Flirting With First Page 11

  “Yes, I do.”

  She skipped again. Perfect. She was going to see Ryker. And while she was there, she planned to learn a lot more about baseball.

  Her driver dropped her off in front of the stadium. She made her way to the ticket counter and gave them her name. The girl raised her eyebrows and handed her the tickets. “Trista McKinney! Hi!”

  “Um. Hi there. Can you help me find my seat?”

  “Sure. Enter through that arch, and the man standing there will direct you further.”

  “Thank you.” Trista made her way through the crowd, stopped to buy her favorite diet soda, and then asked for further directions.

  “These are the friends and family seats.” The usher eyed her, and then his eyes widened.

  How can everyone suddenly know her on sight? She should have worn a baseball hat. She shook her head. She’d wanted to look great for her date after the game, so no hat. But maybe she’d gone overboard and was looking too movie star-ish. Judging by the looks she was starting to get from the crowd, she guessed she had. Well, no matter. She’d own it, have some fun, and then before long, she’d be out with Ryker again.

  She made her way down toward the front. One hundred thirty-two stairs later, her seat was just above the visiting team’s dugout. She guessed Ryker liked his family close. Maybe she’d even get to say hello. She laughed. But no waving in a ridiculous manner. She laughed, thinking of Ryker’s return flutter of his fingers. Of course, he was into her. How could she have not seen it before?

  A warm breeze blew up through the stadium seating, and she was grateful it kept the air moving. She wore a jersey with Ryker’s number on it. She’d found it online and couldn’t wait to see his face when he saw her. She guessed that would be what his girl would do. She’d never dated in high school, not really. Once she got involved in the theater department, the kids were close, almost like family, during a show. Then they separated and did their own things in between. But Trista didn’t have her own thing, or her own friends. Most of the guys in theater didn’t date at all. But she’d seen the girls who dated athletes. They wore jerseys and were always there to support their guy.

  But now that she was here, sitting in his seats, wearing his jersey, she realized her mistake. People trained their eyes on her from every direction. Again she wished she’d worn a baseball hat as more and more people noticed her, pointing her out to the people beside them. And then they started to wave. A man shouted. “Hey, Trista!”

  She didn’t turn around. Maybe they’d think she was a lookalike. Even she rolled her eyes at that thought. So she sucked in a huge breath, summoned her training, and turned to wave back at the man. And then the others. Pretty soon she had half of her section waving back. Okay, can we just watch the game now?

  The announcer finally got started. Listening to his voice rumble out in excitement over the stadium got her blood moving, and by the time he shouted, “Bluuuuue Jaaaaays!” she was on her feet, jumping and clapping with everyone else. They called the starting lineup. Momentum built with each player. “And on first base, Ryker Stone!” She was on her feet again, shouting and cheering. His picture flashed across the huge jumbotrons. Then his stats and a few game reels of him racing to catch passes and tagging people out on first played across the screens.

  He high-fived his teammates and then looked right at her and tipped his hat. Her heart caught that tip of a hat as though it were a pass to her in the stands. Her happy thoughts zinged inside, and she welcomed the rush of adrenaline. Ryker Stone.

  The jumbotron cameras found her and zoomed in and out in a boomerang while she waved and jumped, a cupid and hearts frame flashed in a ridiculous repetitive effect, but she kept smiling and waving. The image didn’t leave. And the cameras still watched her. They still hadn’t announced the next player. What was going on?

  Finally Ryker noticed and put both thumbs in the air and waved. The crowd cheered, and she waved and laughed, but inside, she wanted it all to end. Why were all these people looking at her? The screen went gray and then the words #TeamRyker flashed across. The crowd roared again, cheers and pounding feet echoing around the stadium. She shook her head and smiled. At least she could bring some extra fan attention to him.

  But then the fans started booing. Trevor stood beside her. He leaned in and kissed her cheek before she could do anything about it.

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed. Sure enough, she and Trevor were now both on the screen.

