For the Win (Playing for Keeps Book 1) (4 page)

Cooper

When I pitched, the rest of the world fell away. The crowd disappeared from my vision, the noises faded from my ears. I would forget other people existed outside of the field. It was just me, the batter, the ball, and my team. Outside of that, nothing else mattered. Nothing could rock me or upset my focus.

Until today.

I threw a pitch, striking out the batter, when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Before the game had started I had seen where Grandma and Grandpa were sitting. Maybe that’s why I noticed it, because the commotion was right where they had been seated. I glanced over when a girl wearing a wrinkled shirt and jeans, her hair in a messy bun, stumbled and almost fell on my grandma. My heart leapt with worry until Grandma caught her. Relieved, I exhaled. My mind flew back to last year when Grandma took a fall on the stairs of the front porch. Fortunately, she’d only suffered minor bruising and a sprained ankle, but it could have been a lot worse. Ever since then, I’d been warning her to be cautious. However, I never thought coming to one of my baseball games would be dangerous. What the hell was wrong with that girl? Was she drunk or something?

When she glanced up, I got a good look at her face and recognized that it was London. Her cheeks were flushed, her expression one of embarrassment, and I felt a little bad for my judgmental thoughts. Clearly she hadn’t meant to fall. I remembered her dropping her pen the first time I met her. Maybe she was klutzy. Now that I knew who it was, I was sure she wasn’t drunk. Taking a deep breath, I turned back to the batter and forced myself to regain my focus.

Once I got back in the zone, I was able to stay there the remainder of the game. In fact, I was so locked in, I hadn’t even noticed that Calista had shown up until the game ended. And then I wished I’d never noticed. She stood against the fence, her fingers twisted around the chain-links, smiling at me. My stomach churned at the fact that she was wearing my hat again. Seriously. Why didn’t the chick pee on me to mark her territory? When our eyes locked, she smiled largely.

“Hey, Cooper!” Her voice was so loud I feared the school across town could hear her. As it was, most of the parents in the stands looked over, including my grandparents. They weren’t stupid. They knew I dated lots of girls, and they were kind enough to let me be.  As long as I got good grades and kept up with my practicing, they sort of let me do what I wanted. I’d yet to screw up, so it worked out.

Still, I didn’t want Calista acting like my girlfriend in front of them like this. I didn’t really bring girls home to meet them. There wasn’t any point. When I did introduce them to a girl, I wanted her to be someone special. Someone I could see myself with long term. And I knew that wouldn’t happen for years. I assumed it wouldn’t happen until I was playing professional ball. It sure as hell wouldn’t be while I was still in high school. And it sure as hell wouldn’t be Calista.

After the huddle with our coach, Nate approached me. His eyes were bloodshot, dark rings around them. He’d played pretty shitty, but somehow we’d still won the game, so I wasn’t that upset with him.

“Fun time last night, huh?” I teased.

“The best. You should’ve come.”

“And play the way you did? No thanks. I wanted to win this game.”

“Shut up,” Nate said, but a smile played on his lips. “I didn’t play that bad.”

I chuckled, not bothering to correct him.

He nodded in the direction of Calista still pressed against the fence, staring in our direction. “Looks like you haven’t talked to her yet.”

My insides twisted. “No, not yet.”

“She was at the party last night.”

Hope unfurled at his words. Perhaps she’d hooked up with another guy. That would make this so much easier. “Really?”

“Yep, and she was wearing that damn hat and telling everyone that you two were together.”

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.
I was screwed.

Nate laughed, slapping me on the back. “It’s not that bad. She’s hot, and hella eager. You could hold on to her a little longer.”

I felt sick at his words. She wasn’t a toy. She was a person. Then again, I supposed I wasn’t treating her any better. I’d been stringing her along and using her, hadn’t I? Just because I didn’t verbalize it didn’t make it any better.  “Nah, I can’t do that. Not if she thinks we’re a couple.”
Damn, how did I let this get so out of control?

