Falling for Centerfield Page 4

  “Sit down, Cole. Thank you.”

  “Of course, what can I do for you?”

  “We have a situation. Cameron Stacy wants to bring in Joe Smalling to play with the guys this week”

  “What?” It took him a minute to process what he’d just heard. Another centerfielder. Cole didn’t want another centerfielder contaminating his sweet spot. His heart rumbled. Had he done something wrong?

  “We’re starting you, of course, but up until now, you haven’t had a backup, and Mr. Stacy thinks it’s productive for all the players to have a backup to keep them on their toes.”

  Cole grit his teeth. “So how’s this gonna work?”

  “That’s the spirit, son. As long as you keep giving us your best, you won’t have to worry about any trouble with playing time or being benched or that nonsense.”

  He stood to go. “If that’s all?”

  “Oh, and you have a couple interviews after the game tomorrow. I guess Belltown is doing a special on its famous Six Pack, a follow-up from your kids’ camp? And our local LA papers are doing a follow up of their follow up.” He took a sip from his mug. “We hit the jackpot when we brought you on. The press follow us everywhere.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Just remember that’s not the only reason you’re here.”

  What did that mean?

  “And your great catches out there aren’t the only reason either.”

  He nodded. His mind immediately went to Harlow. Smiling, he remembered the days after games she would interview. Even then, he’d stumbled a little around her, always trying to impress the fiery Harlow. But this press conference likely wouldn’t involve her. And what would he say about another centerfielder?

  Cole slammed open his locker, grabbed his glove, Old Faithful, the one he and his dad softened together, the one he’d had for almost a decade, and ran out onto the field.

  His closest friend on the team, the guy on second, Tate Hamblin joined him at his side. “You okay?”

  He grunted.

  “That good?”

  “Apparently, I need to be kept on my toes.”

  “Stacy’s got some kind of beef. It’ll blow over. What can they say when your stats are some of the highest in the league?” Tate dipped his head and then ran to the pen.

  Cole kept his pace out to center, past all the guys and shouted over his shoulder to the trainer, “Send me a hundred.”

  He ignored the whistles and the “What’s eating you?” and found his sweet spot. He needed to be in the quiet of centerfield to process what had just gone down in the manager’s office. His feet moved across the green until he stood, feet spread apart, knees bent, leaning forward on his toes, ready to catch anything they hit his way. The first crack sent him running to the right. Energy burned through him. His feet felt light. He reached up and felt the thump of the ball in his glove. He sent it back toward second. Hit after hit, no matter where they hit it, he found it. Then they sent one way high, and he knew it was going in the stands. He turned around to watch it go and sucked in a breath at who he saw there.

  Harlow. She sat directly behind him with one leg lazily crossed over the other.

  A crack meant another ball was coming his way and he hadn’t seen the hit. He searched the sky for the ball of white, found it, and took off running far to his left. He would be hard pressed to reach it in time. It was a race between him and the ball. It would be a stretch. The ball was closing in on the earth and he was closing in on the ball. At the last possible second, he dove through the air, stretched out his arm. The ball hit the tip of his glove and bounced off. Then his shoulder jarred into the turf, followed by the rest of his body, sliding to a stop. And his glove was empty. It was one miss of one hundred. It was practice. But he didn’t come here today to miss. He came to prove a point. His eyes lifted to the press box. And he groaned. Cameron Stacy lifted a hand.

  What is he trying to prove? His catch percentage during games was one of the best in the league and he had the Gold Glove Award to prove it. But something about the whole situation, the invitation for another centerfielder to join them, the timing of this one miss, felt important. And he felt powerless to stop the train of influence it had begun.

  He looked back over his shoulder. Harlow stood and stretched. Cole was filled with a sudden unexpected desire to take her skinny form into his arms and just hold her. He shook his head. Thoughts like these were his problem. Why had he missed the catch in the first place? Checking out a girl in the stands. He turned from her and ran back in for the team meeting and the start of practice.

  It hadn’t been just any girl. Harlow.

  As he approached, several of the guys flitted nervous glances in his direction. The reason sauntered up and held out his hand. Cole eyed him: Short, skinny. Then he took his hand. “Cole, I’m Joe. Happy to work with you.”

  He nodded, towering over the lean, smaller man and shook his hand.

  Joe looked up at him, “No wonder they call you Big Dawg.”

  “Yeah, that’s not the only reason.”

  The other guys snickered. Cole held out his hands. “It’s these, gentlemen. Magic hands.”

  The guys razzed him for a minute, talking over Joe.

  Then he said, “You gotta watch the release.”

  Cole turned back to Joe, “Pardon?”

  “You missed that last ball cause you weren’t watching the release.”

  Several of the other guys whistled and laughed. Cole chose not to answer him.

  This is gonna be a long season, at least until this guy gets the picture.

