Page 49 of Wild Hit (Wild Baseball Romance #3)

AUDREY

Y ou know what’s really awkward? Having an emotional breakdown and needing your girls in the middle of the postseason. They should be down there with the boys, doing the amazing work that no one does better than Hope and Rose.

Instead, they asked for the day off to join me in the WAGs section for a little intervention.

I spent nearly the whole game avoiding it, as if voicing my thoughts is going to make them feel more real than they already are, until Hope threatened me with bodily harm.

Coming from her, that threat is more than credible.

So I took a record-breaking chug of my soda, and once the sugar rush kicked in I spilled the beans.

The result is the two of them screaming, “ Divorce? ”

Luckily, or not really, the crowd goes absolutely bananas because the weirdest thing has happened. Miguel, who would still be a fan favorite if he wasn’t a slugger, makes an error when trying to catch a fly ball on the outfield.

I jump to my feet, leaning forward like that will get me to see the expression on his face. “Shit, shit . This is my fault, isn’t it? I messed up his game. He’s gonna start a bad streak because of m?—”

“Don’t even say that!” Rose grabs me by the shoulders and sits me back down. She gets all up in my grill. “Now, start talking before I decide to help Hope beat you up.”

Our other friend harrumphs. “Thank you.”

The breath that leaves my lungs melts me down into the chair, and I hang my head. Of all the emotions that have tumbled around my belly since I brought up the D-word, shame is one of the largest.

How dare I get him involved in such a wild scheme, and then turn around and try to get out of it when it’s convenient for me?

In turn, that also confirms that it was the right move for him .

I only know how to be selfish and take, take, take.

But what have I given him other than headaches and maybe even this error?

Miguel’s mentality is so elite that this seldom happens, and as far as I’m aware, I’m the only person in his life that has disturbed his peace the past few months.

Even bruised ribs wouldn’t do this to him.

When I finally explain all of this aloud to my friends, the expressions on their faces tell me they’ve never heard anything quite as absurd. I feel it in my bones, too—there’s that shame again.

“Audrey, I’m going to say this with a lot of love.” Rose grabs my hand in between hers, and stares at me with her unfathomable eyes. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt in one thing,” Hope chimes in, setting her arm on the backs of our chairs to turn to me.

“Love makes us lose our logic often, ask me how I know. And all of this that you’re saying”—she motions at me with her free hand—“is illogic, because you’re in love with the man and his daughter, and you’re afraid that it seems too good to be true. ”

“Yes.” I frown. “I explained it very logically, though.”

She ignores me. “But… have you stopped to think that maybe it seems too good to be true because you’re just used to shitty love?”

“Or no love at all,” Rose adds.

“I mean, it’s true that I’ve been single a very long time but…”

My voice trails off because something clicks all of a sudden. Shitty love is more what I’m familiar with. My parents’s version of love was very shitty, gold leaf gilding around neglect. My brother’s love was short lived. The few guys I dated never even loved me in the first place.

I look at the two of them, in turns since they’re sitting on my sides. The only real love I’ve known so far has been from my friends. It’s why I’d do anything for them.

And then Miguel came along, and the only way I was able to recognize that there was something special about him, was because I had already experienced it with my friends.

“Hope, look,” Rose whispers, her eyes as wide as they can be.

“Oh, shit.” Hope stares at me. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this.”

My chin trembles and I sniff. After wiping the tears off my face, I grumble, “Yeah, I’m doing a lot of this crying thing lately.”

“My word, our frosty sugar is melting.” Rose smiles with zero mockery behind it. She almost looks motherly, like she’s proud of me.

Meanwhile, Hope hands me some napkins. “I’m here for not bottling things up so, can you tell us what you’re thinking while you keep crying?”

That tears a little laugh out of me. It’s hard. It takes a lot of false starts and a few more sniffles, but I manage to somewhat outline what I’ve just figured out. As result, both of them throw themselves at me and squeeze the tar out of me.

“Can’t—breathe,” I gasp out.

“Ugh, I’m so proud of you,” says Rose.

“I knew that my own meltdowns would help you some day.” Hope squeezes harder.

“Ack!”

It takes much wriggling to get them off me, and Rose is casually dabbing at her eyes as if neither of us could tell why she has the need.

“So basically, you’re selling yourself short because you’re scared of real intimacy with a man who is basically tailor made for you, so you threw big words around and now you’re sad that they worked?”

I wish I could hide from Rose cracking the code that makes me the way I am, but I can’t. Not with the two of them blocking all my exits. The game is done and the fact that the whole stadium is celebrating with all their lungs still doesn’t provide enough cover.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I admit in what sounds like a mumble, but is actually a whole scream.

Many WAGs start making for the exits. Even though this is a private section, there are enough relatives of the players that it makes the process slow. I stay firmly in my chair by virtue of Rose and Hope doing the same.

“What’s the plan now?” the latter asks when the noise has quieted down a couple of notches. “Like, do you really wanna proceed with this divorce or not?”

“How can I not?” I massage my temples, ignoring the WAGs making their way out. “Let’s say that I grow an extra pair of ovaries and I go tell him that I have feelings for him I’d like to explore. How would that even work when we’re married under a farce?”

“Very easy. Men are simple creatures.” Rose shrugs. “Mine is obsessed with the shape of my bottom. Leggings are enough to lower his defenses.”

