Dustin nodded. “I’m worried about the new coach. He’s as straight an arrow as they come, and I don’t exactly fit the image. You saw how fast he got rid of Jackson Kimber.”
“Kimber was a—” Brayden muttered a word Dustin wouldn’t repeat.
“Can’t argue with you there.” His back ached from standing on the scaffolding and reaching above his head to apply the compound. He arched to relieve the strain. He’d need to get in with the physical therapists. If they knew he was doing drywall, the new redhead PT, Elise Smith, would chew him out. His body basically belonged to the Redrocks for the duration of his contract.
What was he supposed to do? Turn his back on his brother? Dropping family wasn’t an option. Besides, the drywall business was his fallback.
No one expected Dustin to take baseball all the way to the majors. No one but him. He’d known since he was a kid that playing professionally was where the Lord wanted him. When he stepped onto the field, it wasn’t about money or contracts or agents or fans. When it was just about playing ball, his heart opened. Fear disappeared. Mistakes and guilt were wiped from his mind. Anger and sorrow had no place inside him. He communed with the Lord of Heaven in those times and hadn’t been able to feel that way any other place.
Was it a long road to the big leagues? Heck yeah! He was thirty years old and had languished in a farm system for years. The Cubs had traded him to the Redrocks in their inaugural year on a dime. For ten years he made peanuts during the season, crashing on his parents’ couch during the off-season. His trust in himself and the Lord finally paid off, and he was living his dream. If he wanted the dream to continue, he needed to up his game.
He grabbed the plastic bag off the bench. “I’m hitting the shower.”
“‘Bout time.” Brayden plugged his nose.
Dustin contemplated flipping him off, but decided his mother had taught him better than that, too.
Once alone, with empty shower stalls and a few sinks for company, he took a long, hard look at himself in the mirror. Not shaving was a tradition in the MLB. Guys started the season off with smooth cheeks and a pocket full of luck and ambition. By the end of the season, they were supposed to have a scraggly beard and a championship. Based on their record so far, the Redrocks weren’t going to win the title. Their less-than-stellar record didn’t mean Dustin couldn’t start fresh—they didn’t have a shot at the pennant, and no one on the team could point their finger at him and say he’d jinxed them. He could prove to himself, and his family, that baseball was the only career he needed and finally sell his half of the drywall company to his brother.
He glanced at the razor in the plastic bag. There was no way the cheap blade would hold up against his facial hair. He’d have to wait to shave until he got home, but he would shave. Being paid like a Yankee started with believing he was worth a Yankee salary. And seeing was believing. He was going to be one clean-cut Redrock.
Chapter Three
Clover pushed her chest forward and her shoulders back as she entered the posh Los Vegas club. There was so much to remember when wearing a tight-fitting dress. She felt like an imposter in a pair of borrowed high heels and perfume. She never wore perfume. Maddie’d spritzed it on her before they left the apartment, and it had made her sneeze three times.
Though they lived in St. George, Vegas was the real singles scene. Only an hour away, the bright lights, loud music, and hordes of beautiful people lived up to every Elvis song she’d ever heard.
The club scene was not her scene, but she’d promised Maddie a girls’ night out, so here she was, trying not to sweat and ruin the coral fabric flowing around her body like a second skin. She’d been much more comfortable approaching the homeless man yesterday than she was approaching any of the slick men here tonight. Well, she was comfortable with the homeless man until their eyes met over the essentials bag. He had the most amazing eyes, green with browns and yellows mixed in. She could have stared into those eyes for hours.
“I haven’t been here before.” Clover leaned toward Maddie to be heard over the pulsing music. “How much do I owe you for the cover?”
“Nothing.” Maddie waved her off.
There were several swimming pools dotting the open-air restaurant and club, and fractals of light in blue, red, yellow, pink, and green sparkled over the undisturbed surfaces. The palm trees were beautiful, each one the same height with thick, manicured trunks. Plush leather seating rimmed the balcony. Behind them, the Eiffel Tower replica glowed, a shining star among many on the Strip. “But this place is legit. It had to cost you.”
Maddie smiled and shook her head. “Ladies get in free tonight.” She got on her tiptoes and scanned the area. “There’s a table. Come on, I’m starving.” Maddie pulled her across a walkway spanning two pools to a round table high off the ground. There were no chairs, so the girls stood. Clover glanced at other people grouped around tables and eating. This was so weird.
A waiter passed by them on his way to another table. Maddie tried to catch his eye, but he ignored her. Clover shrugged. She let her gaze wander around the trendy club. Women in expensive dresses, the fabrics rich, walked like runway models. Men in everything from jeans to suits waved short glasses full of amber liquid as they talked and laughed loudly. At the far end of the open-air space, the dance floor was hopping. Clover grinned. Dancing was something she was actually good at.
She sidestepped to get a better look and saw a man come through the door. “Holy guacamole,” she breathed, still staring at the Adonis. He had wavy, dark brown hair artfully tousled off his forehead. It was long enough to run her fingers through, and the waves would drop into his eyes. Her stomach flipped at the idea of being familiar enough with the man to touch him tenderly.
Her skin flushed from her toes to her cheeks, and she grabbed Maddie’s arm. He was a man among men with his nicely formed body, a jaw that could cut a 2x4, and shoulders so thick they could hold up the world for eons.
“Holyhotguacamole,” Maddie answered.
“With cheese on top.”
Maddie turned to her and giggled. “What does that even mean?”
Clover fanned her face. “It means I’m melting like shredded cheddar over here.” Mr. Hot Guacamole turned her way, and their eyes met. A jolt zipped through Clover, making her grab the edge of the table for support. His chin jerked back and his eyebrows lifted as if he recognized her, too. Too? Did she know him?
Clover dropped her gaze. There was no way she knew that guy—she didn’t know guys who were hotter than jalapeños because they made her brain spark like a fork in the microwave.
Maddie shook her arm. “Do you know him?”
Clover cringed. “I don’t think so.” She stole another look his way and found him talking to a server, pointing their direction.
“He has a friend,” whispered Maddie, as if the men could hear them from twenty feet away with music piping through speakers placed strategically in the potted plants. Funny, Clover hadn’t even noticed the other guy; she’d been unable to look beyond the Hot Guacamole.
