Heading outside, he spots me as come out the door, and yells, “Hey, Ryon. . .” He pauses, slapping the inside of his glove. “You ready to take that sucker out for a drive today?”
“Hell yeah, I’m ready. I’ve been ready for weeks, but everyone else is afraid.” He tosses me a ball, and I roll it between my fingertips.
It feels good, it feels really fucking good. The way the stitches are sitting against the creases of my fingers, the weight of it in my palm. . . This is where I belong.
Stretching my arm, I throw a few easy pitches. I don’t want to overdo it and hurt myself, but I’m eager to throw harder. He squats down, and I give it a good throw. The ball hits the pad with a loud thwap.
“Shit, Ryon, you definitely haven’t lost anything.” He pulls the glove off and shakes his hand as if it hurts.
“Yeah, okay,” I say sarcastically. “I’m sure you’re really hurt.”
“Excuse me,” a younger player comes up cautiously. “I’m sorry, but are you Ryon Daniels?”
He can’t be more than eighteen or nineteen. He has a tuft of blond hair poking out from under his cap and a youthful, enthusiastic look on his face. The kid is tall and lean, and it almost looks like his uniform is wearing him.
“I am.” There’s a smile on my face instantly. It’s always nice to be recognized.
“Wow, I followed you through your first two years, you were incredible. I’m Steve Caulder. I started with the Tigers a few months back. Didn’t make the cut for pro, but minor leagues is a start.”
“Most of the greats came from the minors, and thanks, man, I’m hoping to get back there at some point once this shoulder heals.”
“Yeah, I sprained my wrist.” He rolls his wrist around.
“Let me see what you got.” Walking to the base, Kyle tosses me his catcher’s mitt and steps to the side. Dropping down, I hold the glove out. “Show me your curve ball.”
“Yeah? You’re serious?”
Slamming a fist into the glove, I nod. “Put it here.”
Watching his hands, he twists the ball, and I can tell instantly he isn’t gripping it right. His fingers are off the threads, and he isn’t holding it tight enough. I let him throw a few balls, then I call him over.
After he adjusts, and follows my instructions, his curve ball is nearly perfect, and his slider lands low, exactly where you want it. He’s exactly what a pitching coach wants in a rookie player: fresh, eager to learn, and willing to listen.
The kid leaves and Kyle walks up to me with another guy I’ve seen around before. “Ryon, this is Henry Vallerie. He’s a local scout for the National League.”
“Hey, nice to meet you,” I say.
“You too. I’ve gotten to see you play a few times. I wish I had been the one to discover you.” He chuckles, pointing his finger over at the young player. “You know, you have a talent for teaching. Have you ever thought about becoming a pitching coach?”
Arching my brows, I shake my head. “No, I’m itching to get back on the field. I’m a pitcher, I don’t train them.”
“Well, if you ever change your mind, give me a call. I know a few teams that could use you.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.” Holding out my hand for him to shake, I say, “All right, I’m done for today. It was nice to meet you, and Kyle, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
They both say goodbye, and I head back inside. Rubbing my shoulder, I look around, hoping to spot Gillian before I go home. I catch a glimpse of the back of her head and look beyond her to see who she’s talking to.
My heart drops instantly, and my stomach coils tight. It’s John Harbor. It’s Mr. Ladies’ Man, John Harbor, notorious for having a girlfriend in every city.
Oh, not a chance in hell.
He’s flirting with her, I can see it from where I’m standing. I’m trying not to go crazy over it, but all I can think about is Gil massaging him the same way she massages me and I’m seeing red.
Taking firm, long strides, I cross the gym in seconds and come up behind them. John spots me first and gives me head nod.
“Hey, what’s going on?” he asks.
Setting my hand on her lower back, I veer my stare. “Nothing, what about you? You going to be working with Gillian too?”
I know I’m coming off as possessive, but I don’t give a fuck. Even if Gil doesn’t want me, I refuse to let her sleep with John Harbor. Who knows where his dick has been?
“Nah, man, just talking,” he says, his eyes drifting up from where my hand is and moving up to her eyes. “I’ll see you later, Gillian. Thanks for the tip. I’ll give it a try.” John walks away, and I’m left wondering what he’s talking about.
“What tip?” I turn and ask her.
Gil rolls her eyes as her mouth folds into an angry scowl. She looks around briefly, then grabs my shirt and drags me into a room down the hall. Closing the door, she turns to face me, and I can see the rage in her eyes.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she asks in an angry whisper. “You can’t just do that.” Her tone is low, but firm.
“Me? Do you know who that was?” My voice is level with hers, only loud enough to be heard by her. “And you’re my wife. I don’t want some sleezy asshole eye fucking you.”
“As far as I knew, I’m your wife on paper only.” Folding her arms across her chest, she tilts her head. “I’m a professional woman and this is my workplace. You don’t get to dictate anything. You don’t own me.” Her lids lower as her lips purse tight. “You’re the one who created this deal. Remember?”
“I know I’m the one, don’t you think I know that? But, even if that’s true, that this is on paper only. then what about this weekend, huh? What the hell was that?”
“That was a mistake.” Her voice is shallow and cold as her shoulders square.
It feels like I got kicked in the chest by a fucking horse.
A mistake?
I don’t fucking think so.
A mistake is buying the wrong milk. A mistake is getting off at the wrong exit. A mistake is forgetting a doctor’s appointment.
But sex. . . it’s not like she accidentally fell on my cock.
She wanted it; we both wanted it.
And there’s no denying that we both loved every second of it.
9
Gillian
Who the hell does he think he is?
This is my job!
My teeth clench, grinding back and forth as I glare at him. He literally looks oblivious, like he’d doesn’t understand at all how is behavior can affect my work.
And what happened over the weekend meant nothing. I got in over my head and didn’t think it through. If I’d been in my right mind, I would have considered it more carefully and I wouldn’t have let it happen. I agreed to be his wife to help keep him here, but I didn’t actually give myself to him. Not like that.
Do you really believe that?
“A mistake? You’re really going to stand here and call it a mistake?”
Sighing, I lift my hand to my face and rub my forehead. I’m not trying to hurt his feelings. And I can’t lie to him or myself.