Trudging away from Nate, I made my way toward Calista. As I approached, I caught site of London sitting in the bleachers, that damn pad of paper in her lap.
Shit.
I had forgotten about her. My gaze sweeping the area around me, I didn’t see Grandma or Grandpa. Most likely they’d already left. Usually they took off right after the game, and we talked later. I found myself relieved by this. That way I wouldn’t have to introduce them to Calista. It would make what I had to say a little easier.

“Hey, Coop.” Calista leaned in, her lips almost touching the fence.

I cringed at her using my nickname. It was what the guys on the team called me, not the girls I fooled around with. I didn’t know why it bothered me so much, but it did. I didn’t like the way it sounded coming out of her mouth.

My eyes lifted to the hat nestled in her curls. “Still wearing my hat, huh?”

“I never take it off,” she said. “Well, except when I sleep…and shower.” She winked.

Now I was picturing her naked, soap lathered all over her smooth flesh.
Shit.

Reaching through the fence, she drug her nail up my arm. “You played great today.”

“Oh, yeah?” Despite my best efforts, my flirty side came out to play. It was like I couldn’t even control it.

“Yeah.” She leaned in close. “I may even have a reward for you.”

My pulse quickened. Maybe Nate was right. I didn’t have to break it off with her today. The bleachers creaked as London stood up behind Calista. Once again, I’d forgotten about her.
Damn it, what was wrong with me?
As if in response to my internal question, Calista’s fingers tickled the sensitive flesh of my arm, trailing up under my sleeve. London stomped down the stairs, the hard look on her face betraying her impatience.

I cleared my throat. “Um…how about I catch up to you later, Calista? I sort of have a meeting right now.”

“Meeting?” She furrowed her brows, appearing perplexed. Not as if that was uncommon. She always seemed a little confused.

“Well, interview, actually. For the paper. Remember?”

Irritation flared in her eyes as she whirled around to where London was standing in the grass. “Oh. Right.” She scrunched up her nose in disgust. “I wondered what she was doing here.”

London spun around, her back to us.

“London, wait!” I called to her, feeling bad. I was the one who asked her to come here, after all. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Her shoulders stiffened, and she stopped walking. Before she could take off again, I flashed Calista an apologetic look. “I’ll text you later?”

“Promise?” The hopeful look in her eyes made me feel like shit. Then my gaze lowered to her boobs, barely confined in her top, and the remorse left me. I mean, she’s the one who wanted this, right? I was actually doing her a favor.

“Promise.” I smiled.

She drew her hand back, and turned around. “Don’t leave me hanging, Cooper,” she called over her shoulder.

I stared at her ass while she sashayed away.

“You sure she’s not your girlfriend?” London asked.

Shrugging, I maneuvered around the fence. “I didn’t think you came here to talk about my personal life.”

London had the decency to look ashamed. “Point taken.” By the time I reached her, she was scanning her pad of paper, her eyes moving swiftly behind her glasses. I didn’t remember her wearing glasses the last time we talked. “I have a few more questions, and then we’ll be done.”

“Sounds good.” I didn’t mean to sound so enthusiastic about it, and I saw a flicker of annoyance in London’s eyes. “Wanna sit?” The bleachers and field had pretty much cleared out. Only a few stragglers were left, and I needed to sit down. Weariness was settling on me, blanketing my muscles.

We both sat on the first bleacher and it moaned beneath us.  The sun was strong, and sweat gathered under my hat and down my spine. I noticed that London had worn a short-sleeved shirt today. She still had on those damn jeans though. I had no idea why the girl chose to torture herself with the clothes she wore. But it was none of my business, so I let it go. 

London pulled a pen out of her purse, her head still bent over her notebook. A few strands of brown hair escaped from her bun, hanging against her face. One strand curled around her thick glasses. Her cheeks were red, and I assumed it was from the heat.

“I guess first I should congratulate you on the win,” London spoke, cutting through my thoughts.

“Thanks.”

“Your number has always been eleven. Is there a reason for that?”

Her question surprised me. She’d clearly done her research. Yeah, the number had significance, but only a few people knew about it. I certainly wasn’t going to share it with the whole school. “Nope,” I lied. “Just like the number.”

“I noticed you get really in the zone when you’re out there,” she observed.

