Page 23 of Wild Hit (Wild Baseball Romance #3)

MIGUEL

M y agent is the very best, no discussion. Not only she has helped me negotiate my way into a career I can be proud of, but she also has the patience of a saint. When I called her with the news that I’m getting married to help a friend, an average manager would’ve flipped out.

Think about your career! This is going to tank your image. Your fans will hate you and sponsors will leave you when the truth comes out.

Also, have you lost your ever loving mind?

Those are all the things I would’ve gotten from anyone but Amelia Herrera—but she’s my cousin and she’s seen my entire trajectory from pee wee little shit, to hormonal teenager with an eye toward the big leagues, to single dad major leaguer, to All-Star and top jersey seller of any team I’m in.

She knows that I’m as stubborn as I am anxious, extremely awkward deep down, and that I never give up no matter what—even despite myself.

“I’ll help you,” was the first thing she said. “If only so that I can control how bad the fall is gonna be.”

And that’s my cousin. She will aid and abet without judgement, but she’ll also make sure I don’t destroy myself.

She’s the one I’m texting as a limousine takes the group from the hotel to a night club. My thumbs fly across the screen in a hurry to get a full thought out.

Me

I haven’t got confirmation yet about the flower arrangements

The bride needs a bouquet to really be a bride

The bridesmaids do too

And it would be nice if we have little flowers for our lapels too

We won’t look like this is a hasty wedding that way

I did get confirmation from the photographer but I changed my mind and now want the VIP package

Can you also check with him? Pretty please?

“Hey dude, who you texting?” I feel Lucky shift closer to peep at my screen, and I angle it away from him. “And also, why is it a secret?”

“Have you ever heard of nunya?” I offer casually as I finish firing off one last text where I tell Amelia that I’ll owe her big, big time.

“How sassy. This must be important then.” He lowers his voice, which isn’t really necessary with reggaeton playing at full blast, and the others chatting up a storm. “Is it your real girlfriend? Secret wife?”

“No, and no,” I say, because I know him enough by now to realize he will never let go until he gets a satisfying enough answer. “The only girl I’m really attached to is my daughter.”

Then a text comes in from my cousin.

Super Agent

Last I checked with the florist they were turning over every stone to find you green flowers, you freak. But I’ll check in again and I’ll call the photographer too

I need you to get me the phone number of your friend who’s gonna post this on SM. Need to approve what she posts before she does

What if she snaps a picture of you picking your nose and with a wedgie and blasts that to the internet??

Me

I don’t pick my nose in public

Super Agent

But you do get wedgies

You might forget sometimes, but you’re only human

I know that… very well. My eyes lift to the back of the limo, where Audrey sits along with her roommates.

She looks surprisingly calm, for someone who was freaking out this morning.

Maybe they’re making wise use of liquid courage, or she’s come to terms with our ridiculous plan.

And here I am, trying to make this wedding decent so that she doesn’t spiral, because I care about what happens to her more than I’m ready to admit.

I run through the checklist in my mind again.

Marriage license, check—filed online yesterday and secured today.

Chapel check—the late notice caused me to do some bargaining with money involved, but it was worth it.

Florist and photographer almost finalized.

Audrey doesn’t want to wear a traditional white dress, so no need to rent one.

We’ll go clubbing before the wedding, rather than doing a reception afterward, so that also took care of itself.

Limo, check—we won’t be without transportation all night.

Dinner, already done—no one’s starving under my watch. And hotel room, check.

My face twitches and I focus back down on the texts with my cousin.

Players and staff stay together in the same hotel for every away series, and for this one we’re two guys per room.

I couldn’t kick out my roomie—Lucky, funny enough—because then he’d have to book his own thing and that’s just not fair. So I had to get a different room.

Here’s the kicker, Audrey doesn’t know about that yet. I’m not sure if she’s planning to squeeze in with Rose and Hope, or if she already got a room for herself. But I got her an even better one so that she can decompress and bask in her newfound freedom after the ceremony.

Super Agent

Are you sure you want to do this?

My thumbs hover in the air, and I really reflect on the gravity of the question.

This is gonna change things. Like, we’re not gonna have a married life or anything, but we’ll be more involved.

