Page 19 of West Bound

“Shouldn’t you be interviewin’ the new guy? Get an exclusive, and all that.”

“I got an exclusive yesterday before the press conference. CeCe filled me in on the trade before the rest of the world found out. You know, ‘cause she’s a bomb ass bestie.” I wink at Hank and he sets down a large canvas tote that was hanging from his shoulder. I have to fight to contain my smile.

The canvas tote is embroidered with a baseball and his name just below. It looks like a bag that a mom would send her kid off to playdates with, stuffed full of snacks, a change of clothes and instructions on what not to feed the little crotch goblin. This, however, was made for a fully grown man with a belly and beard by his sweet wife, Rosey. She is constantly finding new hobbies to occupy her time now that she’s retired. She’s ventured into baking, origami, knitting–not her finest hour–kickboxing and now embroidery.

I have been the lucky recipient of some of her best baked goods, an origami bird, what I guess you could call a scarf–although it looks more like a wonky potholder–and even got sent a video of her kicking some major ass in her boxing class. Seems like the only thing I have yet to receive is the gift of her–

“This is for you kiddo.”

I look up just as he tosses something at me. I catch it before it slams me in the face and unfold it. This time I don’t fight the shit eating grin that splits my face because in my hands, I hold my very own canvas tote with my name embroidered below a large red admiral butterfly.

“Is this from Rosey?” I ask Hank and he nods his head. “It’s beautiful.” I step up to him again, and wrap my arms around his neck and give him a kiss on the cheek.

His beard tickles my lips and I wiggle them. This man and his wife are the sweetest, cutest couple ever. I’ve had the pleasure of sharing meals with them, swapping stories, and listening to them talk about when they were young and the family they always wished they could’ve had but never got a chance to. Rosey had many difficulties and was never able to conceive. Instead, they fostered kids and took to being their neighborhood’s adopted grandparents.

And since my grandparents are either deceased or living in another country, I too have taken to them like my very own.

“I will give Rosey a call after the game to thank her for this. I absolutely love it.” I hold it out at arms length again and study all the little details of the butterfly's wings. “She’s really great at this.”

“Yeah, I think this one is her favorite. Well, this and kickboxing.” He rolls his eyes and pulls out a small lunch box that Rosey packs full of healthy treats. “I think she may stick with this for a bit. God willing.” He pulls out another small bag and this one, I just know, contains Hank’s favorite junk foods.

I watch closely as he methodically pulls out small bag after small bag, lining them up on his desk. Baby carrots, chocolate cupcake, celery and peanut butter, cosmic brownie, pita chips and hummus, bag of gummy bears. One by one, they line the edge and he caps it off with a bottle of water and Dr. Pepper.

I clamp my lips between my teeth as I hold back the laughter. Hank looks up, his eyes peeking at me from behind his glasses, and narrows his gaze on me.

“You better not be tattling to my Rosey about my game time snacks, you little troublemaker.”

“Mums the word…if you give me that brownie.” I arch a menacing brow at him.

His eyes slant and his lips purse as he studies my face. He looks from me to his treats, then back to me. With a sigh, he plucks the brownie from his assembly line and hands it over to me. I snatch it from his hand, tear open one end, and break the brownie in half, handing the other portion back to him.

I pop it in my mouth then pretend to zip it, lock it and throw away the key.

“Gotta go,” I mumble through a mouth full of chewy fudge. “See you after the game.” I blow him a kiss and make my way out of the booth and down the stairs until I get to the field level.

I flash my badge at Rodney, who already knows me, and he moves aside for me to walk through the small corridor that leads past the teams clubhouse and locker rooms. I usually take my time passing through, chatting with any player I may see. Sometimes I’m able to set up a little rendezvous with one of my usual boys for after the game. But not tonight.

My heels click rapidly, like a writer's fingers flying across the keyboard, as I scurry down the hall. I pass an equipment manager, one of the trainers, and even one of the batting coaches. I can literally see that light at the end of the tunnel when my name is called.

“Vivian!” shouts a deep voice from just inside the locker room doorway.

I slow my steps then stop, taking a deep breath before plastering on a smile and spinning slowly to see who has halted my escape.

Ugh.

“Hey Kenrick. How’s it going?” This asshole.

Yeah, I’ve slept with him a few times, but that was before I knew the dickhead was married.

“Looking damn sexy tonight, Red.” His eyes roam up and down my body and he licks his lips.

I suppress the vomit that edges its way up my throat. This guy is a total slimeball.

A few more of the players make their way to where Kenrick is, coming up behind him and pushing him forward so they can walk out.

“Thanks,” I say quickly. “Good luck tonight.” I turn on my heel and take one step forward before I’m surrounded by hot AF baseball players in tight pants and even tighter asses.

A hand grips my forearm and I clench my jaw, trying desperately not to punch this creep in his face.

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