“So you think I can’t write a fair article about you?”
Actually, I thought she was a great writer. I’d seen her press releases and social media posts. But I didn’t say that out loud. I simply looked at her and waited. In my experience, I could outlast anyone in the silence department. Until her. She folded her hands in her lap and looked at me.
And I broke first.
“I think you’re a good writer,” I muttered.
“So you think I’d be biased?”
“Yeah.”
“For you, not against you, right? You don’t think I’d purposely trash you, right?”
She was sitting too close. I could smell her ginger scent and see the shades of pink and tan in her skin. I wanted so badly to touch her, so I pushed up from the couch. But today’s practice had been particularly brutal on my knees, and I winced as I straightened up, moving like I was 110 years old. I saw her reach out to help me, but I batted her hand away.
I was an athlete, damn it, still in my prime. Yet I creaked when I walked, and my legs always ached. Worse, I didn’t even know why I was standing up, except to get away from her. I grabbed my half-full water bottle and headed for the kitchen. Maybe there was some more boiled chicken I could eat.
I’d gone on an anti-inflammatory diet, and it sucked. Big time.
Meanwhile, Gia kept trying to speak to me rationally. Too bad I wasn’t in a rational place.
“I want to work this out, Connor. I’m writing these articles, whether you like it or not. But it would be better if we could talk about them. If you told me what you’d like me to say. What kind of publicity do you want?”
“None!” I growled, and I knew I was being crazy. Sure, great athleticism got players like me to the MLB, but media helped make them superstars. And that meant more money, more leverage, more perks all the way around. “I don’t want to be a superstar, Gia. Why can’t you focus on someone else?”
“Because the public already knows everything there is to know about everyone else. You’re the mystery. And…” she said, as she held up my prescription pills. “There’s a story to tell.”
She pushed up from the coffee table and walked over to face me directly, close enough to touch but not so near that she crowded me.
“Don’t you think your fans are feeling their age? Don’t you think they all have aches that weren’t there when they were younger? They want to believe that it’s possible to overcome bad knees and still be great. To change direction mid-career and become amazing at something else. You’re already a great catcher. They want to know you can become an awesome hitter, too. What’s wrong with that story?”
I didn’t answer because I couldn’t. It all sounded so reasonable. I couldn’t tell her that more publicity meant there was more of a chance the spotlight would land on Cassie. I feared my fragile sister would break under the media attention. Sure Sophia loved it, but Cassie could shatter—again—and I couldn’t have that.
Meanwhile, Gia pulled out a sheet of paper from her purse and set it on the counter. “This is the first article. It’s going to run the day after tomorrow. At the moment, it’s pretty dry—all statistics. But it would be so much better if you helped me, if I could add your words about how hard it is to be an aging athlete.”
“I’m only twenty-seven!” I snapped.
“I know, and that sucks.” There was a wealth of sympathy in her words. And honestly, it touched me. I was damned good at baseball, but my body wasn’t handling it as well as it used to. And that hurt deep inside, in a place that was soothed by her soft brown eyes and gentle understanding. Which led me to a confession.
“What if I can’t increase my batting average? Then I’ll lose what little leverage I’ve got. You’re writing a series of articles on how my knees are crapping out. That’s not what I want people to know.”
She blew out her breath. “I’m drowning in guys who think they can become Babe Ruth, Cy Young, and Lou Gehrig, all at the same time. And then there’s you. The guy who calls the pitches, the captain who keeps the team from splintering into moods, and who shies away from the camera like it’s got cooties.” She took a step forward. “It doesn’t matter if you can do it or not. It’s the struggle that everyone cares about.”
She was getting to me. Her words were softening my hard line, and that was not what I wanted. I turned away from her and opened the refrigerator. “My job is hard enough, Gia. I don’t need extra pressure from you or anyone else.”
I heard her snort in disdain. “All the players eat pressure for breakfast, you included.” Then she stepped into the kitchen. She came in close enough that I felt the air adjust around her, and my shoulder twitched even before she touched it. “Come on, Connor, help me out here! What deep dark secret are you afraid I’m going to expose?”
“Nothing!” I lied as I slammed the refrigerator shut. Then I turned, using the motion to throw her arm off of me. But she didn’t move away, and my kitchen wasn’t large enough that I could easily go around her. So we stood there, nose to nose, while I thought about kissing her like I had on New Year’s Eve, taking her mouth with abandon. Or maybe I could do it differently. Teasingly slow, as I explored the different textures of her lips. Or with quick darts of my tongue, ones that would have her whimpering with need or giggling because it was fun. I knew a thousand ways to kiss a girl, and I wanted to try them all on her.
But that was crazy. I didn’t get involved with coworkers…or with anyone connected to the media. They got too close and saw too much.
“Talk to me, Connor. There’s got to be a compromise that works for us both.”
I didn’t want to answer her, mostly because I knew she was right. My refusal was irrational. It stemmed from a bone-deep distrust of anyone looking too close. Only one person in the world knew me well, and that was Cassie. No one else could enter the circle, because she was too fragile to handle any more. That was just the way it had to be.
So rather than let the truth slip through my lips, I chose to stop her questions with them. She was easy to grab. I pulled her close, and when she gasped in surprise, I pressed my mouth to hers.
I wasn’t rough, the way I’d been in the bathroom. She was in my place, which gave me a feeling of control, allowing me to gentle my approach. I let her feel my erection hot and hard against her belly. Then I put my mouth on hers just long enough for us to feel each other’s lips.
