Page 20 of Truth or Tequila (Grand Slam 1)

Chapter Eight

seb

“Could you try to put a little something on it this time?” I growl out to the pitching coach who’s been lobbing balls to me behind the plate.

I’m working on my throw to second. He’s been tossing balls in here like he’s pitching a softball game at a company picnic. In fairness to him, I’ve almost taken his head off a couple of times with my throw. At this point, I think he’s just trying to get the ball over the plate and then get the hell out of my way.

My adrenaline’s surging today. I’ve been thinking about Sophie non-stop since I tucked her into bed and kissed her last night. When I got back to my house, I immediately Googled her. I stared at her phone number for about thirty minutes before I got up the nerve to call her. I knew she’d still be passed out at the hotel, but I thought I’d leave a message. The minute I heard her greeting on the voicemail, I panicked and hung up like a thirteen-year-old boy with a crush.

I talked myself out of calling again. I’m not even sure what I’d say, “Hey, this is Seb Miller. You called me Sep all night while you were basically giving me a lap dance and then you fell asleep on my chest. When I tucked you in and kissed you, my body felt like it was going to explode. I’m sure you don’t even remember me, but do you want to go out sometime?”

“Dane! Dane!” I hear Gentry’s voice behind me. He’s the owner’s son and the most annoying fan out there. The only difference between him and other fans is that unfortunately, he has a lot more access to us. I swear I think some owners buy sports teams just so their kids can hang out with professional athletes.

Gentry’s always down on the field bugging us. The players asked the GM several times not to let him on the field, but he keeps showing up. I guess the son of the guy who pays our salaries gets to do what he wants.

I try to ignore him, but his voice annoys the crap out of me. What’s he saying? Something about banks. Wait, did he just say ‘Sophia Banks’?

I stand up as another ball crosses the plate. It hits me on the chest protector but doesn’t even faze me. I spin around to see Sophie standing next to Gentry. For a second, I think I might be hallucinating. I walk quickly toward them.

“Sophie?” I say, raising my mask to get a better look.

She looks surprised—maybe even pleased—for a second, but then a look of panic spreads over her face.

“Wait,” Gentry says, looking back to her. “Do you two know each other?”

“No!” Sophie glances at Gentry and then back to me. “I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

I can tell she recognizes me, but I decide to play along.

“No, I don’t know her,” I say, looking at Gentry. “Should I?”

“Because if you know each other, Sophia can’t work here—”

“Are you deaf? I said I didn’t know her.” I take off my mask and rub the sweat off my face with my arm.

Sophie closes her eyes as a bead of sweat rolls down her forehead. She needs me to wipe the sweat off her face, too. In fact, her entire body’s sweating and it looks like she’s shaking a little. I’m guessing that’s a hangover talking.

“But you called her Sophie,” Gentry says.

“You’ve been behind me for a good five minutes screaming her name.” I take a giant step so I’m inches from him. He backs up. “I don’t know her. Who is she?”

“Oh, okay,” Gentry says. “Yeah, so she’s a new PR consultant. She’s going to be hanging out with us for a while. Let me know if you ever need her to do anything.”

I still have the overwhelming urge to take care of her that I had last night. I’m not sure what it is about her, but I pretty much want to protect her from everything and everyone. She closes her eyes again and sways a little too much, like she’s about to pass out. I need to get her out of the heat.

“Yeah, actually, I could use her help right now with—uh, answering some fan mail.”

“Oh,” she says, squinting at me, “that’s not really what I do—”

“Sophia!” Gentry yells. “Seb’s our franchise player. If he wants you to answer fan mail, then you should do it. It might be a good way for you to get to know him anyway. I could help, too.”

I hold up my hand. “No, I don’t need two people. Sophie, I mean Sophia, will be fine.”

She’s looking between us like we’re crazy. “Yeah, I think I’m going to pass—”

I lock my eyes with hers. “I mean if you don’t want to sit in myair-conditionedoffice for a few hours. My quiet, cool office—”

“You know,” she says as her eyes focus a little bit more, “reading your fan mail probably would help me get to know you a little better.”

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