  Ryker didn’t look over at her. But the people in her section started chanting, “Ryker’s Team. Ryker’s Team.” And it spread until every section chanted together and Trista wanted to die. Or cheer. Or smack Trevor on the head. “What are you thinking?”

  “Look at this. Are you kidding me? This is free publicity.”

  “Not super positive publicity.”

  “Nah. It’s gonna work in our favor. Just watch tomorrow’s tweets.”

  She rested her head in her hands until she realized they were still up on camera. So she held out her hands, stood up, and pointed to Ryker’s number on the jersey she wore. The crowds cheered in response.

  But then she realized her mistake, one of many in the short time she’d been at the game. Was she announcing to everyone her private preference? Maybe she could totally friend-zone Trevor on camera.

  The announcer moved on with introducing the next player until all the visiting team was on the field. The home team joined them, and the national anthem began.

  They both sat, and Trevor pulled out his program. “I’m surprised you came to this game.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said I was gonna come.”

  “You did?”

  “Don’t you follow social media at all? I tweeted all about it. Had thousands of likes.”

  Was he for real? “I let my marketing person handle that.”

  “Well I enjoy interacting with my fans, and they appreciate the authenticity of my voice.”

  In his tweets? “I guess I can see that.”

  “Anyway, I told everyone I was coming to the game to check out the competition.”

  She was confused. “Competition…as in Ryker?” Competition for her. She groaned and put her head in her hand again. “Trevor, what are you doing?”

  “You said I could express my hope that we could be a thing.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, I am. I’m joining the #TeamTrevor group and throwing down my gauntlet, or whatever they say. For the fans, I’m all in, Trista.” He winked, and she wanted to die.

  “But this puts me in a weird position. Publicly.”

  “A great one, if you ask me. Two eligible guys trying to win you over. You refusing to name one the victor. The fans will eat this up all the way until movie launch.” He reached over and played with her hair. “As long as we keep feeding the speculation.”

  She tipped away so that she was harder to reach. “We need to talk about this.”

  “There’s nothing more to say. Trust me. This will be great. And in the meantime, enjoy the attention. There’s so much you could do with this.”

  The Blue Jays were up to bat. Ryker ran into the dugout without looking up in their direction. She wished she hadn’t come.

  Security showed up. “Excuse me sir, can we see your tickets please?”

  She sucked in a breath. “What! These aren’t your seats?”

  “Nah, I’m on the opposite side.” He stood. “I’ll see you around.”

  Chapter 16

  Ryker’s effort to focus on the game should have won him an award. He blocked everything out. He told himself Trista wasn’t here. Trevor wasn’t here. He pounded his mitt. Trevor. Wasn’t. Here.

  He went through his batting stance with a vengeance. His scowl to the pitcher was deep-rooted. He waited. Waited. Then he powered a swing into that small unsuspecting sphere so hard his bat cracked. The ball soared. He took a moment to smell the burning aroma off the wood and then ran the bases.

  “Whoa, what’s eating
the rabbit?” Tony, the second baseman nodded in Ryker’s direction.

  Ryker refused to answer. He rounded the bases, unsatisfied. The dugout was gonna kill him, sitting there with nothing to do.

  He stomped on home plate and made his way in to the guys. They weren’t looking at him. Their attention was directed at something on the wall, down at the end. A dart game. He approached, curious, relieved something was going on besides waiting around until he could pound something. And then he saw Trevor Dayton’s picture full of dart holes. He laughed. The guys pounded his back.

  “Sometimes Hollywood punks need to learn a lesson.”

  He took the offered dart and sent it flying toward the picture, straight into Twinkle Trevor’s nose. “That was surprisingly satisfying.” He laughed again. “Thanks guys.”

  They passed the time until Ryker could take the field. He clenched his fists, refusing to check the stands. “I don’t even want to know if he’s here.”

  Nickel jogged up beside him. “He’s gone.”

  “Good.”