Part of my flabbers are gasted that I’m doing this.

But another part is actually looking forward to it, not even worried about the mess, a future fallout, or what anyone will say.

I’ve even been practicing how to break the news to Charlie Cox after this is done, and it feels just the same as stepping up to the plate does.

Indeed, I’ve gone and lost my mind.

Me

Yeap

Amelia doesn’t counter that. I bet she’s even talking with the florist now. I really want those green carnations in Audrey’s bouquet, they’ll make her happy.

When I finally put my phone away, I find her attention on me across the limo. Audrey studies me like she has never seen someone stranger, with two whole heads and five eyes, green skin and steam coming out of his mouth.

That’s all I glean from her because she turns back to the conversation with her besties, which is great because now I can linger.

She’s always gorgeous, but right now she looks like she could fool anyone into thinking that she’s in love.

Rosy cheeks and lips, flowing hair framing her face, a girly dress that really accentuates her, um, girl attributes, and legs for miles.

“Wipe your drool, man,” Lucky suggests.

I close my mouth and do everything I can to not raise my hand and confirm whether said drool is really out.

I’m an adult.

But not around this woman. I become a fumbling teenager.

I wipe my face just in case.

“You didn’t see that,” I tell Lucky like it’s a command.

There’s no doubt that he’s laughing on the inside as he says, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I point at him, then at my eyes, and run my thumb in the air across my neck. He returns a thumb up.

The limo slows down and this time it’s not due to traffic.

A moment later the driver opens the door to usher everybody out to our next destination.

This one is actually courtesy of Lucky, who found what apparently is the best Latin night club of Las Vegas for pregaming.

I hang out at the back of the group, waiting to make sure that no one’s getting left behind.

That’s when, for the first time all night, the bride acknowledges my existence up close. We stare at each other in a full display of awkwardness.

“Hi,” I manage to rasp out.

“Hey.” Her eyes roam all over my face, like searching for something. I give her nothing . “Aren’t you escorting me?”

The nothing is due to the fact that every braincell has fled from my skull, obviously. “Huh?”

“I mean…” She clears her throat and pushes her hair behind her ears. “This is when the show begins, you know? Once we step outside of this vehicle it’s no longer just our friends and us.”

“Mierda. You’re right. We should’ve talked about this before. I don’t know how you want me to act.” My eyes widen to a painful degree. Somewhere between all the logistics I should’ve figured out that there was gonna be a certain amount of PDA involved in this deal.

Audrey takes a deep breath and offers her hand. “Just follow my lead.”

Finally my wits boomerang back to me and I offer my arm instead. “I’ll do you one better, I’m going to act like the perfect gentleman.”

Lifting her chin almost in defiance, she slides her hand into the crook of my arm and I nearly see stars.

Surely it’s because I haven’t been breathing properly and not because this is the best feeling in the world, right?

I send a command to the rest of my body to be on my best damn behavior tonight, or else.

Or else I’m gonna have to find a quiet place to do some burpees until I drop.

We step off the limousine and I thank the driver. He’s left us right at the club’s door and is gonna wait around for about two hours until we have to head to the chapel. I’ll tip him well enough to compensate for all this hassle and more.

“Welcome, Mr. Machado. Our hostess will show you to your VIP area,” the bouncer says as we walk up to him, skipping the line.

“Thank you,” I repeat, a little lightheaded without any alcohol in my system.

An explosion of sounds greets us the moment we walk in. It takes me a moment to readjust my brain and figure out that what’s making the walls vibrate and hypes the people up is Cuban salsa. We follow behind our friends, herded by a hostess that takes us through hidden corridors.

I check in on my partner in crime. Audrey examines the dancing crowd until the corridor ensconces us away from the people who are actually here for a good time. She turns to me and says, “I don’t know how to dance.”

Right away, the image of her in my arms swaying to a waltz comes to my mind.

“You do,” I counter. “You were really good at your dad’s benefit.”

“Trust me, I’m not. That was all you.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to teach you,” I say with a shrug. This is what finally makes her lose her composure. Her jaw slackens and she trips on her own feet. Fortunately, I keep her standing.

“Okay, this is cool,” the Cowboy says in appreciation as he takes in the private VIP section. “Good job, Lucky.”