Page 13 of Wild Hit
Movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention, and it’s Cade Starr, her boyfriend, motioning toward his eyes and toward me like I’ll be in the crosshairs if I make the wrong move.
I start shaking my head but Garcia says, “Stay still.” Something in her voice tells me that she’s the one I really have to obey, so I stop moving.
A different thing catches my attention now, something gold and flowing. My mind immediately forms the image of my odd neighbor in the cinched black dress she wore at her father’s benefit gala. No way that the elegant heiress to the Cox empire would come to the musty, stinky gym.
But I do a double take because sure enough, that’s her—she of the unmistakable eyes.
I blink slowly. The vision of her in a fancy outfit swaying in my arms almost made me forget that she wore pajamas with bunny slippers when I first met her.
“Hey, Audrey,” Garcia says while she ruthlessly tears the electrodes off me.
I try not to flinch. And fail. Someone else hisses on my behalf.
Worse than the pain, Audrey Cox—wait, Winters?—turns her attention down to my chest. I’m not really a shy dude, what with making a living out of my body, but I really wish she’d come at any other moment.
“Hey,” blondie returns to the other woman, now raising her green eyes to my face. “Are you done with this guy?”
Garcia cocks an eyebrow. “I am, but I think my boss has a couple more baseline tests to take.”
“That’s fine. I can watch and wait,” Audrey says, turning into the crowd without a backward glance. Now I’m the one whose eyebrow’s twitching.
Hmm. Does it matter that watching has precedence over waiting?
I scratch my belly, for once wishing that I had absolutely shredded abs like some of the other guys here.
Instead, I touch the cross around my neck because you’d think I’m at a high stakes game instead of following pretty standard procedure. The upper and lower body strength tests go on without much fanfare—at least not from the staff. My new teammates are still watching like hawks and I know exactly what’s going on through their heads: can they beat me? Can they run faster? Hit harder? Jump higher?
The answer in Spanish is:no.
But I’d like to see them trying. That’s the fun part about baseball, a little healthy competition is what makes me better. I wonder if Marty will want to develop that skill in a sports club at school this year. Softball would be fun to play together.
“Excuse me.” I freeze in the middle of toweling my sweaty hair and turn to find the owner’s daughter behind me. She tilts her head back to look up at me. “I need to speak with you for a moment.”
This is where, in my previous locker room, the guys would’ve started wolf whistling and catcalling. It’s not everyday that a woman strides into the gym to single out a guy in the pack. But now that the testing show is over, the guys are going back to their own exercise machines like this happens frequently. And I guess it makes sense, since there’s a female therapist and all.
I’m only a little unbalanced when I say, “Uh, yeah. Sure.” I clear my throat. I’ll get used to how things are around here eventually. I just hope this isn’t a sign that my game is gonna go to the crapper since joining the Wild.
“This way.” She motions at me to follow and I do. Glancing over my shoulder confirms that no one gives two shits about this scene. I guess they all must know the team owner’s daughter too.
She doesn’t take me far, just into the therapists’s office, and away from the traffic. Folding her arms, she squares up to me, blocking the entrance with her back to the rest of the team. “I guess I should’ve told you I’m in the PR team when I introduced myself the other night.”
I blink slowly, the picture of who she is finally starting to fall into place. “Cool,” I say noncommittally.
She continues, “I dropped by to say that I called your agent to offer a promotional spot withSPORTY. She sounded stoked but still asked me to get your opinion.”
I place my hands on my hips, and that catches her attention for a microsecond. “I’m listening.”
“As you know,SPORTYis our team’s main sponsor. They regularly feature our players on their magazine. In your case, they want to star you in an apparel commercial.”
I raise my hand to my hair and find my towel still on my head. Not to act like the actual awkward turtle that I am, I pretend like I wanted to pat dry my hair all along. “That sounds cool”—Welp, did I just use the c-word twice in the same conversation?—“But we’re pretty deep into the season and I don’t want to jeopardize the team’s focus.”
“Completely understandable,” the woman says in a business tone that matches neither the bunny slippers nor the fancy black dress. “That’s why we’ll set up the filming equipment in our facilities and work around the team’s training schedule. They’re used to it, trust me.”
I bet, considering how focused they are on their workout even though this blonde with knockout curves and stunning eyes is in their midst.
I’m going to say yes. Not because she’s hot, but because I’m conscious that I have to play nice with the top sponsor and become synonym with the Orlando Wild. People can no longer think Denver Riders when they look at me.
“Fine. Yeah. Sure.” I dry my face, hiding the cringe on my face with the towel. “Send us the paperwork.”