  He knew he was being ridiculous, but a part of him didn’t care. And that tiny part ruled the day. His worries nagged him non-stop. What if she preferred Trevor? What if Trevor won out?

  As the first batter stepped up to the plate, Ryker rocked back and forth, shifting his weight. The bat cracked and a runner landed on first. Vin. Sometimes Vin was funny.

  “So, you team Trevor or team Ryker?” Vin asked.

  He wasn’t funny today.

  “If I were Trista McKinney, I’d probably want a hot co-star over an athlete.” Vin stepped off base.

  Ryker let him take a few steps. Just a few more.

  Vin smirked at him like an idiot and scooted further away.

  Perfect. Ryker’s whistle barely left his lips before the ball powered towards him from the pitching mound.

  “Out.” The ump at first held his hands up.

  Not satisfied, Ryker crouched down, ready for the next out.

  The ball went far and long. Their outfielder missed it, so Ryker had company on first. Again.

  Rodriguez.

  “I saw your woman on Netflix the other day.”

  Ryker grunted.

  “You two really going out?”

  He refused to answer.

  “Because I was thinking, once she’s finished with you, maybe she’d like to meet some other guys. You know, if she likes ball players.”

  Ryker’s fists couldn’t clench any tighter. He didn’t even feel like razzing the guy. No Yogi quotes came to mind. He’d lost his touch.

  Another hit, and Ryker was aching to do something with it. It went high, close. He ran forward. The catcher and the pitcher ran toward the high fly ball almost invisible against the puffy clouds in the sky. Ryker ignored the calls, ignored the protocol that the ball would typically go to the catcher and then the pitcher. First base only filled in as a backup for a pop fly this close to the plate. But he didn’t care. Ryker wanted a piece of it and that’s all that mattered.

  He got there first, his legs always carrying him faster than just about anybody. His eyes found the white sphere and watched it descend, ready for the thump in his mitt. Everything around him went quiet and at last he felt a little bit of the zone he was used to when he played the game.

  Seconds later, Trista’s voice broke through the quiet. “Ryker!” Right before two guys tumbled over their feet, skidding and jumping, and ran into him. Jarred from both sides, his head rattled, something sharp jabbed in his side, and he lost all the air in his lungs at once.

  He fell to the ground and curled up with knees to his chest, gasping against a strange tightness.

  The stadium sounded strangely quiet, as though all the fans had suddenly lost their ability to speak. Or, he’d lost his ability to hear.

  His last thought before the world went black made him smile. Trista had sounded worried about him.

  Trista screamed again, and suddenly Trevor was back at her side. He held her back from running to the edge of the stands. “Trista, they won’t let you over. It will just make a scene.”

  “I don’t care.” She wriggled as she tried to break free of him.

  “Trust me. You don’t want that. Just watch.”

  He had a point. She could see everything better from here. The crowd gathered down in front of Ryker couldn’t see anything. And they’d only kick her out anyway.

  “Do you think he’s okay? What kind of hit was that? It was bad, wasn’t it?”

  Trevor shook his head. “I don’t know. I never played sports, but it looked bad from here. Ryker’s tough though, right? He does stuff like this all the time.”

  “I don’t think so. I mean, he’s tough. But I don’t think they practice getting hit by two huge guys. This isn’t football.” Even football had pads. She feared it was bad, very bad, otherwise he’d be up and limping off the field by now. “Trevor, he’s not moving.”

  “Come here.” He pulled her close and his arms rubbing her back felt nice. “He’ll be fine.” They stood for a moment before he said, “You do really care about him, don’t you?”

  “Off the record, yes I do.”

  He nodded. “I’m a jerk to show up here.”

  She shrugged. “It complicates things.”

  “I’ll try not to be so jerky about it.” He cleared his throat. “In the future.”

  She turned so she could watch the field better. “Oh! I think he moved. It looks like he’s going to stand. Oh, I hope so.” She wrung her hands. When Trevor tried to reach for her again, she swatted him away impatiently.

