Page 12 of Triple Play

“I can get Ubers.” Though she says it through clenched teeth.

“By the time we get there,” Forsyth says, “it could take almost a month to ship your car back to you. Of course, I could send you something for a rental…”

“No!” Shira shakes her head emphatically. “I mean, I’ll be okay.”

“There is another option…” Forsyth says. “Way I see it, we can drive with Shira to Florida. Then Shira can take the auto train back north with her car. It’ll leave you around DC, so you’ll still have to drive some but seems like the easiest thing.”

I don’t trust whatever my face is doing but can’t help a glance at her. “Seems like a lot of trouble to put M—Shira through.”

Forsyth wraps an arm around her waist, draws her tight, and kisses her cheek. “Do you mind?” he asks her.

She gives the tiniest gulp as if she’s avoiding her real answer. As if she knows, like I do, that this is a terrible idea. “Could be fun.”

I almost, almost succeed at not throwing her a look of What are we doing? “All right, sounds like a good plan.” Which it does, but that’s not what I mean.

Because Forsyth is rich, handsome, famous. Better. All I have is myself. I can only hope that’s enough. Before, I was going to Florida to beg for my job. Now I have a different mission: I have two days to convince Melody—Shira—she should leave him for me.

CHAPTER TWO

Shira

“All right, sounds like a good plan,” John—no, Felix, his name is Felix—says.

Of course I looked it up after that fateful day at the club. I spent four weeks unable to do much while my ankle healed. Some of that was spent searching for everything there is to know about the rookie first baseman for the Boston Monsters. Felix Paquette. The name certainly fits him better than John.

Now I’m going to Florida with both of them. What do guys talk about on road trips? Baseball, probably. Food, definitely. That the last time I saw Felix, we kissed. Dancing teaches you that a man who gets what he wants, and one who doesn’t, are often two entirely differently people. Who knows what Felix might say—or what Blake might do in response? That possibility beads sweat into the lines of my palms.

You know what would solve that? Pole grip spray, the kind we doused on our hands so we didn’t slip off. A laugh bubbles within me like it’s forcing its way up my throat. Don’t giggle, don’t giggle.

A few feet away, Felix is staring at me. Between his hat and the beard taking over most of his face, it’s hard to read his expression. The beard is different—not-good different. Did you have a rough second half of the year too? A question I definitely can’t ask in front of Blake.

I knew something like this could happen. It’s absurd, right? I said goodbye to one ballplayer and meet another on the same team a few months later. I just figured, even with them being teammates, there wasn’t a reason for me and Felix to spend time in close quarters.

But nothing is gonna be closer than a few days in the car I vowed Blake would never see.

So I just have to spend two or so days in a vehicle with the guy I’m dating and the guy I don’t want him to worry about. Nothing real happened between me and Felix anyway.

Except that kiss you spent months thinking about.

Blake still has his arm around my waist. He squeezes me gently and kisses my hair. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The name slips out. He’s called me that a few times, casually, in his Georgia accent that loses the ts in Atlanta. Sweetheart. What I could be—his girlfriend, maybe more. The day after we met, I spent a few hours Googling what being a baseball WAG is like, even going so far as to try to find Blake’s exes, though they must all have private accounts. But the general vibe I got was the same answer over and over: Be flexible. Be accommodating. Be willing to put your life aside for his. I need to show him I can do all those things—that I’m good enough for him even if I know I’m not. “Of course, it’s really no problem,” I chirp. “It’ll be fun!”

“Yeah,” Felix says, “everyone says that about driving on Route 95. Fun.”

For real, bro? I want to snap. I put on my sweetest, most accommodating smile. I can be a nice, easygoing, well-mannered girl, even if it fucking kills me—the kind of partner Blake deserves.

“Who doesn’t love a road trip?” I ask, as if I don’t know Felix is being sarcastic. I smile at Felix, sugary sweet. Well, except for the glare. Just fucking roll with it.

“Great,” Blake says. At least one of us sounds sincere. “Let’s just grab our bags and head out.”

Except the crowd is already five people deep around the baggage claim carousel. Even if my bag comes down, there’s no way I’ll be able to see it. I hop up, attempting to get a view—and wait for a shock of pain to lance through my ankle as I land. None comes. Or none comes yet. Sometimes you don’t know how much something hurts until later.

“Excuse me.” Blake parts the crowd effortlessly, then pulls his suitcase off one-handed. He sets it down, rolls his shoulder a few times like it’s bothering him, then wheels the suitcase back to us.

“That was quick,” Felix grumbles.

“Priority tags.” Blake taps the orange paper tags affixed to his suitcase. “Worth every penny.”

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