Falling for Centerfield Page 8

  Every hand went up. Even the guys against the wall stood and made their way over.

  He picked up the dodgeball. “Let’s do a few practice rounds, should we?”

  “Where’s the lady?”

  Cole searched the crowd and found the crossed-armed, frowning speaker. “You concerned the teams won’t be fair?”

  “Well, yeah, whoever’s on your team’s gonna win.”

  He tipped his head. “That’s what I keep telling her, but . . .”

  The lights flickered, and he hid his grin. Perfect timing.

  The press gathered. Everyone moved, looked around as the lights flickered again. Then turned off, and the room was black. And silent. For a half breath. Before anyone could panic, strobing spotlights spun through the room, a glitter ball with a spinning effect lowered, and music started. Cole had to give it to her. Harlow had style. And his respect for her escalated. Who knew the smart journalist had it in her?

  Then the spotlight went on her, standing in the door, in his glasses, and his mouth dropped open. Wearing his uniform. A smaller size, of course. And everyone in the room broke out in cheers. She called out, “Big Dawg has arrived!”

  A beautiful African American woman entered behind her and joined the crowd as they cheered louder. Harlow strutted into the room just like he would have, then stopped, pointed her fingers at him and did his signature dance. Hip wiggle, turn, feet shuffle, all of it.

  His laugh carried out across the room. No way was she getting all the attention. He ran to meet her halfway, and they danced in together, then held their hands up in the air, side by side.

  The room broke out into huge cheers. Then the lights went on and the press’s cameras flashed.

  When they quieted, she shouted, “Does Cole Hunter always win?”

  “Yes!” Everyone cheered.

  She shook her head. “Not today!”

  He waved his hands. “Hands in the air for Big Dawg, come on, let’s show the little dawg what it’s like to play with the big guns.” He flexed. More cheers filled the room and the cameras flashed.

  Then someone at the back started chanting, Cole craned his neck. The woman who came in with Harlow. “Little Dawg. Little Dawg.” And others joined until a largely female group was chanting for Harlow. Cole was torn between shock that the women had deserted him, even after he flexed, and amusement mixed with pride that Harlow had gone and worked the crowd better than he had . . . almost better. Almost. ’Cause no one could work the crowd like the Big Dawg.

  They went back and forth, chanting, riling everyone up for a few minutes and then the teams were chosen and the great dodge ball face off began.

  He and Harlow laughed more than they played. The kids did most of the work, and both sides dwindled down to just a few on each side, then one, and then it was Harlow versus Cole. Little Dog versus Big Dawg. And his grin grew wider the longer he played with her, leaping over balls she threw his way, teasing her with fake throws and then pelting her with deliberate misses.

  “Cut it out!” she shouted.

  “Say uncle.”

  “What!” Her face was flushed and she had worked up a nice sexy sweat.

  “Hasn’t anyone ever said that to you before? Say Uncle, it means, you yield.”

  “Why would I do that? You say uncle.”

  “I don’t need to say uncle.”

  She dove away from his throw that accidentally almost hit her. “I don’t need to either.” She carried the ball on her hip all the way to the half-court line, taunting him.

  He shouted to the crowd. “Are all your bets in?” He waved at the press. “Do another petition for bets, tell them they have four more minutes until I beat Harlow.”

  “Come closer and say that again.” She stood taller, and he couldn’t help it, something about the lift of her chin, the fire in her eyes drew him closer.

  “Bonfire, you don’t know what you’re messing with here.”

  “Oh, I think I do, unless you’re afraid to get warm by a little fire?”

  The kids all shouted, “Ooooh,” and she strutted just a little bit.

  This was too good, too fun. Cole hadn’t enjoyed himself this much in years, not since he’d left the Six Pack at Belltown. “Ok, I see what you’re doing. But I’m coming anyway, ’cause I’m not afraid of a little heat.” He slipped the glasses back on the top of his head. They had planned this part, but he was almost lost in the moment anyway.

