“Because you were thinking about him?”
“Well, yeah. But mostly because I had fun and relaxed. Do you know how long it’s been since I did something other than work?”
“Ages. You’re the world’s most boring best friend.”
“Hey! This job is demanding.”
“It is,” she agreed. “The good thing is that we both love what we do.”
Sheila nodded. She did. There was a great level of satisfaction in being good at her job. She liked going out into the community with the players, of serving the people in St. George whether by serving meals to the homeless, or talking to children about bullying, or painting over graffiti on the freeway. She’d done it all. Her days were always different, always providing the opportunity to meet new people. She could work all day every day because it didn’t feel like work.
But being with Brock was a whole new level of life. It was … flirty. She never flirted when she was on the job. He made dusting off those skills effortless. He’d drawn out her coy side with considerable—and slightly alarming—ease, making her forget her responsibilities. She’d have to be careful about that, careful not to lose sight of what was important: the team and her role in keeping the Redrocks together.
Chapter Twelve
Brock
Brock hung out in the dugout, away from the crowds.
Under the stadium was the players’ and coaches’ domain. They had batting cages, pitching facilities, all the medical gadgets and gizmos and offices as well as workout rooms. The Redrocks’ facilities had green paint halfway up the walls like the locker room. It always looked new, like it had just been painted the day before. The visiting team’s areas were all gray. Drab. A downer, really. It was a subconscious message that they were less than the home team.
Above him, the sound of thousands of feet and the general shuffle of people vibrated.
Brock wiped the sweat off his temple.
It was one thing to play baseball in front of thousands of people; it was quite another to pick up a microphone. Not that his job was all that hard. He just had to kill time between tryouts by asking the contestants and fans questions. He was supposed to be the color commentary, but the idea was making him turn green. His stomach didn’t like the fact that he’d agreed to take on this assignment. It was hard to say no to Sheila, though. So when she’d asked so sweetly, his lips had formed the words before the rest of him understood what was happening.
She had that effect on him. They’d had a great time—the best of times—in Vegas. But it was one date. He shouldn’t be so far gone over a woman after one date that she could rope him into public speaking with little more than a soft lilt in her voice.
“There you are.” Sheila came through the doors that separated the locker room from the hallways. As she approached, his heart pounded louder and louder, drowning out the noise from above. “I have cue cards for you.” She held up a half-inch stack of index cards. On the back was the Redrocks logo, which made him smile. Sheila was so in love with this team. “I found some questions for you to use—just in case.”
His nerves sagged with relief. He’d spent the morning coming up with ideas, all of which sounded trite when he practiced them in the truck on the drive over. “Thank you.”
He took the cards, brushing her fingers with his in the process and reminding him of her Goldilocks comment in the truck. He stepped closer, unable to resist the pull he felt to be with her, to touch her. He reached up and brushed his fingers down her cheek, just as he’d dreamed of doing several times. She was so soft, so holdable—if that was even a word.
She glanced quickly around them as if they were doing something wrong. Her hesitancy made him pause and then back off. The last thing he wanted to do was hand his heart to Sheila and have her toss it away because she was too busy for him. He’d been hurt one too many times before to not know the signals.
“Thanks for the cards. They’ll help a lot.”
She looked him over with a professional eye, which felt so different from the way she’d looked at him on their date. “They’ve got you wired up? You can hear the booth?”
The booth was the hub for the afternoon. Sheila would be up there, giving directions and working with the director. Even though the event was only going out on the Redrocks’ live feed, there were enough cameras in the park that it took a full crew to get the shots they wanted. Brock would have his own camera operator assigned to him. He had yet to meet the guy. In order to do that, he had to leave the locker room. “Yeah, I can hear them.”
“Great. And Grant gave you the rundown on when to begin the interviews, the rest of what is happening, et cetera?”
He nodded quickly, feeling as though his head was drifting off his body. Who knew there was so much to remember? He had to wait for his cue, the countdown, and the red light to go on the camera before he started talking; otherwise his mic wouldn’t be on and no one would hear him. He had to remember to talk into the mic and hold the mic for the person who was answering the questions, which didn’t seem like that big of a deal until you had to do it all with a camera and a spotlight in your face. He’d been interviewed enough times to handle the other side of things with grace; he only hoped the experience he had would help him along.
Sheila reached out and tugged at the shoulders of his polo shirt, moving the shirt up on his chest. She adjusted the collar and then stepped back to look him over again. Her hands were like bird feathers, brushing here and there. He would have liked to explore the feelings smoldering inside of him but got the feeling she was in a hurry. Still … he grasped her hand and held it, pressing a kiss to the backs of her fingers.
Her mouth formed a small “o,” but no words or sound came out.
Her phone must have been set to walkie-talkie mode, because a voice called, “Sheila?” It sounded unreasonably loud in the empty locker room.
She tugged her hand away and touched a button on the screen. “Sheila here.”
“Security caught a group of teenagers bringing in a cooler of beer.”
“I’m coming.” She pressed another button, her eyes never leaving his. “Are you good?”
