He glances at his team, who are all getting passes to go watch the rest of tonight’s performances by the stage, and then back at me once more.
Go away, I want to yell.
I have thirty thousand fans to get ready for and a highly embarrassing ritual I don’t want to discuss but need to get to work on very soon here.
But Cooper doesn’t leave.
I look up into those blue-green eyes, open my mouth to thank him politely for coming and tell him that I hope he enjoys the show, but instead, he opens his mouth faster.
“Those kids love you,” he says quietly, “and they have no idea who your mom was. You’re impressive as fuck, Waverly. You did it. Good job.”
He claps me on the shoulder, ducks his head, and then steps around me like he didn’t drop the bomb of all bombs and leave a permanent warm imprint of his hand on my skin.
They have no idea who your mom was.
Until thirty seconds ago, I assumed there was exactly one person in my life who would understand how much that sentence meant to me.
Turns out, there are two.
Cooper Rock remembers.
And not only the naked stuff.
But the important stuff.
I have no idea what my face is doing while I stare at his retreating backside, but I know I need a bathroom.
Stat.
Hiramys grips my elbow. “What was that?” she whispers.
“A ghost,” I whisper back.
A very sexy, very unavailable, very master-of-one-night-stands, very no-longer-my-type ghost.
Whom I will probably not be able to shake forweeksnow.
2
Cooper Rock, aka a baseball god who always knows exactly what he’s lost
There arethree important things you need to know about me before I tell you my biggest secret.
One, baseball is my life. Specifically, Fireballs baseball. I was four years old the first time I vividly remember seeing the Fireballs on TV and five when Pop, my grandpa, told me that if he hadn’t married Nana, he would’ve pursued his own baseball career with our favorite team. I was seventeen when I was drafted into the Minors, twenty-one when I hit the big leagues in Colorado, and twenty-two when I was traded to the Fireballs in the off-season and demanded a ten-year contract.
And in case you weren’t already aware—the Fireballs have historically been the absolute worst team in baseball. If it wasn’t for the new ownership coming in at the start of last season, the baseball commissioner would’ve moved us to Vegas and renamed us the Craps, which would’ve been a few steps up from how bad our record was.
Taking the Fireballs from lovable losers to champions has been my entire life’s mission, and now that the team has solid leadership, we’re going places. This year, we’re not settling for getting kicked out of the play-offs one game away from the World Series like we did last year. This year, we’re going all the fucking way.
Second important thing—my family is the only thing I love more than baseball. I wouldn’t be where I am if it weren’t for them. My parents and brother still live back in Shipwreck, Virginia, a little town founded a couple hundred years ago by Thorny Rock, our pirate ancestor who left the sea in favor of the Blue Ridge Mountains when he retired and needed a place to hide the supposed riches we’ve never found. Shipwreck’s about an hour from Copper Valley, the big city home of the Fireballs.
When my teammate and the Fireballs’ star pitcher, Max Cole, retires from baseball, he and my sister, Tillie Jean—they started dating in the off-season and are perfect for each other—will settle there permanently, right around the corner from my brother, Grady and his wife, and right around the other corner from our parents. Family and Shipwreck made me who I am today, and yeah, I totally still claim my pirate blood at every convenient opportunity.
And the final detail you need to know about me is that I love women.
Throughout my career, it’s been pretty damn convenient that I love women, considering scoring off the field helps me play better on the field. Every baseball player has a superstition.
Score to score is mine, and itworks.
