Page 35 of Wild Catch
I recognize what’s happening after my body moves all on its own. Once more, pulled by instinct, my eyes zero in on something. And it moves me to action.
“Kim?” Thomason asks as I veer toward the home plate again. I wave him off and keep going.
There, on the lower stands right behind the home plate, is Rosalina Mena—Rose, I guess—surrounded by a bunch of women in white Orlando Wild jerseys, with the purple and yellow trims. It’s the fact that Rose keeps trying to move her phone and camera out of their reach what tells me this isn’t some harmless interaction.
“Hey!” I call out as I walk over. “What are you doing?”
The handsiest of the women eases off when she sees me, and her squeal propagates to the other ones. “Oh my goodness, it’s Logan! Guys, it’s Logan!” Something about the way she stretches out my name tells me she’s drunk off her ass.
“Oh wow, it’s really him.”
“Hey, Logan, can I have your autograph?”
“Better yet, what are you doing tonight?” A hiccup.
“Can I get on the list?” Then a flurry of laughter follows as they congratulate the owner of that zinger.
I shift my attention over to the team’s social media manager. She’s tucking her cellphone in the back pocket of her jeans, thinking more about the safety of her devices than her own. Or I guess, in protecting her job more than herself, based on what she said the other night at the cowboy’s.
“You okay, Rose?”
She’s surprised that I ask, openly showing it with wide eyes and parted lips. “I—Yes, thank you. It’s not a big deal.”
I raise my eyebrows. Not a big deal? She was just being harassed by five drunk women.
Too late do I realize my mistake. In getting Rose to talk to me, it attracts the drunkards’s attention again. The apparent ringleader turns to our social media manager again and points an accusatory finger. “Give it to us straight, are the two of you really in a relationship?”
“Huh?” The question slips from my mouth and goes ignored.
Rose sighs. “Ma’am, for the last time. I’m just a staff mem?—”
“Tell. Us. The. Truth!” the woman demands now jabbing her finger in Rose’s chest.
My muscles lock, primed for action. But it’s not like I can leap over the boards to the stands and then do what? Bodily handle these women and end up getting sued?
I glance all around and spot a few of the players coming over—they must’ve seen the interaction and put two and two. At the helm is Lucky and I shout at him.
“Lucky, call security—now!”
He freezes for a second and then says something in Spanish that I don’t understand, but he turns back around firing instructions to our teammates.
I turn my attention back on the women. Rose has her hands up and managed to put some distance while I was distracted, but there’s a drunk woman behind her blocking her exit. I have to do something, but what?
“Do you want to know the truth?” I blurt out, which has the desired effect of calling all attention to me. I fold my arms, stalling for crumbles of time where I can, and look at each of the women in the eyes. I have a feeling some of them see five of me. “I take it you’re my fans, right?”
“Oh, yes.” One of them melts over the barrier to give me what she thinks is a sultry expression that makes her look constipated.
“I’mthebiggest fan,” one at the back of the group yells out.
“No,Iam the biggest fan,” counters the one who propositioned me a minute ago.
“You’re all wrong, I’m the future Mrs. Kim,” jokes another one.
I’ve never been gladder for easily distracted people. As even the one blocking her way moves over to fight over who wants to get in my pants the most, I make eye contact with Rose and telepathically tell her to beat it. She gives me one nod and retreats ever so slowly, carefully, until she’s close enough to the stairs that she can bolt to the exit.
I wait even a moment longer, putting up with the most inane conversation that’s ever filtered to my ears—they’re now up to who wants to give me the most babies—when finally an army of security personnel barrel down the stairs.
Right before they arrive, I say, “The truth is that it’s none of your business who I’m dating or not. But regardless of my status, you’re not entitled to harass anyone on my behalf.”