  At last, with a man on each side, Ryker stood, and the crowd cheered. He raised a hand. As soon as he lifted his head, his eyes found her. She sucked in her breath and held the area above her heart with both hands. Their eyes remained locked on each other until he went into the dugout. And then she fell back against Trevor. “I’ve got to go to him.”

  “Why don’t you wait and check your phone.”

  “You don’t think he’d want me there?”

  Trevor looked uncomfortable. “I can’t say what he would want, but he just got injured. He’s not gonna want you seeing him like that. Maybe.” He shrugged. “Like I said, I’m not him, but that’s how I would feel.” He searched her face. “Unless you’re like serious serious. And then, only you would know.”

  She shook her head. They weren’t that serious. They were barely dating. But she was dying to know how he was doing.

  Her phone rang. “Bree.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Ryker got hit by two guys all after the same fly ball.”

  “I saw. Then what happened?”

  “He lay there for a long time, and he got up and walked off the field just now between two other guys.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Just up here in his seats.”

  “You gotta get down there,” Bree said. “He’s not answering his phone, and Mom and Dad are dying. I’m scared, Trista.” Her voice shook.

  “Okay, honey. I’m on it. How do I get down there?”

  “Keep me on the phone and go tell the nearest park employee. They’ll help you.”

  “Okay.” She looked at Trevor. “I’m going down.”

  He nodded and indicated that she should do what she needed to do.

  “Who’s that? That’s not Trevor is it?” Bree’s voice was unreasonably angry.

  “Yes. He’s sorry he showed up.”

  “That’s not good enough. Trista, that was low, going to my brother’s game on a date.”

  “Bree. I wasn’t on a date with Trevor. I’m on a date with Ryker. We have dinner plans after the game.” She choked. “Or we did.”

  Bree was quiet for a moment while Trista counted up the stairs as she went, the numbers giving her something solid to hold on to. At the top, she found a worker. “I’m here with Ryker Stone. This is his sister on the phone. I need to get down to see how he is. For his family.”

  The lady looked like she would tell Tr
ista to go back to her seat.

  “Please?” Trista tried to show her sincerity. Seeing Ryker and knowing if he was okay had quickly become her number one priority.

  The lady narrowed her eyes. “I know who you are, of course. You team Ryker or Trevor?”

  Trista rolled her eyes. “Ryker. Of course.”

  Her smile started small. “That’s what I thought. I was telling the girls, once you see Ryker Stone up close, there’s no way anyone else would be good enough. Not even that Trevor guy.” She held her arm out, indicating the direction Trista should go. “I’ll just walk you to the door, how’s that?”

  “That would be great.” Trista turned back to her phone. “Bree, she’s taking me to the door.”

  “About time. What was all that nonsense? Why do people care? Like it’s any of their business anyway.”

  “Believe me, Bree. I know.” The irony that Bree had basically the same concern as this woman was not lost on Trista. But at least Bree had a right to ask, where it was none of that woman’s business, plain and simple

  The door was non-descript. She didn’t even know if she’d be able to find it again by herself. “This is it?”

  “That’s it”

  “Thank you.” She pushed on the door, almost like it would reveal something fearful.

  “Hurry.” Bree’s voice sounded a bit panicked.

  “He’s doing alright. He was walking. He looked at me.” Her own voice shook, thinking about it. “I think he’s going to be okay.”

  “And what if he can’t play ball?”

  “I don’t know.” Trista thought it might be nice to have a break, take a few weeks off. But the panic in Bree’s voice gave her pause. What if Trista was suddenly stripped of the ability to act? That would be devastating to her career. To everything. And she wasn’t even as passionate about acting as Ryker was about playing baseball.

  Her pace picked up the more she worried about it, and she followed the sound of voices down the hall. White lights flickered against the cement walls. You’d think the place would be more upscale. When she turned a corner, everything got a whole lot nicer, and she appreciated the warmth of real paint on the walls. She stopped at a door and heard Ryker’s muffled voice inside. She remembered Bree at her ear. “The door is shut. He’s inside.”