For the Win (Playing for Keeps Book 1) (3 page)

Cooper

I spotted Grandpa trimming the hedges when I pulled up in the driveway in my Honda civic. Hip hop music blasted from the speakers, and the silence was startling when I cut the engine. Reaching for my baseball bag, I snatched it off the passenger seat and then got out of the car.

After slamming the door shut, I held up my arm to get Grandpa’s attention. “Grandpa.”

He turned, a smile springing to his face. “Hey, son.” Lowering the clippers, he walked in my direction. At sixty-five year’s old, his hair was fully grey now. When I was younger it was dark brown to match his dark eyes. He wore a pair of plaid shorts and a blue shirt, tennis shoes on his feet. “How was practice?”

“It went well.” I nodded, tucking my thumb under the strap of my bag. Grandpa played baseball when he was younger, and it was still his favorite sport. He told me once that when he was a kid he dreamt of playing professionally. I’d never seen him play, but Grandma told me he was pretty damn good. And I loved that I could talk baseball with him so openly. He’d always been my biggest supporter. “My bullpen went well, I hit all my spots, and all my pitches were moving.”

“That’s great.” He slapped me on the back with his free hand. It stung a little. Grandpa sometimes forgot his own strength. Sure he was getting older, but he was still strong and healthy. I hoped he’d always stay that way. Losing him or grandma wasn’t even an idea I allowed myself to entertain. “I can’t wait until the game on Saturday.”

“Yeah, it should be a good one.”

“I think dinner’s about ready. Why don’t you go on inside and get cleaned up? I’ll be in in just a few minutes.” Stepping away from me, he lifted the clippers.

Whirling around, I hurried inside. Icy air spilled from the air conditioning vents, and it felt good against my hot skin. After dropping my bag by the front door, I followed the scent of food and the sound of dishes clinking together until I located Grandma in the kitchen. She was bent over a pot on the stove, stirring with a large spatula. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun on the top of her head, and an apron was wrapped around her waist.

“Hey, Grandma.” I swooped down to plant a quick kiss on her cheek, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender that always clung to her skin.

“How was your practice?” She turned to me, setting down the spatula.

“It went well.”

“That’s my boy.” She patted my cheek.

She wasn’t as interested in all the details as Grandpa was, but she supported me and attended all my games, so that’s all that mattered.

“Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes,” she said, returning her attention to the stove. Picking back up the spatula, she stirred the contents of the pot. Steam rose from it, swirling around her face.

“Great. I’ll hit the shower and be down in a few.”

Grandma nodded as I headed upstairs. I passed the wall of framed family pictures and collages on the way to my room. Before reaching it, I felt my cell phone buzzing from the back pocket of my pants. Reaching behind me, I yanked it out.

Nate: Was it painful?

I smiled, reading my friend’s text. He didn’t have to clarify what he was talking about. I had been complaining to him about the article before practice today.

Me: It wasn’t that bad.

Nate: I saw Calista walking toward the field after practice. How did that go?

My door was open, so I stepped inside my room and dropped onto my bed. Baseball players stared at me from the posters tacked all over my walls. The blinds on my large window were open, natural light streaming in and brightening the room.

Me: You know Calista.

And he did. He’d hooked up with her at the beginning of the school year.

Nate: Seriously, dude. She’s a piece of work.

My stomach balling, I dropped the phone on my bed. After flinging off my shoes, I shuffled across the hallway to the bathroom. I peeled off my sweaty baseball clothes and then discarded them on the floor. Then I tossed my hat onto the counter before turning on the shower. My blond hair was damp from sweat. As I stepped into the shower, I caught my reflection in the mirror to see that chunks of my hair stuck out all over my head. It reminded me of London’s hair when the wind kicked it up. She didn’t bother smoothing it down. The girls I dated had a hissy fit when the wind messed with their perfectly styled hair. But she was nothing like the girls I dated. She was nothing like any girl I’d ever met. And I wasn’t sure that was a good thing. Frankly, she was kind of annoying, all business-like and kind of rude.

Oh, well. It’s not like I was going to have to spend much time with her. We’d finish the interview on Saturday and that would be it. And that was fine by me. It wasn’t like I would ever voluntarily hang out with London. As I squirted some shampoo into my palm, my mind flew back to London’s introduction, causing an involuntary chuckle to rise in my throat. She acted like a reporter for a freaking national publication or something. Clearly that chick had no idea how to loosen up.

Once I finished my shower, I went back into my room to change. After throwing on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, my phone lit up on my bed. Glancing down at it, I saw that I had another text from Nate.

