Page 9 of Stealing Home

“Fine, do the clinic, but tone it down around Mrs. Rivera.”

“It’s Pierce actually. She never took his name,” I correct him.

He points his finger in my face. “The fact that you know that doesn’t make me feel any better about you spending time with her. Coach could ruin your baseball career.”

I laugh. I might be a hotshot on the field, and yeah, I’ve had coaches scouting me since I was in high school, but I have absolutely no plans on continuing playing baseball after college. It’s fun, but being on the road most of the year isn’t the life I want to live.

The money isn’t a lure for me either. My trust fund ensures I’ll never have to work if I don’t want to. I’m not happy to sit around spending the money my family made over generations though, but it is nice to have the freedom to pursue what I’m passionate about.

Baseball is fun, but mostly because it was something I grew up doing with my dad. He played in college and satisfied himself by coaching my little league teams when I was a kid. My time on the field is coming to an end, and I’m okay with it. Although, it isn’t something I advertise to my teammates. They wouldn’t understand. Any of them would give anything to have the opportunities that I do and plan to walk away from.

My real love is technology. Instead of some bullshit degree so I can play ball, I study computer science, specializing in cybersecurity. There’s no shame in the other guys who want to study basket weaving, or whatever, but I need a constant challenge.

My uncle Jeremy, who is actually my dad’s best friend, went to work for his cousin’s company after college. Anderson Global is a huge tech company in Seattle, and Jeremy wants me to come and use my computer skills back home. I’ve met with the CEO, Beckett Anderson, a few times at family functions and have a job offer to work for them when I graduate.

“Don’t worry so much about my career and focus on your own. I promise you I’ve already got my shit handled,” I finally answer him.

“You haven’t even entered the draft yet, man,” he snorts.

I cock an eyebrow. Taylor might be my best friend, but he’s opinionated as fuck. I don’t need him weighing in on my choices.

He holds up his hands. “Yeah, yeah. I got the message. For the record I’m a little offended you never talk about this shit with me. You don’t even have an agent. How the hell are you going to get the right deal?”

“I’m focused on this season and my classes, the rest is just noise,” I tell him for the dozenth time.

“Must be nice being so sought after you don’t worry about the future,” Taylor grumbles.

I shrug. “Worrying isn’t going to make anything better.”

* * *

My classes dragthe rest of the day while I’m preoccupied thinking about how I’m going to get in touch with Harlow. Thankfully, it occurs to me that Coach is one of the few people I know to still have a landline. Knowing Harlow probably went home since she lost her job, I rush out to my truck to call their house after I’m finally free from class.

It rings a couple of times before her breathy voice answers. “Hello.”

“Hey, Harlow, It’s Scott Ryan. We didn’t set up when to meet to go over the stuff for the clinic.”

She laughs, but it sounds hollow. “Well, I’m free any time now.”

I can’t believe Coach let that bullshit fly. There’s no way she wasn’t needed. The university is short staffed as it is, and with enrollment up, I can’t see them trying to cut costs by eliminating staff needed to bill students for their tuition.

“I know a coffee shop in town. It’s a little different since it’s attached to a body shop. Hale and Storm Café is a few blocks from campus. I’m done with classes now if you want to meet me there. I know we’re pressed for time,” I offer.

“I’ll see you there in twenty minutes,” she agrees.

I beat her there and get us a table. I like the mix of clientele that comes in here. There’s people waiting for their cars, along with students who like the funky vibe of the place. Everything has a car theme with bench seats designed to look like the inside of old vehicles, chrome accents, and car themed beverages.

Harlow walks in, and I swear all the heads in the cafe turn to look at her. She’s totally unaware of it though. She smiles when she sees me, and I force myself to stay in my seat. Maybe Taylor was right, this is a horrible idea. There’s no way I can be near her and not flirt with her.

“Thank you for helping me with all of this. It was kind of dumped on me last minute, and I’m reeling,” she admits.

“I know why I’m doing this. It’s my team, and we should be participating with the outreach programs. I still don’t understand how this became your responsibility.”

She looks down at the table, her fingers drawing invisible shapes on the formica. Her plump lower lip pulls between her teeth. Her blue eyes flick up to mine, and there’s a deep well of sadness in them. “I would rather not talk about it, if that’s okay.”

I nod. I won’t make her uncomfortable, but I’d be lying to myself if I said that alarm bells weren’t blaring inside my head. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking that there’s a legitimate reason I can steal her away from her asshole husband and not be the bad guy.

Her shoulders roll back, and she grabs a notebook from her bag. “So, I’m clueless about what needs to be done. I’ve been around baseball for about a decade now, but I’ve never really participated in any of it. Other than going to games that is.”

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