Brock looked over his shoulder as they left the PT room and the celebration behind.
“Is she following us?” asked Ricky.
“Who?”
“Sheila.” Ricky shuddered. “I swear when she looks at me she’s sizing me up for a promotional poster.”
That wasn’t at all what Brock felt when Sheila looked his way. He felt like his hands were too big for his body, and he never knew where to put them. “I think she’s nice.” She had hair so light it could only be called white. The soft strands brushed her shoulders, and he had a difficult time not staring at her red lips. It was embarrassing.
Tommy peeled off from their group. “I’ve got another hour in the cage. I’ll see you guys later.”
“Later,” Brock called after him.
He and Ricky continued on to the locker room, where they gathered their bags. The walls were green from the waist down and white above that. A giant Redrocks logo was painted on one wall, and lockers lined the other with benches in front of them. No matter how much of a mess the team made in here after a game or a practice, it always looked clean when Brock walked into the room. He highly suspected baseball elves were real.
“I’ve got to sign something at the front desk for my work visa.” Ricky pointed to the heavy metal doors that separated the front office from the players’ area.
Hiking his bag up on his shoulder, Brock followed him out. He’d given Ricky a ride in today because Ricky was still a danger to fellow drivers. He swore he was an excellent driver in the Dominican Republic, but Brock debated that. In fact, it was the commutes that had started their friendship and the continued driving lessons that cemented it. Putting his life in Ricky’s hands on a weekly basis as Ricky navigated I-15 was as good of a friend as he could be.
“Wanna go out this weekend?” asked Ricky. He ran his hand down his trimmed facial hair. Not a lot of guys had goatees these days but Ricky wore it like he’d come out of the womb with one. His jet-black hair was slicked back off his forehead and tucked under a ball cap, and heavy, dark eyebrows hooded his gaze. Brock wasn’t sure what color of eyes Ricky had—even though they were buddies, he hadn’t ever stared into Ricky’s eyes. For one, that was weird. For two, he didn’t want to get punched in the face.
“Honestly?” he asked. “I’d rather work on my deck.” Brock had bought a house in an exclusive neighborhood that needed some work. He liked the idea of putting sweat equity into his home. Besides, the off-season could drive a guy nuts if he didn’t have a project—or five—going on. He’d cemented in new support beams last February and had slowly added the frame over the season. They were coming up on closing day, and then he’d be able to put some quality time into his house.
“You can’t hold a 2x4 close on a cold night.” Ricky made a face. “I need a warm body and some luscious lips.”
Brock laughed at Ricky’s puckered lips. “If that was all I was looking for, then fine. But you know I want more than a fling. I’m done putting myself out there and getting stomped on.”
“So let’s look for the real thing.”
“Come on. The girls we meet—” He thought of the women that hung out after the games. They were beautiful; there was no denying that. But they wanted the legend and not the man. “I’ve been down that road. They aren’t interested in settling down.”
“Not all of them are like Julia, Tanya, or Carmen.” Ricky rolled the R in Carmen’s name, making her sound like something you’d pick up at a bakery.
“Or Jamie or Catarina or Suzie or …” added Brock to get the point across. He’d dated his fair share of fangirls. The attention was flattering. He couldn’t deny that. But the moment he started to act human, allowed them into his life to see the real Brock, they became pouty—or worse, angry. The cycle was exhausting, and the thrills of a just-begun relationship weren’t enough to draw him in anymore.
Ricky held up both palms. “Okay, okay. I’m starting to see your point.”
Brock wanted the conversation to end, so he threw out, “I wasn’t cut out for thelove ’em and leave ’emlife.”
“Ha! You live thelove ’em and get leftlife.” Ricky smacked his hands together, pleased with his play on words.
Not everything they discussed translated properly, but Brock got the gist of that. “Thanks. Thanks so much.”
The long hallway ended in the front office lobby, where the Redrocks logo was laid out in mosaic tiles on the floor. They crossed to the receptionist’s desk, and Ricky explained what he needed. The papers were easily found, and he signed where the little sticky tabs indicated.
The doors swung open and there was a loud bang, making the three of them jump. Brock turned to see Sheila and her assistant Ashley struggling with a long, tall box. It looked like they’d bought a big-screen TV.
Sheila’s short, almost-white hair flipped up at the ends. A section fell into her eyes, and she blew it away, her lower lip poking out. There were those red lips again—tugging his attention. As she backed into the building, her foot that held the door open scooted and the package slipped. Sheila scrambled to maintain her hold on the box, which was bigger than she was.
Before Brock knew what was happening, he stood behind her, his arms around her body and his hands under the cardboard. “I’ve got you,” he said in her ear, speaking low. His body woke up to the knowledge that he was holding this woman in his arms and she fit perfectly. Her back was warm against his chest—like she’d soaked up the sunshine and was sharing it with him. Her hair smelled like some exotic oil. Frankincense or jasmine or Madagascar. Was Madagascar an oil?
“Thanks,” she whispered breathlessly.
Her hair tickled his cheek. He could have stood there for the rest of his life.
Ricky bounded through the door next to them and took the other side of the box away from Ashley, whose face was turning red. “I got it.” He pushed, and Brock and Sheila stepped back at the same time, finding a rhythm as if they were dancers on the ballroom floor.
Brock enjoyed being in sync with her, feeling her curves shift against his muscles. He could have let her duck out, but he didn’t want to. And he didn’t want to think too hard about why he didn’t want to let her go.
