Page 11 of Small Town Frenzy
“Mission accomplished.” Wanting to try her name on for size, I add, “Cricket.” I’d never pinned one to her prior despite many crossing my mind over the years. Cricket isn’t one I would have ever guessed, but seeing how she angles her chin to give me a full view of her face again, it somehow fits. “That’s a memorable name.”
“Too memorable on some occasions. That’s why I don’t always volunteer it.”
I’m still shocked she’s standing in front of me like it’s the first time, like we didn’t exist altogether in a different time and place before this. “I know.”
Somehow, that’s the thing that wins a genuine smile from her. “That’s my bad, habits and all that.”
“Cricket, huh? Like the bug.”
She arches an eyebrow as sharp as her tongue can be when I’m not more careful. “I consider it more like the sport.” She raises her chin even higher in defiance. “Since it’s another bat and ball game, like baseball.”
I laugh humorlessly. “It’s nothing like baseball, though I can see how some might be easily confused when they’re not as familiar with the ins and outs of the game.”
An emotional cold front blows in, returning the tension to her body, her back straighter, stiffer, the windows to hersoul closed shut, and her smile on lockdown. It happened so fast I didn’t see it coming, much less have time to say anything to stop it. Though I’m fairly certain it’s what I said that opened the door for it to blow in.
And now she’s staring at me like I crossed a line. Again, though I wasn’t the one stalking her for a signature—for an autograph or a contract. She kneels to tuck the paperwork into her bag like it personally offended her.
She effectively shuts down further discussion, turning her back to me to speak to Coach. “You needed something, Coach Barth?”
Opportunity lost.
“Yeah, the feedback over the speakers from the announcers’ booth is still not fixed,” he says. “I called in the guys to take another look. I’m hoping to get this sorted before the game this week.”
“We need it working, but have them send me the invoice, and you keep me updated.” She only glances at me briefly, her armor back in place, shielding her from the possibility of this turning too friendly for her liking. That’s too bad because the past four years have only made her more gorgeous than she already was, referencing my memories. And although she wasn’t as—should I say—temperamental back then, it’s not something that would turn me away now. But whatwilldo the trick is her forgetting we’ve ever met, much less had sex.Fan-fucking-tastic sex at that.It was unforgettable for me, but seeing how she hasn’t acknowledged our past, I guess we don’t feel the same.
That’s too bad, but I’m not going out of my way to remind her. I’ll be too busy nursing this blow to my ego for the rest of the night. “Anything else?” I’m ready to get on my way.
“Nope.” She spins on her sneakers, causing her hair toswing around her shoulders, and marches toward the parking lot, lugging that heavy-ass leather bag of hers. Waving over her shoulder, she calls back, “Good night, Coach Barth.”
Wow.Guess I’m chopped liver over here . . .
Two can play that game, sweetheart.
“Night,” he replies, looking at me like I fucked up. Shaking his head, he says, “It’s probably best to know who your bosses are.”
“First of all, I don’t have a boss. It’s a game I’ve volunteered for. Nothing else.”
Grabbing my shoulder, he squeezes it. “Let me give you a little advice, son. Don’t piss off a woman. She’ll make your life hell. But especially never piss off a woman with the last name of Dover. You’ll be paying that price for the rest of your days and nights.”
Dover?“Wait. Back up.”No. Fucking. Way.“As in Dover Creek Winery?”
“Yep.” He nods with pride as if he had a hand in it. “Family owned and operated for more than forty years.”
What are the odds I hooked up with a Dover in Costa Rica?Pretty slim, I’d imagine. If not nil. “Dover as in the town of Dover Creek?”
“One and the same,” he replies, starting back toward the door to the locker room.
I’m having a hard time piecing this together in my brain. How is this even possible that two people who met in another country, and did a lot more than that, just so happen to also be a Dover and a Greene from the same tiny part of the world? “Let me guess . . . Dover as in Dover County?”
Using his foot as a doorstop, he nods again. “The very ones. Owners of the Armadillos and this here stadium.”Sympathy structures his face to fall as if I’ve already got one foot in the grave. He adds, “It was nice knowing ya, Greene.”
“Come on,” I waver, which is not something I often do. “How bad can it really be? It was a simple mistake. How was I supposed to know she was part of the family who owns the team?” Throwing my arms wide, I plead my case. “She never told me.” He’s not the judge and jury I’m worried about, though.
“If you say so.”
“Way to have my back, Coach.”
He chuckles. “I value my job more, kid.” The guy is like twenty years older than me at most, and I’m still considered a kid? I laugh as he disappears. But when I turn back to face the parking lot, I realize what this new information really means. The issue at hand isn’t that she’s a boss over me, because she’s not. It’s that she’s a Dover of the namesake county I’ve spent my formative years being told was the enemy by most folk in Peachtree Pass.
