Team Player Read online

  Now for the second thing.

  Gwen slung her legs off the bed and forced herself to walk to the door instead of hunkering down in the treatment room all night. If she could convince Ty to cooperate, she could go for that burger and beer and enjoy her evening.

  She turned the knob and froze.

  Ty leaned against the opposite wall, wearing his Thrashers uniform and reading something on his phone. He glanced up when the door opened and looked her over from head to toe.

  “So you are alive,” he said.

  “Ah...” Gwen peered around, but they were alone. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because you insulted Reed, then went into a room alone with him, then he came out and you didn’t.”

  “So you lingered in the hallway?”

  “Well, I’m not saying he might be a murderer, but I was just checking.”

  “I’m fine. Reed is fine. Everything’s fine.”

  Ty nodded and turned to go. “Super.”

  “Except...”

  He stopped and watched her expectantly.

  Gwen took a deep breath. “There’s a sick teenager at Tampa General, he’s being transferred tomorrow, and it’s his dream to meet you. Tonight. After the game.”

  “No.”

  Gwen’s mind went blank. “Huh?” she heard herself say.

  “No. Those things are always PR stunts. How many photographers will be there?”

  “N-none,” she said, which was technically true if only because she didn’t know how to contact any photographers.

  “And will it be on the Thrashers blog tomorrow?”

  “Probably?”

  “Forget it. It’s tacky. I don’t do that stuff for the publicity.”

  “Then do it because it’s nice!”

  “I’ll sign a ball.” He started walking away.

  “Room 705,” Gwen called to his retreating back. “His name is Vince.”

  “Good to know.”

  “I won’t tell anybody.”

  Ty paused and glanced at her over his shoulder, holding the stare for a long moment. Then he left without another word.

  CHAPTER 10

  “CIRCLE THE BLOCK, PLEASE.”

  Ty slouched deeper into the backseat of the cab and tugged his wool hat over his forehead. It was after midnight, and he was tired. The last thing he wanted was to fend off the straggling fans waiting at the hotel doors, held at bay by the valiant doorman. “Do you know if this place has a back entrance?” he asked.

  “No back entrance,” the driver replied. “Sorry.”

  Ty scrubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t know exactly when he’d become the guy who wasn’t thrilled to have gorgeous women waiting to fawn over him, but tonight he was very much that man. The Thrashers had gotten swept in Atlanta, with Ty managing just one hit in his eleven at-bats. He hadn’t been included in the starting lineup today, forced to watch Ibanez play shortstop and do a damn good job of it. He’d done his best to do his part and cheer so he didn’t spend another day on the bench, and Strip had rewarded the effort by sending him in to pinch hit in the top of the ninth, bases loaded, two out, Thrashers down by three. He’d been given a chance to be the hero, and instead he’d lined out to the third baseman. Game over.

  At least he had a good excuse for dodging the post-game interviews. He’d explained the situation to Strip, gotten the okay to duck out early, and escaped through the side entrance after a quick shower. A generous tip had gotten the cab driver to go a little heavy on the gas, and he’d arrived at the hospital shortly after eleven to spend an hour with the kid Gwen told him about.

  He knew exactly how it felt to be alone in your suffering, to have someone show up and shine a light in a too-dark world. He wasn’t so disillusioned he believed he was changing anyone’s life, but if he could give a kid a break for a little while, then he’d do what was asked of him. Sans cameras.

  They looped back around the front of the hotel and the cluster of women was still there. Another car turned into the lot ahead of them and idled in front of the revolving doors. Ty was about to ask the driver to go around the block again when a familiar figure got out of the car and disappeared inside.

  “We can stop now,” Ty said, scrabbling for his wallet and pulling out a fistful of bills. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Any time.”

  He kept his head down and his shoulders hunched as he hurried through the group of women, ignoring them when they called his name, tugging his arm free when someone grabbed his sleeve.