Nate: Can I get a ride with u to the party tomorrow night?

Me: I’m not going.

Nate: What? Last week u said u were.

Me: But now we have a game on Saturday.

Our games were typically on Monday and Wednesday afternoons, but yesterday’s game got rained out, so it was moved to Saturday.

Nate: U need to loosen up, man.

Hadn’t I thought the same thing about London just a few minutes ago?
Without responding, I left the phone on my bed and headed downstairs. Nate and I had this conversation all the time. He liked baseball, but it wasn’t his life the way it was mine. And I had no desire to get into it with him again. It’s funny, because what first drew me to Nate was his carefree attitude, his fun-loving nature. We had become friends our freshman year when we both made the baseball team. He was a hell of a third baseman, and a pretty damn good guy. But he didn’t live and breathe the game the way I did. In fact, I knew very few people who did. Most of my friends were into partying and hooking up with chicks. Not that I didn’t like that too. I did. And I went out when I could. I loosened up when I wanted to. But never on a night before a game.

The guys had a hard time understanding that, and I knew they’d harass me like crazy about my absence at the party. But when they showed up on Saturday morning with hangovers and played like shit, then I’d be the one laughing. Of course they wouldn’t care. In their minds it would all be worth it. Besides, in their minds it wasn’t a big deal since it was only fall ball. But for me, playing like shit wasn’t an option, even if it was only the fall season. No way was I going to screw up my chance of playing for a good college next year. I had to be on my game at all times.

Baseball wasn’t my hobby. It was my present, my future, my everything.

London

I forgot to set my alarm clock.

It was the light peeking in through the blinds that finally woke me. My eyes popped open, and I stared around my room. However, I couldn’t make anything out because I didn’t have on my glasses or contacts. Throwing out my arm, my fingers fumbled around on my nightstand, brushing over my Kindle and my cellphone before finally touching my glasses. Closing my fingers around them, I plucked them up and brought them to my face. After placing them over my eyes, I blinked as the room came into focus. When my gaze fell to my alarm clock, my stomach plummeted. I only had twenty minutes to get to the game. Shit. It took almost that long to ride my bike. I could ask Dad for the car, but he probably had things to do today. And I had no desire for him to drive me to the game. The last time he dropped me off at school he hollered “I love you,” at the top of his lungs as I scurried away from the car. Kids teased me for weeks, yelling, “I love you” as I passed them in the hall and making kissy faces at me. As if they didn’t have enough reasons to make fun of me. It’s not like I needed to give them any more ammunition.

I wanted to be angry with Dad, but I knew he didn’t mean to embarrass me. It was just how he was. Still, I didn’t want a repeat performance.

Hopping out of bed, I ran to my dresser. I still couldn’t believe how late I overslept. Then again, I had been up late last night. I had started a new novel, and I couldn’t put it down. In fact, I’d wanted to stay up until I finished it, but eventually I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. Peering over my shoulder, I spotted my Kindle, and longing filled me. If only I could stay home and finish my book instead of having to go to this damn game. Nerves filled me at the thought. But I didn’t have a choice. I had to turn in the article this week.

Grabbing the first outfit I could find, I snatched it out. It was a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, pretty much what I wore every day.
You might want to wear something different on Saturday.
Cooper’s words floated through my mind, and I glanced down at the outfit I clutched in my hands. Dropping the shirt, I perused my drawer until I found a short-sleeved t-shirt. It was navy blue with a silver heart on the front. I think I’d only worn it one time before.

After quickly changing, I caught my reflection in the mirror above my dresser. This dresser used to be my mom’s. It was in our garage for a long time. A few years ago, Dad was going to get rid of it, but I begged him to fix it up and let me have it. We sanded it down and repainted it. Dad said it was because it needed to be redone, but I knew the truth. He didn’t want to be reminded of her every time he came in my room. Not that I blamed him, exactly. I didn’t either. The dresser with the ornate mirror attached looked nothing like it had before. We had changed it so much that we could almost pretend it had never belonged to Mom. Yet, I knew it was hers. And that alone gave me comfort. I liked knowing that a part of her was right here with me.

My hair was tangled and messy. Several brown strands coiled around my face, springing up in the air as if I’d hair-sprayed them like that, while other chunks were literally plastered to my head. Glancing back at the clock, I groaned. I so did not have time to shower. Snatching up my brush, I ran it through my tangles. It got caught a couple of times, but I forced it through. Then I twisted it up into a bun and secured it with a hair-tie and a few bobby pins. It didn’t look great, but it was as good as it was going to get today. I wanted to put in my contacts, but I didn’t have time. Grunting in frustration, I stared at my thick-rimmed black glasses in the mirror. I’d been wearing contacts since middle school, and I rarely went anywhere in my glasses. But today I had no choice.

