Page 109 of Force Play

“A menace.”

“Your menace.”

“Mine,” I echo, leaning over the bed to give her another kiss.

“You’re going to be late,” she whispers against my lips. Reluctantly I leave her to shower and when I come back, she’s up and making coffee. Still rumpled and sleepy from bed she holds out a travel mug for me. I take it hesitantly and she rolls her big chocolate eyes in return.

“Trust me.”

Lifting the cup to my lips I sip it, waiting for the bitter taste but it’s rich and smooth with a healthy pour of creamer. Just the way I like it.

“Don’t worry, mine is still as thick as motor oil, even if it’s decaf.”

“I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah.” She stares down at her coffee cup, the teasing smile gone. I’m already cutting it close, but something is off. Her lips turn up a little too quickly. “I’ll see you this afternoon. I’m excited about lunch with your mom and sisters. See you at the stadium.” She pushes up on her toes kissing me before steering me towards the door.

“Is everything okay?” I try one more time, checking the clock over her shoulder.

“Uh huh. I’m good, promise.” She’s not, but I can’t force her to talk to me and I need to go. Knowing that she’s heading to meet my family soon is about the only reason I’m able to force myself out the door for the drive to the stadium.

The hallways leading to the film room are empty and I’m going to be late even without getting Indie off. Cruz is standing by the door to the auditorium about to pull it shut when my hand stops him.

“Is this going to be a regular thing?” Damn, he’s a little scary when he goes into captain mode. Tough love from him is like your parents telling you they’re not mad, they’re just disappointed.

“Nope,” I say, trying to skirt him to find an open seat.

“Over here.” He nods towards the back row where there are two empty seats at the end.

Great, now he’s babysitting me. Dropping into the seat I set my bag down between my feet.

“Coach said you’ve got some stuff going on, but he wouldn’t tell me what. Are you going to tell me?”

“Nope.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Nope.”

He shakes his head. “You know, you remind me of my brother.”

That has my attention. Cruz’s brother passed away four years ago. He was a pitcher and his death haunted my teammate for years until he finally got some closure last season.

“You two would have been unbearable together. Too much energy, always happy. Everyone loved him. Just like you. If you need help, you’ll let me know, right?”

“Yeah. I will,” I concede.

“Good, now stop being late. I don’t like having to be a dick to my friends.” He pats me on the back a touch harder than necessary.

“I wasn’t late.” I sigh.

“You were.” He points to where Miller Murphy is standing at the front of the room waiting for us to shut up.

After the team meeting and reviewing tape from last night, I head to see Grant for a little preventative work on my hamstring. After stealing home last night, it’s a little tight. Nothing concerning but with the postseason I don’t want to chance it.

Mid-session, there’s a knock on the door. Hendrix pokes his head in, and I wave him in.

“Getting involved in other people’s business isn’t normally my style, but my fiancée is worried about her best friend and, since you two are basically living together at this point . . .”

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