  He breathed a little easier in the lobby, waving away the man approaching with a tray of champagne, and strode to the elevator bank where Gwen waited for a car. She glanced over as he approached, eyes flickering to the women outside the doors, no doubt watching. While they might technically work together, being seen together away from the field was a very different story.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey.” Ty checked her out as discreetly as possible. Same clothes as earlier, same ponytail. Maybe a bit more makeup, but that was better than bedhead and wrinkled clothes. He’d overheard the tail end of her conversation with Pierce Altman earlier, accepting his offer to get a drink. He’d felt something then, something he was feeling again now, and while he was loathe to call it jealousy, he also couldn’t come up with another name for it.

  “Nice night?” he asked.

  “Yeah. You?”

  She shot another glance over his shoulder and pressed the already-lit button again.

  “Just fine.”

  “Tough game.”

  He sighed. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Were you drowning your sorrows?”

  “Were you?” he asked, too anxious.

  Something flickered across her face, just as quickly smoothed away. “No,” she said. “I wasn’t.”

  “Me either. How’s Altman?”

  She lifted a delicate eyebrow and assessed him. “He’s great.”

  Okay, he wanted to ask, but do you looooove him?

  The elevator doors opened and Gwen stepped in. Ty followed and pressed the button for the top floor, blinking in surprise when she pressed four. The team always stayed together.

  “You’re not upstairs?”

  “Fully booked.”

  “How long are you here for?”

  “The weekend.”

  Something in Ty’s chest loosened at the words. While he’d been getting out more with the team in recent weeks, part of him was still only socializing out of obligation. Now he wanted to socialize with Gwen simply because he wanted to.

  “Tomorrow’s an afternoon game,” he said. “Let’s hang out afterward.”

  Her forehead wrinkled, and before she could protest he said, “There’s an entertainment complex about ten minutes from here. They have an arcade and Taxi-Kart. I want a do-over.” He’d never really had to make a convincing argument for a woman to go out with him before, and a tiny, caveman part of him liked the challenge.

  The car stopped on the fourth floor and Gwen paused at the doors. “You lost in Atlanta,” she said. “You lost today. Aren’t you tired of losing?”

  He tried not to smile at her attempt at smack talk. “I’ll meet you in the clubhouse.”

  She adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “We’ll see.”

  THEY LOST AGAIN THE next afternoon. Their ninth inning comeback came up short, bringing their losing streak to five games. And Ty wasn’t going to lie—he was tired of losing. He hated it. But even while Strip reamed them out and Girardi and Blanche got into a shouting match about a double off the wall that Blanche thought Girardi should have caught and Girardi thought Blanche shouldn’t have allowed, Ty wasn’t that upset. Because he wasn’t going to his room to mope or a bar to force a smile for a few hours. He was going to the arcade. At least, he was pretty sure he was going. Gwen hadn’t exactly one hundred percent confirmed her attendance, and when he’d spotted her around the clubhouse this morning she’d met his eye for approximately two seconds then carried on with he
r club business. But he had a good feeling as he changed into a pair of board shorts and a T-shirt, tugged on a hat, and headed out to find his date.

  Turned out, she wasn’t at all hard to spot, red heels clipping along the floors as she walked next to Strip, presumably discussing the talking points. Strip’s post-game interviews had gotten considerably less contentious since Gwen had taken over the task, letting him talk—politely—about the issues that mattered instead of just reciting a bunch of trite clichés. She smiled at the manager as he went into his office and Ty felt something in his stomach tighten. The look wasn’t even for him but he wanted it to be. He’d always wanted what he couldn’t have, and since he’d started making serious bank playing for the Thrashers, it had been a long time since there’d been something he couldn’t get his hands on.

  Gwen must have sensed his approach because she turned more fully to face him, something in her expression shifting, maybe as she recognized the intent in his eyes. Ty told himself to calm down. He was competitive, that was all. He’d just lost a baseball game, and now he wanted to win something. Taxi-Kart, if he was being politically correct. Not Taxi-Kart, if he was being honest.

  “Hey,” he said as he approached.

