Page 8 of The Foul Out

That wasn’t shocking. From what I’d seen over the last couple of years, the guy never took responsibility for a bad play. Why would he suddenly change his ways now?

Trevor shook his head. “The guy’s an ass.”

I didn’t necessarily disagree, despite how much my daughter loved the baseball star who danced around the field and scored runs.

I lifted a shoulder. “He wasn’t catching it. Everyone there could see that.” Unconcerned about a grown man’s temper tantrum, I rubbed at one last smear of egg and then pushed to my feet.

“I hope you’re right.” Trevor stepped back, frowning, and handed me his towel. “If you need anything, call me.”

“Thanks.” With a smile, I stepped inside.

Trevor leaned on the doorjamb again, assessing me. “You doing anything this weekend? Maybe we could grab a drink.”

Trevor and I had this conversation every other weekend. Though Jace had our kids every other Friday night, our free nights never lined up. Honestly, even if they did, I didn’t have the energy. I barely kept up as it was.

“Trevor. There have got to be eighty gazillion women from those apps of yours lining up to have a drink with you.”

He chuckled. “I’d still like to buy one for you.”

I rolled my eyes. There was absolutely no chemistry there, but I tried to be flattered by his persistence. “I have the kids this weekend.”

“Too bad.” He tapped the doorframe with his knuckles and pushed back. “Call me if you need anything,” he said again.

With a nod, I closed the door quietly and exhaled. I needed a solid ten minutes to relax before I crawled into bed. I tossedthe gross egg-covered paper towel into the trash, then snagged my cider and phone from the counter. At least the kids hadn’t had time to destroy the apartment today. Since I didn’t have that mess to clean up, I sank onto the small sofa in the living room and took another sip of my drink.

My phone vibrated on the cushion beside me. Another unknown number. For fuck’s sake. I slid my thumb over the screen to answer, intending to tell them to take me off their list.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.”

A female chuckled, her laugh sharp. “I’m not interested in it either, but this is what I’m paid to do. Is this Harper Wallace?”

I took another sip of my cider and swallowed back my nerves with it. “Maybe.”

“This is Hannah Erickson. I’m the head of public relations for the Boston Revs. I can understand if you’re upset with us. I know I am. Bosco and Quinn are going to drive me to search for a new job,” she huffed. “Anyway, I’d love if you could give me two minutes of your time.”

My heart leapt into my throat. Why were the Revs calling me? “How did you get my number?”

Hannah sighed, making the phone line crackle. “When Beckett Langfield wants something, he gets it. I’ve learned not to ask questions.”

Okay.

“I know it’s late, but I want to apologize for Mr. Bosco’s statement. Please know he wasn’t speaking for the Revs organization.”

I pressed my lips together and hummed. What the hell did this guy say that warranted a call from the head of PR for a professional team? “Right.”

“I have a plan to make this better for everyone, so hear me out. This is what I’m thinking…”

I listened as she explained, and although I was tempted to tell her I had no interest in helping the Revs out, I couldn’t say no. This would make Piper’s year. So, ridiculously, I agreed to swing by Lang Field the next day.

“Your favorite treat.S’mores coffee with the extra whip,” Cameron said, his far too chipper voice echoing around my dark room.

“No,” I muttered into the pillow. Last night, my dream of making it to the World Series had ended. The last thing I wanted to do was face the light of day, especially this early. I didn’t need a clock to know that I hadn’t been asleep for six hours yet.

“I get that it was supposed to be a sleep-in day, but Hannah rang, and when that girl calls, I answer.”

“Time to learn to hit the redIgnorebutton.” I pulled the thick goose-down comforter over my head.

“Time to learn to control the word vomit.” He was too damn cheerful.

---