I nodded, unsure of what to say. It didn’t really seem like a question.

“There was only one time where you even seemed to notice the crowd.”

My stomach knotted. Did she see me looking when she fell?

“It was in between innings when you smiled at the older couple sitting in front of me. Are they relatives of yours?”

I raised a brow, surprised by the personal question. What did my grandparents have to do with baseball? But I decided to answer anyway. What could it hurt? “Yeah. They’re my grandparents.”

“Do they come to your games often?”

“Almost every single one.” I smiled.

“Really?”

“Yeah. My grandpa used to play ball when he was younger. They enjoy coming to the games.”

“Is he the reason you love baseball?”

I shook my head. “Um…no. Not really.” Holding my breath, I prayed she wouldn’t continue to pry.

“So it was just your parents who encouraged you to play then?”

I was grateful that she worded it that way. All I had to do was nod.

“Were they here today? I didn’t see your grandparents talking with anyone else.”

“Um…” I scratched the back of my neck, finding it difficult to draw breath. “No, they weren’t.”

“Oh.” She opened her mouth like she was going to ask another question, and panic bloomed inside of me.

“Look, it’s really hot, and I’ve been out here since early this morning. Can we try to wrap this up?”

She reeled back, looking stricken.

“Sorry,” I muttered, wishing I hadn’t been so harsh with her. But damn it, why did she have to be so nosy about my personal life? I thought we were supposed to stick to baseball. “I’m just exhausted.”

Her expression softened, and her shoulders relaxed. “That makes sense. You did work hard today.” She scribbled something on her pad of paper. “I actually think I have all I need in order to write the article.”

“Okay.” I stood, relieved to be finished.

“Thanks for letting me interview you.” She stood too. “Do you want to see a copy of the article before it goes live?”

“Nah. I trust you.” I winked, and pink rose on her cheeks. Seriously, I needed to reign in my flirting. She was the last girl I wanted to give the wrong impression too. It was bad enough that I had Calista breathing down my neck.

“All right. Then I guess I’ll see ya around.” Her eyes shifted nervously behind her glasses.

“Yeah. See ya.”

She turned to walk away, and I went in search of my bag. Knowing that the interview was over, it was like having a weight lifted off my shoulders. I hadn’t even realized how worried I was about it until now. The entire time she interviewed me it was like this ball of nerves sat right in my gut. I thought I had been irritated about it because it was a waste of time. But now I knew it was more than that. I had been worried about the questions. Concerned that she would somehow find out about my parents. And that was something I didn’t want to talk about.

London

It was late Sunday afternoon when I finished writing the article. I would’ve finished it earlier, but when I came back from the game yesterday I ended up taking a nap. Normally I didn’t sleep in the middle of the day, but maybe all the heat had gotten to me. Then last night I got engrossed in my latest novel, so I didn’t start working on the article until today. Sitting at the desk in my room, I read back over it. First, I had summarized the baseball game and described Cooper’s pitching style. Then I went into some of our interview. While reading over Cooper’s responses, I pictured his face, how it lit up whenever he talked about baseball. Surprisingly, he had almost the same expression when he talked about his grandparents. Rarely did I meet guys like that, and it confused me.

It was like Cooper had a split personality or something. On the one hand he was a doting grandson, passionate about baseball. I knew from the research I’d done that he got straight A’s in school too. That Cooper, the one that I felt drawn too while interviewing, was straight laced, the perfect student and all around good guy. But the other side of Cooper was the one I’d been familiar with all throughout high school. He was arrogant and rude, a flirt, a player, a partier. I may not have been Calista’s biggest fan, but I was still disgusted by how easily he dismissed her at both practice and the game. Clearly they had some kind of relationship by the way she was acting, and it bothered me that he brushed it off as nothing.

It was hard for me to reconcile these two sides of Cooper. That’s why I stuck to the subject of baseball in the article and didn’t allow my personal feelings to interfere. I wasn’t sure who Cooper truly was, but when he spoke of baseball I felt like he seemed authentic and real, so that’s how I portrayed him. I didn’t mention his grandparents, but I did add in what he told me about his mom saying that he was born with a baseball in his hand. I thought it added a nice touch.