  “Hey,” she said, falling in step beside him. She wore a loose gray Thrashers tank and white jeans with the heels, and though Ty had been with supermodels and starlets in six-figure gowns, suddenly that top was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. It clung to the right places and floated over others, making him hugely curious to see more. A large bag hung over her shoulder, probably filled with demonic bobbleheads and terrible bio notes with which to torment players. And somehow he liked her all the more for it.

  “Ready to lose?” he asked when they stopped at the elevator and he hit the up arrow.

  She gave him a pitying look. “Losing’s more your style.”

  “Ouch. Aren’t you supposed to work in public relations?”

  Now she smiled, this time for him. “I’m off the clock.”

  The elevator arrived and they entered, and Gwen immediately stepped out of her heels, fishing in her bag for a pair of cheap pink flip-flops. “These are my driving shoes,” she explained.

  Ty laughed. “Whatever helps.”

  They got off on the main concourse level and Ty led the way to the gate where he’d asked the taxi to pick them up. A couple of people noticed him, but he kept his head down and kept moving, and soon enough they were in the back of the air conditioned cab, en route to the entertainment complex.

  “So,” Ty said as they rode. “I haven’t seen you much since the day we were both very seriously injured.”

  Gwen’s mouth quirked. “I don’t know if you realized this, Ty, but you’ve been out of town for the past week.”

  “Ah. So you have missed me.”

  The quirk turned into a twitch. “Nobody said that.”

  He tried not to smile. He didn’t mind if she played it cool. He was a world famous athlete with an eight-figure contract—almost nobody played it cool around him. He liked the change. And the challenge.

  “Why’d you agree to come to the arcade?”

  She shrugged. “To get out of the hotel and get away from work. And to see the city. I’ve never been to Tampa before. I’ve never been anywhere, really.”

  He looked at her in surprise. He’d been traveling his whole life. From home to home, field to field, city to city. “You’ve never been outside of Charleston?”

  “In the States,” she amended. “My parents are missionaries, and I was born in Namibia. When I was nine they sent me here to live with Marge. And Marge wasn’t much of a traveler.”

  “First of all—Namibia? What? And if I knew you’d never been to Tampa, I’d have chosen some place much better than an arcade!”

  She smiled. “I like arcades, remember? I always win when I’m there.”

  “Ha.”

  “Anyway, the arcade’s a good choice. After Marge died—” Her voice cracked a little on the word, and she glanced out the window. “After,” she continued, “I kind of shut myself off from the world. From my friends, from everything. So an arcade sounds like a good start.”

  It was clear she needed a second to compose herself, so Ty looked out his own window and gave her the space. Hell, he needed a second, too. The words hit close to home. When Connor was arrested, he’d been in a state of shock, never really believing his friend was in trouble. Not real trouble. Not two years for insider trading, when Connor barely knew how to buy stocks. But he had, and he’d taken a plea deal to shorten his sentence, and Ty had retreated from the world. Instead of spending the off-season in Miami partying like they’d always done, he’d hidden away in his second home, a cabin an hour outside of Charleston, and done little more than mope and eat for four months. Spring training had been a bitch.

  “You ever go back to Namibia?” he asked eventually.

  Gwen cleared her throat. “Um, no. Not really. My parents were more interested in saving the world than raising a kid. They don’t visit. They call once or twice a year, if they remember I’m alive.”

  “That’s crazy.” Ty knew he felt more angry than he should. That his parents never would have left him if they’d had the choice; that they never would have sent him overseas and put him out of their mind.

  “It’s okay,” Gwen said. “Marge was the best thing that ever happened to me. She didn’t want kids, but she figured it out, and she taught me how to calculate a player’s OPS before anyone even cared what it meant.”

  Ty smiled. “I barely know what it means, and I have one.”

  They pulled up to the arcade, a sprawling single-story complex with adobe walls and a tile roof built into the middle of an enormous plot of land. It was six o’clock and the sun continued to beat down, the pavement radiating even more heat. The parking lot had just a smattering of cars, promising a quiet evening.