  Chapter 5

  Harlow waited until the Sea Rays’ practice was over. A press group was gathering from the local papers. She thought of some follow-up questions from the charity event. She had found a few organizations locally that served a similar function and thought to bring them in. Her boss wanted to know about the two boys in Belltown, but she hedged. Why blast their identity to the public? So far she could see no story besides the general one that Cole had a sincere soft side for kids. Maybe that would be enough to make Jorgenson happy. She didn’t want to bring up Joe. Maybe someone else would. Suddenly her job seemed like a lot less like influencing the world for good and a lot more headache.

  The players went to the locker room, and the press waited in a large conference room. A woman sitting at Harlow’s side who kept adjusting her press credentials leaned over. “I hear you guys have a thing.” Her whisper carried to most everyone nearby and all curious news people immediately leaned in to hear the response.

  Harlow laughed. “Oh, did you see the dodge ball article?” She waved her hand like it was so fun and funny and there was no news here.

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “And you went out after.”

  Harlow eyed her, took note of her overly energetic expression, of the anxious manner in which she tried to appear patient. And then took note of the room. “I went out with the team.”

  Cole entered along with the team manager and a few of the players, and everyone in the room shifted their attention.

  The manager waved to them all, his eyebrows lowered. “Ok, let’s get this moving. We have work to do.”

  Mr. Cameron Stacy stepped in. “Come now, Gerald, we always have time for a bit of publicity, don’t you think?”

  Gerald pressed his lips together and then sat. “Ok, ladies and gentlemen, we’re here. What can we do for you?”

  Harlow watched Cole. He wore his sunglasses, and today, a pair of purple shoes. His sports coat fit perfectly. His aftershave lingered in the air around them, and she fought the urge to scoot closer. She reminded herself that the last time they were together the guys all made it clear how distantly she sat in running as someone they would consider dating. And since she wasn’t considering dating anyone who played any sport ever again, she and Cole could surely function in a platonic manner.

  Gerald asked for the first question. The woman at her right stood and said, “Can you tell us a little bit about Lut
her Rodriguez?”

  Harlow didn’t know if anyone else picked up on it, but Cole flinched, the area visible above his collar beating a rapid heartbeat.

  He cleared his throat. “Those children are off the table for this meeting.”

  The woman scribbled on her notepad, and Harlow wanted to snatch it away and throw it across the room. Then someone else, a younger guy who reminded her of Eric at the paper, said, “Can you at least tell us how you know them? Are they important to you?”

  Cole sat forward as if he were going to stand, but Mr. Stacy put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Do you have any questions for us about the charity event or Cole and his season?”

  They asked a few bland questions about baseball, the team’s expectations for a winning season, what they expected from Cole. Cole said, “I will say this, all the children in the center are in need of as much resource as anyone would care to share with them. The center runs excellent activities for them, and they can use your support: financial, volunteer hours, mentoring, whatever you have time for, the kids are always worth investing in.”

  Harlow loved that answer. “I agree. Everything I saw in that facility was child focused. So much care went into those kids. If we put the time in now, we can intervene and help them all live full lives with great opportunities. Is there anywhere local that might do the same for kids in the LA area?”

  Cole turned to her, appraising it seemed like, difficult to tell because of his glasses. “And Harlow, as you saw, plays a mean game of dodge ball.”

  Did he mean to throw her off? Remind her of her cheap shot? Her competitive side came peeking back to the front and before she could stop herself, she said, “Better than you.”

  The room filled with laughter and everyone scribbled on notepads.

  He took off his glasses, and Harlow was struck again by the deep green of his eyes. “That is still left to be seen.” His eyes challenged, with a sparkle of interest she found intoxicating.

  “So, Mr. Hunter, will there be a rematch?” The woman at her side and her overly eager questions grated.

  Harlow wasn’t sure how to get the questions back on track and climb off the steamroller she knew they were on.

  “Absolutely, I’ll take whatever Harlow can dish out, and then up the contest.”

  Harlow cleared her throat. Again the words came out on their own. “There are several centers here locally, perhaps we could do something there for those children.”

  He blinked and then smiled and Harlow was frozen, so much handsome interest directed at her at once that she was having a difficult time adhering to her strict no jock policy. And he’s not interested, not really. He made that plain. “That, Bonfire, is an incredible idea.”

  More scribbling. And she groaned inside. They were going to have a party with this whole conversation.

  “Bonfire?” Young Eric’s doppelganger’s expression told Harlow they weren’t going to let that go anytime soon.

  “Oh sure! You know, her last name is Ember, but we all knew in our Belltown days that if you got Harlow started about something that really mattered, about something she cares about, you wouldn’t see an ember any longer, she’s a regular bonfire.” His eyes shone with admiration and Harlow was equal parts touched by his obvious admiration and alarmed at what the press were going to do with all of these admissions. She was floored, confused. How could someone be so dismissive the night before and so complimentary today?

  He wasn’t done. “I’ve always thought she was amazing, all the work she does, all the people she cares for. Our Harlow is really something.”

  She caught her breath. Could he be sincere? What was he getting at? So many questions raced through her mind. She cleared her throat and said, “So, we’re gonna have a rematch at a local center. Everyone’s invited and we’re taking donations.” Her mind spun, making this up as she went along.

