim, and I have no doubt that scene comes to his mind when he looks at me now. Freaking Ben and his?—

“Watch out!”

I do. It’s what you’re supposed to when you’re in a ballpark.

The warning comes from nearby enough to lend it urgency. And sure enough, a round projectile flies at me at Mach speed.

All I can do is yelp and shrink. I don’t know if it’s terror—like maybe my personal reflex is freezing. But my eyes stay open, waiting for the moment of impact.

That’s not what happens, though.

I’m pretty sure what happens is a miracle.

Logan Kim goes from staring at me, to dropping his water bottle wherever it lands. He pivots blindly and reacts like lightning. It’s like his hand has a built-in magnet for baseballs. He reaches out and the ball hits his palm with violence—maybe an inch from my face. I yell some gibberish, almost dropping my phone from the shock.

And then there’s quiet.

“Mena,” the catcher says, dropping the ball and rushing to me. Next thing, his hands cinch my arms and I realize it’s to keep me upright when I was about to crumble. My wide eyes focus on his face—on something I’ve never seen on it. Fear. “Are you okay?” he breathes out the question like it took a great effort to make it.

“I—I—” I fumble with my phone in my hands and nod. And keep nodding. “Yes, I—Thank you. Fine. I am. I’m fine.”

His eyebrows twitch and his gaze turns darker as he runs it up and down my body. That’s when I become aware that all of it is shaking.

My helpful brain supplies images of what could’ve happened if he hadn’t been two steps from me. I could’ve died. No, I would have died. There would’ve been no more tacos for me—ever. Audrey and Hope would’ve had to get a new roommate. I’d have joined my dad and left Mom all alone.

Oh no. Oh shit. I can feel heat traveling up my chest, throat, and into my eyes.

“You don’t look fine,” Logan murmurs, not releasing me at all.

Steps approach. “Is everyone okay?” one of the players asks. “Rivera batted that one with a bit more strength than necessary. We didn’t think it’d go that far but…”

A muscle jumps in Logan’s jaw and he tears his eyes away from me. “I will murder him.”

“How about instead we take the princess here back to the clubhouse?” Cade asks with something weird in his voice that I can’t discern.

“Fine,” Logan rasps out. Then he nods at me. “You’re coming with.”

Distantly, as if the real Rosalina was locked away in a room, I feel a vestige of annoyance at the command. But then he shifts his hold on me, bringing an arm around my shoulders, his other hand still holding my arm just below the point where my sleeve cuts off, his calloused and hot hand wrapped around my clammy skin.

Cade falls in step on my other sound, whistling. “You’re lucky that you had this grouch around to save you. I can play catch as well as the next pro, but that was next level.”

“Lucky?” I echo numbly.

“I will murder him,” Logan repeats in a sinister tone of voice as, coincidentally, Lucky Rivera comes running at shocking speed.

“?Mala mía!” he shouts still from a distance. “Ay bendito, casi te mato.”

Something about this is so ridiculous, it makes a hiccup bubble in my throat.

And it turns into laughter.

Both Logan and Cade glance at me.

“Did you let her get hit?” Cade whispers at the catcher.

“Of course not,” Logan grouches.

“Oh. How’s your hand by the way?”

“Fine.”

I stop laughing abruptly and gasp. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

But Logan Kim doesn’t respond, because that’s when Lucky Rivera finally reaches us and he’s not even winded by the wild sprint. “Rose, please tell me you’re okay and that these two are carting you off out of an abundance of caution and not because I really hurt you or?—”

“I’m okay, Lucky.” I offer a watery smile. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”

Logan truly lacks any filter, because he says to Lucky, “Wait until I drop her off at the clubhouse, then I’m coming for your ass.”

“No murder on my behalf, please,” I say, which unfortunately makes the catcher frown down at me, and I notice how his lips curve downward when he does so. They’re too full to be considered cute, and yet that’s how the gesture lands.

“Fine,” he agrees.

We’re now stepping down into the dugout toward the clubhouse tunnel and Cade asks, “Which hand did you use?”

“What?” Lucky asks. “I bat right but what does that?—”

“Not you.” Cade jerks his head toward Logan. “Him. Did you catch with your throwing or your catching hand?”

“I’m fine,” Logan repeats in a deadpan.

I become aware of the brush of his chest pads against my elbow, the overwhelming heat radiating off him as he navigates us into the tunnel. It almost makes me feel cold when he finally releases me to take a seat at a plush leather chair in the clubhouse.

Finally, he brings up both hands for Cade’s inspection, palms facing up and opening and closing his fingers. “See? Fine.”

I think Cade knew which hand Logan used for the catch all along, because he latches onto Logan’s right hand and presses his thumb into the palm hard enough that Logan frowns. “Throwing hand, then? Interesting.”

Logan tries to snatch his hand free but it’s not like Cade’s a weakling.

“Hey, Lucky. Wanna know how you can fix the snafu you created?” he asks his friend.

Lucky salutes like a soldier. “How?”

“Find my girl, the love of my life, and ask her to ice this man’s hand, the bane of my existence.”

At last, Logan tugs himself free. “I don’t need icing, especially not before a game.”

“Hmm, maybe I should tell Beau that you might’ve hurt your hand instead?” Cade rubs his chin in an exaggerated pensive way.

Logan balls up said hand’s fist. “Or how about I show you how healthy my hand is?”

“If I may…” I raise one of my own shaky hands. Of course, Logan notices right away so I lower the appendage and press it between my thigh and the seat. “I’m with Cade. You need to get your hand looked at.”

“I’m—”

“Fine, yes,” I finish for him. “You keep saying that. But Lucky and I would feel too guilty if it turns out that you’re not okay, especially if it becomes obvious in the middle of the game.” I lean forward and offer my best puppy eyes to none other than Logan Kim. “Please.”

Both Lucky and Cade turn to the stoic man.

Logan’s eye twitches and I’m almost sure that he’s going to tell me to screw off, until finally he breaks. “Starr, let’s go find your woman.”

“That’s a good boy.” Cade drops a hand on Logan’s shoulder, who shrugs it off right away.

Lucky gives me one last look—serious, for a change—inspecting me for any damage. But I’m unscathed except for my nerves, so he finally follows his teammates back out to the field and I’m left alone.

Then I melt on the chair.

My heart is still hammering against my ribcage from the fright, and as my hands drop on my lap, my phone lays face up and I realize that I’m still recording. I scramble to stop it.

“Wait a second,” I mumble with a shaky voice. “How far back does it go?”

I tap at my phone to find the last video. It starts as Logan and Cade jog over to the water coolers and I watch transfixed as it morphs from just another cute video, to my almost death.

The way Logan moved is even more shocking when seen on camera—because other than the random watch out , there was no other warning of where the ball was coming from. It’s like the dude had eyes in the back of his head and knew exactly where the ball would land. Impossible. But I guess it’s why he’s routinely labeled the best catcher in the league right now.

And he just saved my life.

The camera shakes wildly during the microseconds between him reacting, catching the ball, and dropping it to make sure I’m okay. I jump in my skin as the camera inverts all of a sudden and captures my shellshocked expression.

A groan tears out of my throat. Why did I have to sound drunk instead of straight up saying I was okay? Ugh.

I make duplicates of the video to splice Cade’s little interview and Logan’s thirst trap out of it. There’s no way I’m sending the whole thing to my boss, when what I need to do is bury this moment in the back of my mind, along with every other embarrassing thing I’ve ever done in my life. Right up there with dating Ben Williams in secret, and getting pantsed in the seventh grade.