After brushing my teeth and slipping on a pair of tennis shoes, I snatched up my pad of paper and purse, then raced to the front door. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him and the newspaper in his hands. In this digital age, my dad still embraced the good old days, as he called them. He enjoyed the old-fashioned newspaper. Said he liked the feeling of it between his fingers, liked the smell of it and the crinkly sound it made when he turned the page.

“Where are you off to?” He lifted his head, only his eyes visible behind the pages.

“The baseball game at my school.”

Dad lowered the paper, his eyebrows jumping up. “That’s right. Should’ve reminded me. I would’ve went with you.”

Thank god I didn’t. If I thought him dropping me off was embarrassing, I can’t even imagine how mortifying it would be if he came with me. “That’s okay, but I have to get moving. I’m already late.”

“Take the car,” Dad offered.

“Are you sure? The game may be a couple of hours.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got my paper and sports on the television. I’m good here.” Dad smiled.

“Thanks.” Relief swept over me as I grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter. “I’ll come home right after.”

“Take your time.” Dad brought the large black and white pages back up, obscuring his face, the papers rustling with the movement.

Fisting the keys in my hand, I opened the front door and hurried outside. The sun was out, and it was already warm. I was glad I had decided to wear the short-sleeved shirt. Besides, it wasn’t so bad. It was still modest with its high scoop neck.

I drove as fast as I could to the school. By the time I pulled into the school parking lot I had a couple minutes to get to the game in time. Yanking my pad of paper and purse off the passenger seat, I closed the car door and locked it. Then I walked swiftly toward the baseball field. As I neared it, I was surprised with how many people were in the bleachers. I knew the football games were packed, but I didn’t expect the baseball team to draw a crowd. I wasn’t sure why, but suspected it had to do with how much the school pushed football above all our other sports.

The team was out on the field by the time I made it to the bleachers. The only seat on the home side was in the middle. As I climbed over to it, I lost my footing and stumbled a bit, almost falling in some old lady’s lap. But she was friendly as her arm came up to stop my fall.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, my face flaming.

“No problem, dear.” She peered up at me through her wide-brimmed straw hat, her coral painted lips curving into a smile that was warm and kind.

Biting my lip, I righted myself and carefully made my way to the open space. Sighing, I sat down, grateful to be seated. This was precisely why I hated this kind of thing. Sitting at home reading a novel was safe. I placed my pad of paper in my lap and lowered my purse onto the bleachers next to my thigh. Lifting my head, I caught sight of Cooper standing on the mound wearing his Tigers’ uniform and ball cap. As he stood up tall, bringing the ball in close to his chest, I found myself mesmerized. His expression was calculated, focused, the set of his jaw determined. The stands on our side were quiet as he readied himself for the pitch. When he threw the ball, I held my breath. Only when the umpire called the strike did I dare breathe. I’d never been a sports fan, but there was something about the way Cooper pitched that fascinated me.

Clapping ensued around me. The old woman who I almost fell on cupped her hand around her mouth and shouted, “All right, Coop. Great job.”

The man sitting next to her placed his hand on her back, smiling brightly. I wondered if they were related to Cooper. Grandparents, maybe.

This time when Cooper pitched the ball the batter hit it. Only he didn’t make it far because an outfielder retrieved it, threw it to first, and the runner was out. Cooper played well the remainder of the inning and pretty soon the umpire called three outs. Cooper jogged off the mound as the other Tigers players headed toward the dugout. I watched him jog, his cleats pounding on the grass. When he reached the dugout, his head bobbed up and he smiled into the bleachers. At first I thought he was smiling at me, and heat crept up into my cheeks. But then the older couple I’d wondered about waved and smiled in his direction. He grinned and nodded his head at them before returning his attention to his team. I was surprised at the obvious show of silent affection. It really messed with my image of Cooper as this cocky, selfish jock.

As I settled back in my seat, something bright pink aroused my attention. I glanced over to see Calista swaggering over to the bleachers wearing a tiny pink tank top, white shorts and tall wedges. On her head was the same ball cap she’d had on the other day. I whipped my head away from her and stared out at the field, hoping she didn’t see me. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to Calista today. I wanted to finish this damn article and go back to my normal life. One that didn’t include jocks and the popular crowd. One that was filled with the safety of the written word and the security of my imagination.