  “Oh yeah?”

  He stepped nearer, not taking his eyes off of her. “I like it.” He was close enough his low murmur could only be heard by her. And she was entranced. “Do you? Like it?”

  “You, me, alone, in one hour.”

  She swallowed.

  He stood close enough to kiss her, close enough he could see the flush in her cheeks, the approval in her eyes, the slight grin on her face.

  She brought the ball forward, and everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath. Then she held it between them like they’d discussed. A nice healthy tie. But at the last second, when Cole reached for the ball so they held it together, she bounced it against his chest and caught it again, running backward and then holding one finger up on each hand, circling the gym.

  The kids went crazy. The girls went crazy. She was immediately surrounded by a horde of girls jumping up and down, chanting, “Little Dawg, Little Dawg.”

  And she drank it up like she’d won the World Series. Man alive, his little bonfire was one competitive woman. He shook his head. One more thing to love about her.

  Then the press approached. Everyone wanted to talk about his plans for the center, his plans for Harlow, and what he thought people could do to help. Not one person wanted to know about his plans as a centerfielder.

  “So, you and Harlow Ember. Did I hear you call her Bonfire?” A young reporter, probably not around during the Belltown years, asked.

  “Our Harlow? At Belltown, everyone knew, she’s no ember, she’s a regular bonfire. If she got involved, flames, man, flames.”

  Harlow approached. “Flames?” She mimicked his hand motion when he said flames, fingers coming together in an explosion.

  “Yup, flames. It’s your best quality.”

  She grinned. “Is that so?” She handed him the ball. “Good game, Big Dawg.”

  They flashed more pictures of the two of them together. Harlow asked how much money they’d made for the center.

  One of the staff members held up a hand, “Still tallying, but we are rising closer and closer to five thousand dollars!” She squealed and then continued writing numbers as they came in.

  Cole frowned.

  “What’s the matter? That’s excellent, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “Could be better.” He raised his voice to the room. “If you get to six thousand, I’ll match it.”

  Everyone paused in a collective gasp and then pulled out their phones in a frenzy for more donations.

  He nodded, satisfied. “That’s better.”

  Harlow sidled up next to him. “Are you for real? I’ve never met anyone like you.” Her eyes were wide.

  He stared back, enjoying the admiration he saw there. “I’m as real as they get right now, for good or bad.”

  She laced her fingers through his. “I say for good.”

  “Well, one thing I know, I love you in that jersey.”

  Her cheeks colored in a pretty pink. “I pulled some strings to get it. I might have to give it back.”

  “Oh no, it’s yours. I don’t care what it takes. That jersey is making a second appearance on you.” And the leggings too, if he had anything to say about it.

  Chapter 11

  At last they had a moment to slip out. Cole was nowhere near ready to let her go home. “Let’s get something to eat.”

  “Perfect, I’m starved. Can we take your car? Come back and get mine?”

  “Sure.” He led her over to his car, not his favorite, just the Lexus he kept around. One day he’d take her out in his J50.

  Th
ey went to an upscale sports bar, the kind of place players could hang out and no one would mess with them. The kind of place they could wear what they wanted, and again, no one would mess with them. And most importantly, no press allowed. That’s not to say someone couldn’t catch them on their phone and blast it to the world, but most people at this place didn’t care enough. They had their own publicity to avoid.

  Harlow was quiet moving up the elevator, but her hand held on to his like a soft embrace. Her eyes smiled at him whenever he looked over. “Thanks, Harlow. That was amazing what we did for the center tonight.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t believe it. The power you have to make a difference. All we did is play dodgeball.”

  “Well, and you showed up looking sexy.”

  She laughed, like he hoped she would.

  “Believe me, showing up in a baseball jersey and cool sunglasses doesn’t usually earn anyone twelve thousand dollars.”

