Page 23 of Stepping Up to the Plate

• BRADY •

“Dude,” Kent says beside me after Lola walks away. “What the fuck was that about?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“She was pretty pissed at you,” he muses. “She’s still fighting mad by the looks of it.” He nods over to where Lola is having a heated conversation with her cousin and roommate.

If I wasn’t so confused as to what the hell she was going on about, I would find the way she stomps her foot adorable. When I went over and suggested she switch to water, I was doing it out of concern. She has had a lot to drink tonight. It may have been overstepping, but no one else seemed concerned that she was glassy eyed and swaying. The last thing she needed was more alcohol. I was going to offer to grab her some food before she bit my head off. Nothing she was saying made sense.

I had no idea a simple suggestion that she drink water would evoke such a strong response. The more I think about it, the more out of pocket it is. I may not be the most congenial guy out there, but no one would call me mean. Aloof maybe, but not mean. Even on the field, I play fair and keep my composure. I am never the hot head who acts without thinking.

Even more confusing than her calling me mean is her saying she wouldn’t be a ‘dirty little slut or greedy whore’ for me. That was way out of left field. If I spent an entire day thinking about words to describe Lola, slut and whore would never even enter my mind. She and her innocent doe eyes are begging to be coddled, not degraded.

As I watch her flee Kent’s apartment, I wonder if she has someone to take care of her tonight. With how much she drank, there is no way she isn’t going to be sick. And Tiffany didn’t follow her out.

“Brady Miller!” a shrill voice yells beside me. I turn around to see a glaring Carina and sheepish Tiffany. “Did you call my cousin a Slutty McSlutterson?”

“What?” I rear back. “A slutty mc-what? No, I would never call anyone that.”

“Did you call her any names?”

“I’m pretty sure the only ‘name’ I have ever called her is ‘sweet girl,’” I answer indignantly. “What is happening here?”

“Lola said you tried to fuck her at a club and that you think she’s a Slutty McSlutterson,” the fiery Italian says.

“You know I don’t go to clubs, and I would never call a woman a derogatory term like that, especially not someone as sweet as Lola. I don’t think anyone would call someone a Slutty McSlutterson. That isn’t even a thing. I have no idea where she got that idea from.”

“I might,” Tiffany pipes in.

“Care to explain?” I inquire, more annoyed by the second by the accusation.

She shifts awkwardly under the attention we’ve attracted. “Maybe in private?”

I nod my head and follow her into Kent’s guest bedroom. “Explain.” I demand once the door is closed.

She lets out a breath. “Alright, I am going to ask you some questions first to make sure I’m right and you’re not going to be a jerk about it.”

“Why is everyone acting as if I’m a dick tonight?” I mutter.

“I think you’re a nice guy, but if I am right, then this is a massive misunderstanding that doesn’t put you in the best light.”

“Ask,” I command.

“You’re a part owner of Club Hedone, correct?” I nod. It’s not exactly a secret but I don’t go around advertising it.

“And sometimes you play at the club?”

“Yes, but I haven’t played since right before spring training.”

“And how did that go?” Tiffany inquires, hesitantly.

“I don’t see what my private encounters have to do with this situation,” I retort.

“Indulge me.”

“Fine, it didn’t go well.”

“Why?”

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