Page 18 of Home Run Fiancé
“Well, the whole point is to be public about our relationship, right?” She smiles, but it looks a little shaky around the edges.
I shrug. “Yeah, but on our terms. Not stolen photos from fans.”
My phone buzzes again and I see it’s a text from Asher. Just two words: call me.
“Uh oh. Big brother is calling.”
Rhys smiles sympathetically. “Why don’t you step out to call him back and I’ll order for us. Oh, and tell him he can tip off the paparazzi now if that picture didn’t already.”
By the time I placate Asher and convince him the kiss was all part of our plan, our food is on the table and I’ve left Rhys for far too long. I feel terrible for leaving her hanging.
“Sorry about that. He’s cool. Also, be prepared for our picture to be taken when we leave the restaurant.” I slide into my chair and place my napkin on my lap to tuck into my food. I’m starving, as usual.
“Maybe you should post one of our selfies on your account.” I look up to see Rhys isn’t eating yet. “You know, to front run the story. Like it’s not a salacious thing. We’re dating.”
She has a point. If I just let that fan picture be the only thing out there, it will reinforce my bad-boy image. If I post a picture of the two of us together, that will show we’re a real couple. Settled. Happy. Not single.
Rhys sees when I’ve made up my mind and pulls her phone out. “Give me your number and I’ll send the selfie to you.” She looks up again. “Can you just not tag me quite yet?”
I nod. “Whatever you want.” She’s doing me a favor, the least I can do is abide by her wishes. I still don’t understand why she doesn’t want to be connected to me publicly. Just the thought of that makes me irritated, like she’s getting under my skin with each nearly imperceptible slight.
My phone dings with the picture she took earlier this afternoon. I load it onto my Instagram account with the caption “New baseball season, new relationship. #Homerun.”
“That ought to get people talking.” I hit “post” and put my phone in my pocket. “Let’s eat, huh?”
My heart is pumping fast, the idea that our relationship is officially out there making me nervous. This plan better work. Otherwise, I’ve compromised both my own integrity and Rhys’.
* * *
The photo I posted blew up.
In the best way possible. My teammates and fans congratulate me on landing a beautiful girlfriend. Everyone’s clamoring for her name, but I don’t respond. Ever.
After we left the restaurant, a huge contingent of paparazzi was there to snap our photo and hurl questions at us. Rhys smiled shyly and gave them the photos they wanted. I kissed her again, quickly this time, feeling like I needed to get her away from their prying eyes sooner rather than later. Now that we’d set the ball in motion, I didn’t want to share her with the world. I knew she was uncomfortable with it, and I felt some inexplicable pull to keep her shielded.
Before she dropped me off at my house, I invited her to go to one of my spring training home games a few days later. I figured she should be seen at a ball game supporting me. Rhys agreed, with less enthusiasm than I’d hoped, but I knew she’d show.
Today’s the day and there’s an added layer of nerves before the game. I’m on the field warming up by tossing the ball with one of our outfielders. Every muscle in my body is sore, but I don’t let that stop me. I have to play my best and get traded. Mama goes in for another surgery in a month. I intend to be there for her after she gets home from the hospital. It’d be a lot easier to do that based out of Dallas than LA.
Tony, the outfielder I’m warming up with, lets out a wolf whistle and looks off to his right. I follow his line of sight and see Rhys taking her seat in the box reserved for girlfriends and wives of the player. She has one of those flower things on her head, this time blue and white to match our team colors. Another dress highlights her willowy figure and tan skin.
She’s gorgeous.
A combination of immense pride fills my chest while red-hot anger boils in my stomach watching every male in a hundred-yard radius turn and stare at her.
“That your girl?” Tony’s still watching her, walking closer, forgetting completely that we’re supposed to be warming up.
I shove his shoulder which finally has him tearing his gaze away from Rhys. “Get back to warming up, man.”
His face crinkles as he laughs. “That’s awesome, you’re totally losing your sh—”
I cut him off. “I’m not losing anything except patience with you, Tony. Let’s go.”
I grab the ball from him and wave him off. He shakes his head at me slowly, like he’s got me all figured out. But he jogs backward and gets back to playing catch so I don’t end up punching him in the face like I want to.
Studiously ignoring Rhys, I continue to warm up and wonder if inviting her here was a big mistake. I shouldn’t be distracted when I’m trying to play my best. A minute or so later, a clamoring in the stands has me looking over, despite my vow not to look at her.
No less than ten people are shoving cameras in her face. She’s lost color in her cheeks and she’s looking around wildly. A surge of something so primal it can’t be ignored, floods through my body and I’m sprinting before I even know what I’m doing.