  He shrugged; it seemed worth it to him. The more time he spent with Harlow, the more he wanted to. The elevator dinged and opened up into the main receiving area of the bar. The lady at the entrance winked at him. Had he seen her before? Maybe. He and the team came here a lot. It was just easy. And—

  “Cole.” Two women sidled up to him, one taking his other arm, the other standing as close as she could to him so that she came in between him and Harlow even while they were still holding hands. “Cole, we have a table, come join us.”

  She looked over her shoulder at Harlow in a dismissive way. “Unless she doesn’t want to share.” She rolled her eyes and then widened them, pulling on Cole’s shirt to get him to follow her.

  He laughed, not sure what to do. Play the larger-than-life party guy or just relax a little? “Not tonight, ladies. It’s me who doesn’t want to share.”

  They slinked away. He could have sworn they were purring. “Maybe a little later,” one of them said.

  Harlow’s guard was definitely back up. She still held his hand, but there was something stiff in her stance. Her head up, shoulders back, like she was ready for a fight.

  “Come on, Bonfire. Don’t worry about them.”

  Her face softened slightly, but some of their earlier magic was gone. He inwardly shrugged. What could he do about it? If she was going to be bothered by every other woman, by his fans, well, then this wouldn’t work from the start.

  Harlow seemed to rally. “What this room needs is some Little Dawg magic.” She pulled the sunglasses back down over her eyes and did his dance walk over to their table.

  He laughed, and so did several of the guests from tables nearby. Then he shook his head. “You’re a wonder, Harlow Ember. Never did I suspect you had all this in you.”

  She grinned. “The journalist gone wild?”

  He shrugged. “Something like that.”

  They ordered drinks, Harlow’s just a water. They sat on the same side of the table. She leaned in to him and they angled their chairs so they could see out the floor-to-ceiling windows into the city night skyline.

  She toyed with his hand, her small fingers like a doll’s hands compared to his larger ones. “Do you have a mitt specially made?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Your hands, they’re so large, is your mitt custom made?”

  “You know it, by me.”

  “What, seriously?”

  “Well, I get a starter mitt from the league or wherever, but then it takes months and months of conditioning to get it just right. My dad and I usually do it together.”

  “I like your dad.”

  “He likes you. I was happy about that.”

  She turned to him. “Were you?”

  He nodded. “Of course. You gotta be in with the dad if you want to be in with the dawg.”

  “Oh brother.”

  He laughed. “Come on, most girls love it when I talk about the dawg.”

  “Oh, not as much as I love it. Your swagger is the envy of all.” She raised her eyebrows and he couldn’t tell if she was making fun of him or not. And that made him feel insecure. He missed jokes a lot, especially the really witty ones, and right now, he didn’t know how to respond.

  “Huh, yeah, I’m sure you do.”

  The girls from the other table laughed extra loud. And for a moment, he wished he were over there with Tania and Crystal and all of them, the regulars. Crystal noticed his glance and beckoned. He held up a finger in a wave.

  “You can go.” Harlow’s eyes were flashing, and he knew he’d made a huge mistake.

  “I don’t want to go over there. Just being nice.”

  “Hmm.”

  A tall guy in a suit cleared his throat.

  Harlow squealed extra loud, “Gunner?” She stood up and gave him a quick hug. “Cole, you remember Gunner from Belltown?”

  Cole didn’t think he’d ever seen him before, but he shook his hand. “How ya doing?”

  “Great! Just here on business. I’ve got that journalism symposium.”

  “The West Coast Expo?” Harlow’s voice sounded overly interested to Cole.

  “Yes, they’ve got me doing a workshop on that one, just stopped by here for a few drinks and some downtime.” He paused.

  Harlow glanced at Cole and before it could get too awkward said, “Well, sure, why don’t you join us?”

  She leaned forward and before Cole could say another word, Harlow and the new journalism guy were chatting it up across the table.

  He glanced back, and Crystal and all the girls had taken note with the exact same expressions. Eyebrows raised, expecting him to join them.

  So he stood. “Hey, I’m just gonna be over there for a second.”