Hope snorts a little. “And mine is fixated with my thighs. It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing, he’s drooling about them regardless.”

I ponder for a moment. “I don’t know if there’s a part of me that Miguel’s into.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“What?” I ask, completely left out of their conversation.

“Those.”

“ That .”

The two of them point at my chest. I look down at it, currently encased by an Orlando Wild jersey with the number 3 at the back. I’m still channeling my best wife impression until the last second so Miguel doesn’t feel embarrassed.

“No, trust me. He never looks at them.”

“Just because the guy is respectful doesn’t mean that he’s not dreaming inside of that testosterone riddled brain of his,” Rose says with a shake of her head, curls bouncing all over.

“I mean, he didn’t make a whole kid by himself.” Hope gifts me with a deadpan stare. “Are you sure he’s never showed any particular interest before?”

“Oh.” The night of my dad’s cocktail party flashes in front of my eyes. Heat starts creeping up my neck, and I know I’m going to start looking like a white and pink Dalmatian soon. “There was one time…”

“Oh yeah?”

“Hmm?”

They make me smile a little. It’s like they were waiting for the tables to turn all this time.

“Please don’t tell Logan but Miguel and I made out in his Maserati.”

“You what? ”

Hope starts laughing like Santa Claus.

“It was a weird night, okay? We were both stressed out and got caught in the rain. Anyway, long story short, he was very much into my legs.”

Rose cocks an eyebrow. “Was he kissing your legs or how did this even happen?”

I clear my throat. Twice. “No, I was um… sitting on his lap.”

Gasps. Looks of outrage.

Hope starts with “I’m going to need all of the—” but can’t finish because there’s a heck of a lot of noise all of a sudden. Almost as if every WAG and family member who vacated the premises was coming back at the same time.

The three of us turn around and…

Of all things I was expecting, nowhere among them was Miguel freaking Machado in the flesh, walking down the stands in his dirty uniform and no cap on his head, hair messy, skin glowing with sweat, and eyes fully trained on me, with the whole damn team tagging along behind him.

“What’s happening?” I whisper. The girls respond different versions of I don’t know , but they sound amused where I’m confused.

We follow their journey until it stops, and that’s only when Miguel is standing in front of me. He leans forward, both hands propping him up against the backrest of the chair in the row below mine. The other boys are all over, spilling into the stands around us for reasons I don’t understand.

“W-What’s going on?” I ask, looking around.

“Audrey.” My name coming out of Miguel’s mouth never ceases to stop my brain function, and I focus on him. He’s the only interesting one in this crowd, anyway. A drop of sweat trickles down from his temple, caressing his incredible jaw, until it finds that chin I’d still love to bite.

Oh snap. He just said something and I was too busy eating him up to register it.

“Sorry, what was that?”

He swallows hard but doesn’t lose his patience. “I want a chance.”

Someone stifles a squeal.

Not me, I’m too busy letting flies into my open mouth.

“I know it’s probably very crappy of me to ask for one when I promised I was just your friend, but…” He runs a hand through his damp hair, messing it up even more. “That’s the one promise I won’t be able to keep. I want you, and not in a very friendly way.”

Turns out my jaw had the capacity to drop even more.

Miguel smiles a little, uncertain—maybe shy. He’s never been more beautiful than at this moment, not even when his shirt was splayed open before my eyes and my hands.

Pretty sure I’m self combusting now.

“So, I… I want to propose a new deal,” he says more firmly. Someone in the crowd tells him that he’s got this. But Miguel’s focus is still only on me. “Take all the space you need to think about this— us , and if we win the World Series, you’ll go out on a date with me.”

Silence.

I mean, aside from the fans that are still loitering in the stands.

“A proper date,” he continues, “Just you and I, no one else to judge, really getting to know each other and considering a future together. And if we lose?—”

“Dude, don’t even say the L-word!” one of the guys shouts.

“Shut up, let him finish,” another one says.

“—Then you decide. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. If you want to divorce the very next day, we will do that. If you want more time to think, consider it done.” There’s no wavering in him, like he’s sure this is the right course of action.

“That’s a big bet. Are you sure you want to play it?” I whisper, looking up at him as if he wasn’t the best professional baseball player of our time.

As if he wasn’t the one guy who can make all of this happen even with bruised ribs, thrown off by an annoying, insecure woman, and with the weight of the whole team on his very wide shoulders.

“Yes, I am,” he responds firmly and extends his hand toward me. “Deal?”

If my heart wasn’t trying to claw its way out of my chest, I’d suspect this is all a dream. That there’s no way this man—this wonderful, kind, and sweet man—would basically be staking his career on me.

I blink up at him. “This is absolutely wild, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s been a big hit with the whole team, though.” His grin is almost contagious, or would be if I wasn’t feeling like I’m underwater.

“So the whole team knows?” I question.

Lots of people clear their throats and make whistling noises that don’t fool me.

So this is why the whole freaking team joined in.

Not only they know what’s happened between Miguel and I, but they’re being his wingmen.

Some of them weren’t very fond of the idea of someone of Miguel’s caliber joining the team and hogging all the attention at first, but he’s won over even those haters. That’s how special he is.

I’d be a complete fool to not bet on him.

Slowly, I rise to my feet and clasp my cold hand in his big, hot one. “Deal.”

Cheers break out all around.