  Cole piped in. “Yes, we’ll make a competition out of it. Donate under Harlow’s name if you think she can win, and mine if you know who the real winner will be.”

  “Hey now!” This was getting fun. She loved how easily he jumped on her ideas and ran with them.

  He held up a hand. “Ok, whoever you want to win, donate under his or her name, and we will have the most epic dodge ball banter this town has ever seen. All proceeds go to the center and the children who use it.”

  Harlow sat back and caught her breath. “Whew.”

  The members of the press finished taking whatever notes they had started, and Cameron Stacy made a couple general statements and stood. “Well, thank you for coming.”

  They took his lead, all of them, Harlow hoping to run away to process what had just happened, but knew she would need to stay and talk to Cole instead. Equal parts terrified and hopeful, she hung back, but noticed Mr. Stacy was staying as well so she made her way into the hall and closed the door to a crack as she heard him say, “What was that?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This is not the Cole and Harlow show. Save it for the TLC channel. We had a perfect opportunity there to highlight the season.”

  “Which we did. Look, Mr. Stacy, they didn’t want to talk about the season, me, or baseball. You saw their glazed eyes, disinterest. We would have been lucky to get a story at all out of them. They came to talk about Harlow, couldn’t you tell? So I gave them what they wanted. They’ll start this big frenzy of romantic speculation, drudging up all sorts of theories, spend lots of time drumming up support for the center and donations there. That’s important.”

  She could almost feel the burning shame of her assumption that he truly cared. Her heart sank and the regular cynicism came back full force. Of course he wasn’t interested, not really. He purposefully acted like he was into her to drum up publicity for the center and the baseball team.

  “And then, you know what will happen? People will buy into our baseball team as a byproduct. Watch.”

  “We brought you on for the fans. We’re trying to sell tickets, plain and simple, so this better work. We can just as easily put Joe out there catching balls. He’s half as expensive.”

  Harlow sucked in her breath and clenched her fists in behalf of Cole. She half expected him to blow his top. He had every right to complain. But only silence and the shuffling of papers met her ears. Then steps approached the door, and she ran and ducked around the next corner into a closet. She had nothing more to say to Cole, now that she knew he wasn’t sincere in all of his compliments, now that she knew more than he would want her to overhear.

  Everyone walked by. She heard their feet then waited until all was silent for the count of ten, and then she took a deep breath.

  “I know you’re there, Bonfire.”

  She gasped and then pressed her mouth together in determination.

  “You heard what I told Mr. Stacy?”

  “Yes, I didn’t mean to overhear. I was trying to get away.” Silence followed. “I’m sorry he’s treating you like this.”

  “It’s alright. I’ll deal with it. And the rest? You heard my plan for the press, right?” He cleared his throat. “How they’re jumping all over some imaginary thing between us?”

  Her heart sank. And now he’d admitted it. He hadn’t been sincere. He was so open about it, he couldn’t care about her in any way other than a friend. Well, she could be a big girl. She hadn’t gone into this expecting anything from him, in fact, the opposite. Too bad he was so dang good looking, and fun, and caring… Oh stop. She stepped forward out of the closet. He stood, closer than she expected, arms folded across his chest, glasses up in his hair so his green eyes watched her in the most distracting manner possible.

  “You heard it all.”

  “I did.” She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure what’s going on here exactly with the team. Look, instead of them turning this into a publicity stunt to bring money to the baseball club, we can use the attention to help some deserving kids.”

  Her esti
mation of him rose by about fifty degrees. “I’m so game. It gets old, the dean and the newspaper and everyone all tripping over themselves for a little of the Belltown fame.”

  He clucked his tongue. “You can’t blame them. I love Belltown U. I would do anything to help grow their programs. It’s a good place. But the Sea Rays?” He shrugged. “I’ll help them too, but I thought I was here to play ball.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Exactly what I said, if you’re game. Look, you know a lot about what you do, the press and writing articles and things, but this kind of thing, this is what I do.” He put his sunglasses back on and did his signature dance. “I work crowds. We just go have another dodgeball standoff.” He grinned. “Except…”

  She held up her hand. “I know, except don’t slam any more poor kids.”

  He nodded. “I thought that was self-explanatory. I was gonna say, except this time I’m not gonna go easy on you.”

  A rush of pleasure flooded her insides and she laughed, relieved, happy to let the tension from the moment go. “You think you were going easy? What if I was too?”

  “Then we’ll both bring our A games and see what happens.” He stepped closer and for a moment, she thought his eyes suggested more but it passed before she could decipher what or determine if she was correct.

  Before they left, she had to tell him something even if he didn’t care.. “Cole. I was so impressed in there.”

  His eyes widened and a flush of pink colored his cheeks. What? Was the great Cole Hunter capable of some vulnerability?

  Her own insecurity flared up immediately. She stammered. “Sure, at first I thought you were playing into their trap and then you pulled it around to exactly where you wanted to go with it. That was genius!” Even though there might be some unwanted press attention and speculation about the two of them. “Super clever.”