All publicity events required written permission from the stadium management, but there was no time for that. Besides, it was my first All-Star Game. I could plead ignorance this one time and pray I got away with it.
So I chalked out a wide swath that approximated the space between pitcher and home plate. And then I got representatives from half a dozen media outlets to show up with cameras. This stunt would be a bigger deal than what Connor had suggested, but if I could pull it off, it would get some great press. Assuming, of course, that Connor could actually do it. And that, of course, was a big guess. Catching a baseball behind the back was no easy feat. And I’d be in major trouble if I’d cajoled all the camera guys out here only to have Connor fail.
Connor had come out at the fifteen-minute mark, just as he’d promised. And God, did he look hot. I didn’t know if it was the way the sun turned his brown curls to gold, the pull on his jersey from his broad shoulders, or that he smiled warmly as fans snapped pictures of him. I knew he hated the publicity, but he was a good sport about it, and my libido perked up each time he winked at a starstruck kid.
He’d winked at me just like that on New Year’s Eve. We’d both been drinking, and he’d caught my eye from across the room. It was like he’d reeled me in with that wink, and somehow, I’d ended up right next to him when the final countdown began. Then at midnight, we’d kissed. And what a kiss it had been! It had curled my toes, made my legs quake…and had taken up prime residence in my fantasies ever since. Except then, I’d taken a job with the team, and he’d been hands-off ever since. More’s the pity.
I got jostled from behind, breaking me out of my reverie. Then I saw Rob coming toward us. He wasn’t our pitcher. He played third base now, but he’d pitched in the minors so he would do…assuming he wasn’t too hung over from celebrating his Home Run Derby win. I’d talked him into pitching to Connor. Fortunately, he was sober enough to crack a joke that had both Bobcats smiling. That was a huge plus in my book. When those two hotties laughed, women started panting, myself included.
Be amazing, I whispered to Connor. Because he often was.
“Hey!” Frankie McKenzie said as she jostled her way to my side. She was the redheaded reporter who could get me fired if she started talking about a Bobcat financial crisis. “You said I had an exclusive.”
“You do,” I quipped. “For the interview. The video is for everybody.”
She accepted that with a grimace because she didn’t have a choice. And while she adjusted her camera, I watched as my personal nemesis, Sophia Hart, made the rounds, tottering on her Prada heels and flashing her perky boobs as she handed out her business cards to the people assembled.
“Thanks for coming,” I overheard her say. “I’m Sophia Hart, Connor’s publicist. If you have any questions, please call me. I’ll get you whatever you need.”
Oh. My. God. She was acting as if this had been all her idea, as if she’d managed to scramble this together at the last second. I must have grumbled under my breath because Frankie shot me a commiserating look.
“What’s the deal with her? She’s Connor’s sister, right?”
I wanted to let loose with every rotten thing I’d ever thought about the woman. In truth, Sophia was a good publicist with some brilliant ideas, but for some reason, she absolutely hated me. I don’t know what I ever did to piss her off, but she’d made it a point to make my life miserable every chance she got. Everyone else seemed to think she was great, but all I could see was a greedy woman who did her best to discredit me at every turn. And since she was the experienced publicist and I was the new kid, people tended to listen to her, not me. Which really sucked.
The words burned on my tongue, but I didn’t let them out. Unlike Sophia, I was a professional. And since it was my job to protect my players from bad press, I gritted my teeth and spoke clearly.
“She’s his publicist. That’s all you need to know.”
“But she’s his sister—”
“His family is off-limits. Unless he says it himself. Out loud and on camera.”
“I know but—”
“Frankie!” I said, steel in my tone. “You know the rules.”
She held my gaze for a moment, then blew out a breath. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
No, I couldn’t. Then Frankie’s eyes fell on Sophia. “What if I get it from his publicist?”
I had no answer to that. And no faith that Sophia would hold her tongue. But she must have some sense, right? I mean, she’d done a good job at promoting Connor, even when he was still in the minors. If I stayed completely out of her line of sight, she’d probably act like the normal, savvy professional everyone said she was.
Unable to stop whatever was going to happen between Frankie and Sophia, I focused on the guys. They were setting up for some simple pitching practice, only Connor was going to catch those pitches behind his back. I was near Connor’s end, so I could hear his knees crack as he squatted into position. My gaze moved to his face, afraid I’d see him grimace. We all knew that his knees were a constant worry. But he’d put his game face on, his smile frozen, his jaw tight.
Fortunately, Rob was a natural with the press. He kept a steady stream of light trash talk going, entertaining the crowds.
“You’re too old and fat to reach behind your back,” he teased.
“Your diaper’s on too tight, son,” Connor responded. “It’s cutting off the oxygen to your brain.”
“Anyone want to take bets on whether this crippled old geezer can catch a pitch?” Rob called out to the growing crowd.
“There’s no betting in baseball!” I reminded him, shaking my head at his antics.
“How about if I sign any ball he misses, and he signs any he catches?” Rob asked.
That was a great idea. And I had a whole bag of balls and backup pens for just this possibility. Meanwhile, Connor snorted.