My handwriting was so atrocious there were a few words I had to read repeatedly before understanding what it said. As I snatched up the article and stood, I wished for the umpteenth time that we had a computer here. We used to have an old desktop, but it crashed last year and we’d yet to purchase a new one. Dad was out running errands, so I’d have to ride my bike to the library to type up the article. Stretching, I let out a yawn. My bed was calling to me, but I shook away the thoughts. Why was I so damn tired lately? I thought about how the flu was going around at school, and I silently prayed I wouldn’t get it. I made a mental note to take some vitamin C later, as I headed outside.

The air was even warmer than it was this morning, and I was already wiping sweat off my forehead when I jumped on my bike and pedaled down my driveway. By the time I reached the street, I was grateful that Skyler hadn’t spotted me. If she had, she’d offer for me to use her computer. Not that I wouldn’t appreciate it, but it was so loud at Skyler’s house. Her brothers were rowdy, and her parents were talkative. I was used to quiet, so it was all a little much for me.

I rounded the corner and guided my bike up on the sidewalk. Pedaling swiftly, I passed a man watering his grass and a group of kids playing in their front yard. A woman that I assumed was their mom sat on the front porch, a magazine spread over her lap. My heart pinched at the scene. I remembered my mom sitting on the porch watching me play when I was younger. She had the best smile. My dad used to say that it wasn’t just her lips that smiled, it was her whole face. I’d never met anyone else filled with such genuine joy and kindness. In the end, it was her undoing.

And that’s why I was so guarded, careful to never be too friendly, too trusting. Skyler often told me I had “resting bitch face,” and I think she meant it as a criticism. But I took it as a compliment. That “resting bitch face” was my defense mechanism. If only my mom had used it, maybe she’d still be here.

Shaking away the thoughts, I took a deep breath and pedaled harder. Thoughts like this weren’t helping. No amount of wishing could bring her back. If it could, she would have returned years ago. I can’t tell you how many nights I lie in bed after she left us, prayers for her return tumbling from my lips. The words lingered in the air, desperate wishes scrawled in invisible ink. I prayed they would reach her and yank her back to me. Yet, every morning when I awoke, she was still gone.

Nearing the next street, I readied myself to turn. The library was only one block down now.  A breeze feathered over my skin, soft, like silk. A car was parked up on the sidewalk blocking my path, so I swerved around it. My bike sloped downward until my tires hit the asphalt. A car came up behind me so I moved as far to the right as I could. After passing the parked vehicle, I steered toward the sidewalk once again preparing to slide back up onto it. Only I lost my balance for a minute and my tire hit the side at a funny angle. My bike froze, my body pitching forward. I squeezed on the handlebars attempting to right myself, but it was too late. My bike was toppling over, my body with it. As a last-ditch effort, I threw my arms out in order to cushion my fall. My palms hit the sidewalk first, my skin stinging. By the time the rest of my body followed, I was so tangled in my bike I felt the chain cut into my leg. My ankle rolled and pain shot up through my calf. The handlebars smacked me in the face, but luckily my head didn’t hit the ground. Somehow I kept it up. Even though I was wearing a helmet, I didn’t want to chance it.

A car pulled up next to where I fell, and I groaned. I was so not in the mood for a Good Samaritan right now. They probably thought they were helping, but what I really wanted was to be left alone. I could deal with this on my own. Sitting up, I attempted to peel the bike off. That’s when I noticed how badly I’d scraped my palms. Blood oozed from the lines painted in my flesh. The straps from my backpack slid down my shoulders and arms. I shrugged it off, and it dropped onto the sidewalk.

My breath hitching in my throat, I turned away, warding off the unwanted memories. Blood always did this. It made me think of that day. The one day I never wanted to think of again.

“You okay?”

My head snapped up at the familiar voice, and I hoped I was wrong about who it was. One look and my suspicion was confirmed.
Shit.
Could this day get any worse?

“London?”