  Ty paid the driver and they got out, the sun so bright they had to pause in the building’s dim lobby to let their eyes adjust. When they could see again, they proceeded inside. The main room was enormous, with domed ceilings to better echo the sounds of the games. There were endless rows of machines promising all manner of fun, bright lights and flashing signs urging them to play. Through a long wall of windows at the back they could see the edge of a mini golf course, and signs pointing down a long corridor indicated a roller skating rink and basketball court. They could hear shouts and music filtering in, but there was just a smattering of kids in the arcade at the moment, all preoccupied with their own games.

  Ty paid for far more coins than any two people could possibly use, and they glanced around, trying to decide where to start.

  “Should we go straight to Taxi-Kart?” Gwen asked, peering down the closest aisle. At the far end they could see the shiny plastic walls of the game. “Or we could start with something else. Maybe there’s a game you’re good at?”

  Ty gave a dry laugh and nudged her down the aisle. “You got lucky. Now I’ll show you how it’s really done.”

  She looked at him carefully. “Have you been practicing?”

  “When would I have time to practice?”

  “Have you been researching Taxi-Kart strategy online?”

  “Where do you get these ideas? That’s insane.” He had indeed spent hours researching how best to avoid the pitfalls that had ruined his last game.

  Gwen laughed, not buying it at all, though her laughter petered out when they reached the machine. It was located at the end of the aisle, next to a small area with three unoccupied pool tables. Almost immediately Ty’s skin grew warm, his body tightening as he remembered the last time they’d been in proximity to pool tables. The way her legs had opened for him, wrapping around his hips as they—

  He cleared his throat and willed himself to forget, which felt next to impossible when he pulled in a calming breath and instead got a whiff of her shampoo or lotion or whatever the hell it was, something that smelled like coconut and vanilla and, now, suddenly, sex.
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  “Ah, shall we?” he asked, his voice impressively level as he gestured to the machine.

  “Uh-huh,” Gwen answered, her voice also impressively level.

  They climbed in opposite sides, and if Ty wasn’t mistaken, this machine was decidedly smaller than the last. There was less air inside the booth. The seats were closer together, they were touching far more than before, and it was nearly impossible to breathe. Almost immediately he felt himself start to sweat.

  He kept his eyes on the screen, red letters flashing ARE YOU READY?, like they were mocking him.

  “Ready?” he asked, sliding coins into the slots.

  Gwen gripped the wheel more tightly than necessary, her elbow glancing his forearm. “Yep.”

  He peeked down at her feet, her toe nails painted Thrashers teal, contrasting against the cheap pink flip-flops. He exhaled. Flip-flops weren’t sexy. Flip-flops weren’t sexy.

  They started at the same time, and he heard her slam her foot on the gas, zipping down the street so fast he spared a split second to be impressed before doing the same. His first fare was waiting for him at a bowling alley and desperately needed to get to a wedding on the other side of town. Ty jacked up the meter and took off, remembering to take the left down the alley to avoid the police car, swerve in front of the mailbox so he didn’t hit the lost dog, and cut through the construction site to get his guest to the church in record time. Dollar signs flashed on the screen.

  “I knew you studied,” Gwen muttered out the corner of her mouth.

  “I knew you studied,” Ty countered, racing to pick up his next fare.

  His knee bumped hers as he leaned into his turn, and if there’d been room to fall, he probably would have toppled out of his seat. It had been distracting enough the last time they’d done this, but now it was skin on skin—and they weren’t even naked—but somehow his ankle on her ankle was more erotic than anything he’d ever felt before.

  She mumbled under her breath as her car went over a curb and she incurred a damage penalty, and Ty smirked and dropped his elderly client at the knitting club, more dollar signs flashing. He stopped smiling when a slow-moving dump truck backed into the road and a school bus blocked him in from behind, and he scowled as Gwen reversed through an alley to avoid the same fate. As soon as he was free, he hit the gas and raced toward the end, but as before, he was seconds too late. Gwen returned her cab to the lot and WINNER splashed across her screen.