Page 79 of Houston, We Have a Problem
I spend my Saturday morningon the baseball field making a game plan with the cameraman I borrowed from a local news network, all the while eagerly anticipating the moment Houston arrives. I shouldn’t be this excited, considering I’m dressed as Tamlin right now and can’t kiss him like I’ve been wanting to do for the last day and a half. But I am. Every moment I get to spend with him is a good moment, and I don’t know how many more I’m going to get.
I haven’t heard anything else from my mysterious texter, but it’s only a matter of time.
I feel like everything is coming to a head, like the storm that’s been brewing in the distance is just a few miles away. Technically, my contract prohibits me from telling anyone outside of Enhance that Darcy and Tamlin are the same person—something Connor reminded meagainafter he complimented me on yesterday’s putter story—but how am I supposed to keep lying to Houston when I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him?
I would think falling that fast would be impossible if my parents hadn’t known on their first date that they were meant to be. Dad may have been a good deal older than Mom, but they talked about their future lives together over the ice cream they shared that first date. If that can lead into a strong thirty-year marriage, surely it’s not so crazy that after a couple of weeks of spending most of my time either with or thinking about someone, I’m head over heels. Right?
It probably doesn’t matter. The moment I tell Houston I’ve been lying to him this whole time is the moment I lose him, and that’s exactly what I deserve.
“You good, Miss Park?” Ricardo, the cameraman, raises an eyebrow at me, which means I’ve probably been standing here lost in thought for way too long.
I give my body a shake, hoping to shake my growing dread. “Sorry, it’s been a long couple of weeks. Do you have any questions? Think you can keep the kids out of focus?”
He nods with a smile, and I admire his confidence. Most local cameramen tend to be intimidated by me, like the one in Albuquerque who either stared at me or refused to make eye contact. “Like I said, if we keep you and Briggs here in this spot, I’ll have enough space to frame everything how you want. Easy peasy.”
“Perfect. Thanks for being willing to come out on a Saturday. I’ll make sure you get that autograph from Briggs.” Hopefully Houston is okay with that…
Five minutes later, the first coach arrives with a couple of the boys, and we shift over to the side to stay out of the way until Houston gets here and can talk through everything before we start. I hope to get everything done while the kids are warming up so we don’t disrupt their game.
I know the minute Houston arrives, even before I see him. The air shifts, like it crackles with electricity that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Shivering with anticipation, I force myself to remain seated on my bench, even after he comes around the bleachers and catches sight of me.
I meet his smile, the full-dimpled one that I’ve missed the last day and a half. “You ready for this, Coach?” I ask when he comes up to me.
He eyes Ricardo, who nearly vibrates with excitement. “You’re going to let me control what info goes out?” he asks, though I don’t think it’s because he doesn’t trust me. I think he’s just generally worried about compromising these boys because there’s a lot of pressure on his shoulders with this story.
I stand and step closer to him, lowering my voice so only he can hear me. “This is all you. I wish I didn’t have to tell the story, but…”
“But the secret is out regardless,” he finishes for me. Okay, but why is he looking at me so intently? Did I forget my contacts or something?
No, because Jesse is ridiculously good at his job and doesn’t allow a hair out of place before I go on camera. He refused to let me go to Albuquerque without him yesterday, even though I insisted I’d be fine as long as he made me up before I left. He spent an extra ten minutes on me before Harrison and I started talking, just to make sure I looked absolutely perfect.
So, there has to be some other reason that Houston is looking at me like I’ve got a cooler full of ice-cold drinks on a hot day.
“Uh, Ricardo was hoping you could sign his hat,” I say, feeling too warm beneath Houston’s gaze.
Glancing at my cameraman again, Houston flashes a quick smile and holds out his hand. “Sure. You a fan?”
Ricardo nearly drops his camera—I grab it for him, and dang this thing is heavy—as he scrambles to pull a Sharpie out of his pocket while simultaneously dropping his hat three times. “Yes! Yes, sir! Been to nearly every Red-tails game here in Sun City!” Then he launches into a recap of the final World Series game while Houston gives me an amused look.
I didn’t realize he was that big of a fan,I silently tell him.
Whether he understands me or not, Houston’s return expression seems to say,How come you never fawned over me like this?I’m probably projecting, but when I think about it, I don’t really have an answer. I had plenty of respect and admiration for Houston Briggs before meeting him at the last Series game, but the moment he stepped into the press tent, anyawe or inadequacy I might have been feeling just vanished. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made me realize he was human.
I think that’s what has made it so easy to fall for him. He’s just a guy—insanely attractive and athletic, yes—and I’m just a girl. What more does anyone need?
“I’m going to get everyone going on warmups,” Houston says as he hands Ricardo’s hat back to him, now sporting a swirling signature on the brim. “Then I’ll be good to go.”
“I’ll be here,” I reply and nearly swoon at the smile he gives me. That man’s lips should not be allowed to do so many knee-weakening maneuvers.
Before I know it, Houston and I are side by side as boys throw balls to each other behind us. Ricardo gives me a thumbs up, and I lift up my microphone like I’ve done a hundred times before. But this feels so much different. Usually, it’s me and them. I have a plan going into it, and the athletes I talk to are sweating bullets. But Houston is pretty relaxed beside me, all things considered, and I am far too aware of the fact that his arm keeps brushing against mine every time one of us moves. He doesn’t have to stand that close, but he does it anyway.
We’re in thistogether.
“Good morning from gorgeous Sun City, New Mexico! I’m Tamlin Park from Enhance Media, and I’m here with none other than Houston Briggs, top starting pitcher for the Sun City Red-tails. He’s hot off his win at the World Series, but an unstoppable arm is not the only secret weapon in Houston’s arsenal. We’re here on one of many baseball fields scattered across the state, where kids of all ages learn not only the skills to play an exciting game of baseball, but also how to be part of a team. Houston, what can you say about the Little League circuit here in Sun City?”
For a second, I think maybe he’s gotten nervous and isn’t sure what to say, but when I glance at him, he’s staring at mewith a little half-grin that has my face heating. He clears his throat and looks back at the camera. “Here in Sun City, we have so many Little League teams that some of these kids only play against each other once or twice in their entire League careers. I guess you could say we have a lot of Red-tails fans.”
“Or Houston Briggs fans,” I counter with a wink.
