“And you know this because you make it a habit to compare backsides of baseball players?”
She rolled her eyes with a groan. “You haven’t seen one of his reels from when he played in Washington?”
She dug out her phone from her backpack and tapped on the screen.
“I told you that I didn’t want you on social media yet.”
“It’s a video link in our group chat. You don’t have to have an account to view it.”
She turned the phone to me, and I recognized Silas in his Washington baseball uniform. It was a montage of different games, mostly shots of him from the back, ending with his press conference with the Bats.
I had done a good amount of digging on Silas after the company outing yesterday. I’d always had to muster up the effortfor the research part of a project, but I’d had no problems getting started with this one, not even trying to lie to myself that it was all for my article.
Part of it was, but I did a deeper dive than I would have for most clients. I’d confirmed his age, birthplace, found photos of him in little league as a kid in the Bronx and in all-state championships from high school after he’d moved outside of the city. I’d searched for videos of games he’d played for Washington and the awards he’d accumulated throughout his career.
I’d also found his wedding photo with a very beautiful woman and the date of his divorce, only a little more than a year ago.
I’d studied footage of his last game, unable to watch the exact moment of his career-ending injury.
That also explained the scar across his knee that I’d spotted when he’d dropped all his clothes. He’d needed two surgeries and a ton of rehab after his final game, but he’d seemed to move around just fine.
Especially when he didn’t have clothes on to get in his way.
While he’d held back certain details, the pieces he did share all led to the truth. He’d had an amazing career, and now his new team was drawing on his popularity to push theirs.
I couldn’t imagine that kind of pressure. No wonder he’d been looking for a distraction and had taken the lady who accidentally punched him out to dinner. He’d been a distraction for me too, but from life in general. That was why I’d been so ready and willing to dive into bed with him, never expecting to run into him again when lust wasn’t clouding every sense of good judgment I had.
I really had to get that part of knowing him out of my head, especially today, but it was hard to forget something that was branded into my brain.
“Can you get me an autograph? I swear I won’t show anyone until you tell me I can.”
“I’ll see how it goes today,” I said as I caught her bus pull up to the curb in my periphery. All those cuts of Silas’s ass had distracted me enough to lose track of time.
“Have a great day at school, and I’ll pick you up from softball later.” I pulled her into a hug. The days of my sister being too cool to hug me back hadn’t come yet, and I relished how she’d pull me close and rest her head on my shoulder for a split second before we broke apart.
I waved when she glanced over at me right before stepping onto the bus.
Taking care of a little person, or at least one a few inches shorter than me, was a lot.
But she was the only family I had, and she’d always be worth it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SILAS
“All right,guys. Take it easy this weekend, and I’ll see you back here early Monday morning,” I told my team as they filtered into the locker room after the last practice. I was a little jealous as I watched them pack their gear from the lockers, as I’d been one of them this time last year, gearing up for a new season.
I missed a practice grueling enough to feel a good kind of sore as you collapsed in sweat at the end. Pushing my body to its limit had made me feel powerful and, although we’d all been advised to know better, invincible. After a lifetime of depending on my body to excel, I didn’t know who I was anymore.
That uncertainty made being in an entirely new place in a very different job that much worse.
I still worked out to stay healthy and manage the dull pain in my knee, but leading a ball club had already brought on a different kind of exhaustion.
When I was playing, I had to trust my teammates, but I’d only had to worry about me, my focus on the game, and what they’d expected from me.
Now, I had to put together a human puzzle. In the short time I’d watched the guys play, I had to figure out where each one fitand how to use the skills I’d seen from them so far in the best ways to move us forward.
It was a shit-ton easier to be the puzzle piece than the one flipping them all, trying to get them to fit.
