I turned my head to Nate’s huff behind me.
“Don’t worry about me.” His gaze flicked to mine, an arrogant curve on his lips. “You can save the coaching.”
“Rest the shoulder,” I said, ignoring Nate’s dismissal. “Opening day is next week.”
“I’m aware. And the shoulder is fine. I know what I have to do?—”
“Lee will take a look on Monday morning. Report to his office before the field. Have a good weekend.”
He glared at me before he slammed his locker door shut and headed for the showers.
Most of the team was open to suggestions and respected me from my recent time as a player, but Nate Becker made sure to point out every time I tried that he didn’t want my advice on anything.
I wasn’t sure if it was because the old manager let him coast and never put him in his place or that I took away the spotlight. I’d gladly forgo the attention if I could and let him have it all, but that wasn’t in the cards for me at the moment. I had to play this up as much as I was told to.
I’d played with some of the biggest names in baseball in my career, but I never cowered to egos. This guy was talented but cocky enough to keep getting in his own way, and he would double down every time I mentioned the hitting slump he’d run into at the end of the last season. He had every excuse and blew off any suggestions I made to turn it around.
Fans wanted a player to produce, and his pretty face couldn’t save him at the plate if he kept missing the ball. Team superstarstatus or not, I had no problems taking him out of the lineup or moving him down if his stats didn’t improve.
“Any good plans, Coach?” Ricky Ruiz, our twenty-three-year-old first baseman, asked me as I shifted to leave. He was our youngest player, starting on the Bats last year as a new draft. He had a ton of promise and charisma but wasn’t full of himself.
That combo was what gave players longevity in this game, but it wasn’t something that could be taught. You either were that—or were knocked down a few pegs until you became that.
“Some promo work for the team, maybe unpack. Nothing exciting,” I said and smiled, lifting a nonchalant shoulder as I headed out.
My promo work was with Rachel, and while I’d reminded myself all fucking day that this was just a professional interview and to stop looking forward to it so damn much, I couldn’t be convinced.
“Heading out?” Lee caught up to me after I padded down the long hallway from the field to the inside of the stadium on the lower level.
“Yeah, I have that interview in Park Slope.”
“Ah, that’s right.” Lee nodded. “With the pretty reporter,” he said, lifting a brow.
“She’s not a reporter. She’s a writer for the PR agency. She said she won’t write anything I don’t want her to.”
“I’m sure,” Lee said with a slow nod. “I caught the way she looked at you when you were introduced. She must be part of the fandom.”
I shoved his shoulder when he snickered.
“She’s not. I’ve met her before.”
“Wait, you what?”
I groaned when Lee stilled and stepped in front of me.
“So, all that tension I spotted simmering between the two of you was from memory.”
I grimaced before I could help it.
“You spotted tension?” I asked in a whisper.
“Shit.” His eyes flew open. “Did you date one of the PR people?”
“No. Well, not exactly.”
I guessed Rachel and I had gone out on a date that day, even if we hadn’t called it one.
I didn’t know what to call what had happened between Rachel and me then or what was going on with us now, much less explain it.
