Page 18 of Wild Catch
“Uh.” I brush my wild hair away from my face. “I’m going to butcher this but the tacos de flor de calabaza.”
“That sounds intriguing.” But just when I think she’s going to ask more questions, she presses a button on her screen and lowers it.
The expression on her face is so unexpected that my whole body grows stiff.
Her eyes narrow like she’s trying to read me between lines.
I’m a professional catcher, for goodness’s sake. Nothing gets by me that I don’t let it. I know for a fact that I kept my expression neutral while those pathetic memories circled my brain. My eyes are even hidden behind shades.
And yet she murmurs, “You don’t have fond memories of Mexico, do you?”
I realize my mouth is hanging open when I snap it close. Even then, I admit, “None. Aside from the food.”
“Fair.” She nods and does as if to stand, but at the very last second changes her mind and turns to me again. “For what it’s worth, I also have a lot of things I don’t want to talk about. Ever. Especially about a certain ex of mine.” Here, she gives me a pointed look.
Amusement creeps through the cracks of my composure, and my lips twitch. “How long were you waiting to throw that heavy handed hint at me?”
Color rises to her cheeks, which is interesting to watch.
Mena clears her throat. “Let’s just say I regretted everything the second it spilled out.”
“Ah.” I return my chin to my hand and turn back to the window. “The good news is that I’m not a talker so…”
“Thank you,” she says with more vehemence than necessary, before sliding off the seat and making her way back to the front.
My eyes lower to her behind for a second before I force them back out to the street.
I can definitely see how tangling with a piece of shit like Williams would be embarrassing for someone somewhat normal like her, but I have exactly zero skin in that game. She needn’t worry about me babbling. Especially not when, a day later, I learn that everyone and their mom is talking about her and someone else—me.
A video taken from the stands that shows me saving her from a fly ball is going viral on social media.
CHAPTER7
ROSE
The thing about working for a professional baseball team is that the hours are messed up, and no one does anything to un-mess them up.
We return from Mexico in the wee hours of the morning and while the players get a rest day, I don’t have that privilege. We take the team bus from MCO straight to the Orlando Wild facilities downtown, and I get right out to head to the office where a long day of editing footage awaits.
The perk is that, since we don’t have a game today, I can go home in the evening and basically transform into a full blown potato. My plan is taking a long bath with my favorite lavender bath bomb, read a book from Madeline Berkley latest series of bodice rippers, and wrap myself in my fluffiest robe to rot in my bed the rest of the night.
I sigh as I round the last corner in the corridor. The walls that separate the back office departments are just iced glass that open to the designated areas. Overhead signs indicate whether you’re in the operations department, or marketing, strategy, finance, and the rest. The only office in a different—higher—floor is of course the CEO and owner. And we’re all thankful for that because dealings with Charlie Cox are usually never pleasant.
A little shudder racks my back as I enter the marketing area, both from thinking about Cox and also because it’s cold here. I rush to my cubicle to grab the cardigan I permanently leave here, and to start taking out all the equipment from my carryon bag. Laptop, camera, phone, cables—so many cables. It probably takes about twenty minutes alone just to set up.
By the time I power my laptop, I have a million ideas running through my head for further edits. This week’s posts are going to be fire and I’ll?—
“Huh?”
I lean closer to my screen. There is, in fact, a meeting invitation organized by one Dave Rogers for me and one Tom Waterman, that was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago.
“Mierda.” I jump to my feet, poking my head over the cubicle walls like a meerkat until I zero in on Tom’s office in the farthest corner.
The executive office walls are clear glass, and he spots me right away. He motions with his hand for me to join and I probably look like a cartoon to anyone watching me scramble out of my cube.
Am I getting fired? Is that it? But I didn’t do anything to warrant that this time—no exposés, no protests, and aside from this meeting I’ve been in time to every appointment. For goodness’s sake, I’m not even dating any players in secret anymore.
Crap, when I think about all my transgressions I wouldn’t be surprised if this is it for me. I hope they at least let me pack up the things in my cubicle because I really like them. That custom lavender keyboard cost me a pretty penny.
