“Who he is. That was it. So, I said fuck it.” She gave me a devilish grin and I envied her. She had to be getting it real good to smile like that. “Anyway, I have to head to work. I’ll be there all night. I’m covering for one of the girls. I’ll bring you breakfast in the morning.”
“This friendship is really working out.”
“Yeah. Yeah it is.”
“I want to know who this mystery man is, by the way. But I won’t push it…yet.”
She left me with my thoughts and an hour until I had to leave for practice. I randomly searched online, reading articles about local charity events. One picture caught my eye. Gideon Titan. The guy wore a suit and hot damn. The suit looked thankful to be on his body—that was how good he looked in it. I wiped my forehead. “Okay. Gid. Why are you dressed to the nines?”
Scrolling through more pictures, I gasped when I came across one from a charity for the baseball organization—Feeding Starving Children. Damn it. I didn’t want to have anything but disdain for the guy, but that little fact warmed my cold black heart. He was featured at the event for donating a million dollars.Fuck me.
One million dollars.Jesus.I spilled coffee on my shirt and didn’t even realize it. That was more money that I could imagine donating. Fifty bucks to a local girl scout troop was about all I was good for. Shame crept up my chest. He was a major-league player. I knew they got paid crazy amounts of money, but damn. My apartment felt cheap. My clothes, my practice plans, my car. I was a pathetic little dot in his world.
The thought angered me more. And with a new fire, I went to practice fifteen minutes before it started with my laminated practice plan. Thankfully, he hadn’t arrived and I calmed my nerves. Was I nervous?Shit.I owed the guy nothing.
He stole your journal—he almost read what you write to Justin.
Yeah. He was still an asshole. Just a rich one.
“Ah, Barbie arrived early. Just my luck.” The bastard walked into the dugout and appeared at home. I guess he was. “Why the sour face, kid?”
“Kid?” My pulse raced.
“You’re, what…twenty?”
“I’m going to be twenty-two in a couple months.” I seethed.Kid.I detested that word being used on me. And honey. And doll. Just use my goddamn name. “Grandpa.”
“Excuse me. What did you just mumble over there?”
“I’m glad your hearing hasn’t gone out. Yet,” I baited him. It might not have been fair, but when had he been? “I saidGrandpa. Because you’re old.”
He didn’t reply. He just stared at me with those intense dark eyes. I squirmed on the bench because the full heat of his gaze, well, it was worrying. He always had a comeback. A retort. And an insult. But silence?Did I unleash a monster?
“I guess I deserved that.”
Wait—what? Did he… Did he just admit he was wrong?My mouth dropped open and he pointed to it.
“Close that sucker up. You look ridiculous.”
And he left me to get the field ready. I felt slapped in the face. He didn’t try to offend me? Hurt me? Make me cry? I brought my hand to my forehead. Was I sick?
He turned back around and shouted at me, getting my attention. “Stop being dramatic. Help me rake the field. I want to scrimmage today.”
Scrimmage? Hell yes.I bounced toward the field and went for the other rake, but he shook his head. “I want to teach you how to chalk a field.”
“The white powder stuff. Yeah.” I had no idea where it was, or the machine that set it down. But Gideon laughed. Oh, the sound was painfully beautiful. “What’s funny?”
“White powder stuff is cocaine. Chalk is behind the visitors’ dugout. Get it loaded.”
I nodded, ignoring his comment entirely, and found the bag. I used my keys to rip it open and heaved the bag to dump the contents into the silver wheelbarrow. Only, I didn’t have a good grip and an explosion of sorts happened. “SHIT!”
“You good over there, Barbie?”
“Fine. Just fine.” I couldn’t see anything outside the puff of white cloud. It covered my entire outfit. I looked like a powered donut. My black dry-fit shirt now appeared gray and I did my best to wipe off the chalk, but it didn’t budge. Fine. I’d succumb to looking like an idiot. I put what I could into the wheelbarrow and took off toward the foul line. I knew how to set that up. I needed to place the measuring wire to set the straight line.
“Holy shit.” He dragged out the words, making them each four syllables long. “Holy shit.”
“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” I replied, bringing back our first meeting. I kept my head held high—if I were to make a fool of myself, no one could say I did it without flair.