“Hi, Cooper,” I responded calmly as if I wasn’t lying on the ground wrapped around my bicycle and covered in blood and bruises. Reaching up, I adjusted the helmet on my head which had slipped down to my eyes. That’s probably why he didn’t recognize me when he first pulled up. If he had, I was sure he wouldn’t have stopped. He probably thought there was some hot chick under this helmet. Boy was he wrong.

“Here, let me help you up.” He bent down, his arms extended toward me.

I waved him away. “It’s fine. I got it.” Shifting, I attempted to shove the bike off and stand up, but it was more difficult than I first anticipated. Not to mention that the pain in my ankle was worsening. Biting my lip, I tried one more time.

Ignoring my protests, Cooper grabbed the bike and lifted it off of me carefully. Then he propped it up on the kickstand and turned back to me. “Can you stand?”

“Of course I can stand,” I barked. “I mastered the art of standing years ago.”

An amused look passed over his features. Irritated, I set my hands on the ground and pushed my body up. My body trembled a little as I reached a standing position. I teetered over as I tried to put weight on my ankle. As my body swayed to the side, Cooper’s arms came up to steady me.

“Whoa.” His grip around my middle was firm, yet oddly gentle. His touch sent an unwanted chill up my spine, but I was afraid to push away. Afraid I would fall over. I was already mortified enough, I didn’t need to add to it. “I better take a look at that ankle.”

Blowing out a breath, I hesitantly agreed. The last thing I wanted was for Cooper to examine my ankle. In fact, what I wanted was for him to leave and forget this whole thing happened. But I wasn’t sure how I’d get home if he left. I couldn’t even stand on my damn ankle.

With his arm still around my waist, he helped me to the ground. Then he knelt beside me and lifted the bottom of my jeans to expose my ankle. The wind kicked up, and the scent of mint and spice wafted under my nose, causing my heart to race. Cooper’s fingers trailed over my flesh as he lowered my sock to get a better look. I shivered.

“It doesn’t look too good.” He frowned. “Can you move it?”

With a little effort I was able to bend it. “Yeah.”

“It’s probably not broken then, just sprained. But it’s swelling a lot already.” His hand remained fixated on my skin. It was warm and soft. I hated to admit it, but it felt good. He glanced up at me, and his face was so close to mine that if I moved forward our noses would touch. Unnerved, I drew back a little. “Do you live near here?”

“Um…” Fear took root in my stomach. “Why?”

A smile flickered. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning on stalking you, but I do need to get you home.” He glanced over at my bike, and then his eyes made their way to my ankle. “Unless you plan to ride back.”

My cheeks flamed at how silly and paranoid I was being. There was no way I was going to get myself home. I did need his help. Then again, Dad was probably home by now. He could pick me up. “It’s okay. I can have my dad get me.” Unzipping the backpack sitting next to me, I fished my hand inside. It was then that I pictured my phone sitting on the desk in my room. Damn it, I’d forgotten it. “Never mind.” I sighed. “I forgot my phone.” Embarrassed, I lifted my hand, wiping my face. Too late I realized that was not a smart move since my hands were streaked in blood.

Without skipping a beat, Cooper reached out and swiped his finger across my cheek. I froze, my heart picking up speed. No guy had ever touched my face before. When our eyes met, he cleared his throat. “You had a little blood on your face,” he said, nervous laughter under his words.

I nodded as he pulled his hand away. “My house is around the corner.” Reaching over, I zipped back up my backpack and then grabbed it, clutching the straps in between my fingers.

“Okay.” Sliding his hands under my armpits, he hoisted me up and then guided me to his car. After getting in the passenger seat, I peered over at my bike. Then I looked behind me at the backseat of his compact car.

“What are we gonna do with my bike?”

Cooper smiled, that damn dimple forming on his cheek again. If only he could put that thing away. It would make it easier to dislike him. “Lucky for you, I have a bike rack on top of my car.”

“Do you ride?”

“Sometimes. My grandpa and I used to ride the trails on the weekends before baseball season started back up.” After closing the passenger door, he walked toward my bike. Settling back in the seat, I thought about what a strange turn of events this was. What were the chances that Cooper would be my Good Samaritan? More importantly, what were the chances that I would actually be happy about it?