  Harlow frowned.

  “Come meet some of my friends.” Cole looked from the new dude and back to Harlow.

  She started a half shake of her head, no, and was quickly distracted by another question about an article she was planning. Cole waited a few seconds more and when she turned to him a couple times mid-sentence but said nothing, he left and joined the regulars. They scooted over and surrounded him, and all at once he had hands everywhere, feet on his under the table and women looking for a little of the Big Dawg.

  Harlow still seemed fascinated by her new Gunner, only glanced at him once, so he settled in for some fun. “What are we playing, ladies?”

  They giggled. And Tania said, “We’re boring. Don’t judge us but we just want to see you play your game.”

  “Ooh, yes, magic hands in action.” Crystal shivered at his side, and he didn’t miss her body rubbing up against his. Hmm. You’re nice, but I’m not interested. He eyed Harlow. And she wasn’t interested either, in him. So he rubbed his hands together. “Ok, set up the cups!”

  They squealed and started chanting, “Big Dawg. Big Dawg. Big Dawg.”

  Cole called out across the room. “Harlow! Come watch the Big Dawg play.”

  Other people in the bar crowded around their booth.

  But Harlow ignored him.

  He tried again. “You can bring your friend. Heck, I challenge you to a game. No one beats the Big Dawg in cup pong . . .” He waited, sure she would take the bait, but all he got was an irritated glance, and then she looked away.

  Hurt she would ignore him, self-confidence taking a hit that journalism dude was suddenly way more interesting than he himself was, Cole set up the cups for his turn. They all took turns tossing the ping-pong ball from the table into the cups. Every time one landed in the farthest cup, Big Dawg stood to show off his signature dance. The plan was, if they cleared all the cups in one turn, he took off his shirt to do it.

  Usually this game involved quite a bit of drinking but tonight he did still plan on ending the evening with Harlow, if she would ever stop giving eyes to the journalist dude. He drank nothing while everyone around him got wasted. The more they drank, the longer Harlow ignored him no matter what he did, the more irritated he became.

  It was his turn. And he tossed the ball into cup after cup until he had cleared them all. The girls
stood up and cheered. The cups were cleared and Cole stood up on the table. Harlow refused to glance in his direction. In fact, was it his imagination or had she turned completely away from him and sat closer to Gunner?

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out his glasses, and then he unbuttoned his shirt. Any other day, the girls shouting at his feet would have made him laugh. He would have brought one up on the table with him, he would have danced and made everyone laugh, but none of this was fun anymore. He ripped it off, swung it above his head and threw it across the room. He didn’t mean to, but a part of him was secretly glad it landed on Harlow’s head.

  She reached up and turned to him, eyebrows raised.

  He gave her his biggest smile and pointed at her while he did his signature Big Dawg dance, hoping she’d notice, get a little excited about his shirt being off, maybe smile. An emotion. Any emotion. But no. It was as if he did not exist.

  Once the excitement died down, he sat back down. Crystal laid her head in his lap with a cup on her forehead. “Try it now, Big Dawg.”

  He humored her and tossed the ball in her cup every now and then while they talked about nothing, about his game, about the other guys on the team; and then everyone looked up at someone standing behind him.

  Harlow.

  He patted the seat beside him, scooting Crystal up to sitting position and said, “Join us.”

  She lifted her wrist and indicated the door with her head.

  The girls whined and moaned. “She can go. Stay here with us.”

  But he stood. “Thank you for a little fun this evening while my date was otherwise occupied.”

  Harlow stiffened beside him, but her face was a mask.

  The girls at the table blew kisses and waved.

  When Cole put his hand at Harlow’s lower back, she stiffened further, and he backed off. “Whoa, easy, Bonfire.”

  “Don’t even.” She hissed and handed him his shirt.

  Oh boy.

  “I could leave it off . . .” He waggled his eyebrows and then regretted it immediately as her scowl iced over him, and she walked faster.