But damn it if I don’t already know…
I’m not done with her.
Not even close.
Only problem is, I have no idea how to find her.
I don’t have her number or her last name. Plus I have no clue where she’s even from. All I know is her first name.Cassie.
There hasgotto be a way to find her in the modern world.
So later that evening, as I lie back on this scratchy hotel bed, muscles aching and heart still beating way too fast, I close my eyes and whisper a little manifestation prayer.
Yeah, yeah—I know. You’re probably rolling your eyes.
But I got into this shit over the winter, and here I am—finally breaking out of Double-A ball and into Triple-A, one step closer to the majors.
So hey, universe…
If you’re listening?
Bring her back to me.
I’ll be ready. All I need is a shot. I’m the type to swing away.
Chapter Seven
CASSIE
I stare at the pile of half-unpacked boxes in my living room and sigh.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to have a guest in the house already? I mean—look at this place. My junk is everywhere.”
Jackson leans against the kitchen doorway like he owns the place, arms crossed and smug as hell. “Trust me. This is a good idea.”
I arch a brow. “How did you meet this guy anyway?”
“He was an athlete at Riverbend University years back.”
I blink. “But he plays baseball, not football. You coach football.”
“Obviously,” he deadpans. “But I ended up taking him under my wing. He’s a good guy.”
“Is he clean?” I clear my throat. “Like, is he neat and organized? I can’t handle some messy, chaotic bro coming to live with me.”
Jackson gives me an are-you-serious look. “He’s only going to be here half the time anyhow. The other half he’s traveling, playing games.”
“And he pays rent but I…have to cook for him?” I gesture vaguely at my kitchen, which currently contains a bag ofspinach, three yogurts, and a bottle of sauvignon blanc. “Whatisthat? It’s like he’s a foreign exchange student or something.”
“It’s the home stay program,” he says, like I should’ve heard of it. “A lot of minor league players do it. They actually don’t make huge salaries until they get to the majors, where they’ll make millions. But in the minor leagues, they’ll be making, like, fifty thousand. So, you know, they’re not living in mansions or anything. Plus, it gets lonely when you’re out on the road half the season.”
“That’s outrageous. I made more than that in my corporate job…which I quit to come live in this small town.” I wave an arm toward my window, where a very aggressive squirrel is judging me from the maple tree.
Jackson softens. “Well, we both appreciate having you around, you know? Thanks. Anyway, speaking of kids, I need to go pick up your home stay guest and bring him back here. See you in, like, two hours?”
“Oh?” I say, forcing my voice casual as I shove a lacy thong deeper into a laundry basket with my foot. “Where is he now?”
“He’s in Davenport.”
