Page 111 of Wild Pitch
I’ve never had anyone genuinely worry about me so much, let alone a woman I’m so damn attracted to. Most people have wanted something from me—for me to be a quiet and good boy, or for me to play well, or my money, or just a good time—but here’s Hope, willing to wrestle stalkers from me.
I sigh. “I feel like I’m not fulfilling my role as a guy too well.”
“If I had a stalker who broke into my workplace to grope me you’d probably get worried too.”
“Worried?” The question comes out with a hell of an emphasis. “You’re wrong, Hope. I wouldn’t be worried.”
“No?” She sounds almost disappointed.
“I’d be freaking feral. And I wouldn’t stop until I found who was harassing you to take care of them.”
She gives a light laugh. “Atta boy. But anyway, it shouldn’t surprise you that I’m the same. I’m a tomboy after all.”
“Listen, I have no issue with this role allocation.” And who cares about the tomboy label? I’m convinced that everyone who assigned it to her was just intimidated by the fact that she’s strong physically and mentally, and that it’s just part of what makes her so wildly beautiful that it’s intimidating.
My mind plucks the memory of the first time I saw her. We were all lined up around the clubhouse while she was introduced by Steve, Beau, and Charlie Cox, the owner. She stood firm, almost soldier like, feet apart and holding her hands behind her. And she glared at each of us in turn while Beau warned us about what would happen if any of them acted disrespectful tothe team’s first female trainer. But there was no need, each stare down she did established a very clearor else, and fortunately the vast majority of our lineup was made of smart guys. No one would dare mess with a woman with the energy of a wild animal.
It’s why lightly teasing her is so fun. Nothing like someone who can dish it back to keep things entertaining.
“Good,” she says with finality. “Anyway, how far are you?”
“Pulling into my street now, two blocks from my house.”
“Good thing you live in a bunker, huh?” She pauses. “Actually, how come you built your house that way? Have you been stalked before?”
“Technically no,” I mumble, uncomfortable not by her questions but by the memories. “It’s just—I was always under scrutiny growing up, by adults waiting for me to screw up or by other judgy kids. And I just didn’t want to live like that anymore.”
“How does that work with baseball now, though?”
“It’s different. That attention I genuinely enjoy. It’s how I get to show people I’m worth a damn.”
“Cade… you’re worth a damn even if you weren’t a professional pitcher.”
My voice is kinda choked up as I speak. “Careful, darlin’. You’re gonna make me swoon here.” Too late, though, pretty sure I’m in the Hope Garcia fan club forever.
She splutters. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—Ahem.”
I bite my lip and release it to grin. It’s even better if it came naturally out of her, and not in a flirty way. She cares about me and likes what she sees, and I’m almost high from this feeling, from the hope I have that when I ask her out, she might really say yes.
Speaking of my bunker of a house, there are a few cars parked by my sidewalk and one is almost blocking my garage entry, forcing me to slow down to measure well. But then I catchsome movement from inside that car from the corner of my eye. Someone’s there, and they just lowered themselves so I wouldn’t see them.
Instinct kicks in. Instead of pulling in, I reverse and click the button to shut down my garage door right just as it was starting to rise.
“Uhh, Hope?”
“Yes?” She squeaks out, probably still embarrassed.
“I think the stalker’s outside my house.”
Her sharp inhale echoes in the quiet of my car. “Crap.”
“I’m driving away,” I say in a clipped tone. “No way I’m going in.”
“Good call. Are you being followed?”
I check the rearview mirror and sag in relief. There are no cars behind me, but I’m still not far away enough that it’s impossible to catch up.
“Not right now.”
