Welcome to the Big Leagues

Cassie

And here we are.” I wiped the tears falling down my cheeks.

“Here we are.” Jack reached out his hand, brushing his thumb along my jaw.

“I can’t believe that was all last night. How is it possible that it feels like so long ago?” I asked, feeling like a freaking lunatic.

He sighed before responding. “Because today has been like six months all rolled into one single day. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Me too.” I laughed.

Scanning his muscular body with my eyes, I was momentarily distracted when he asked, “Do you think I should call Sal’s cousin tomorrow? I mean, do you think setting up a driver is a good idea?”

I nodded my head before answering. “I do, actually. I think it’s a great idea. You should see if you can hire him exclusively.”

“So he wouldn’t drive anyone else around?”

“No. Not like that,” I tried to explain, my brain literally pinging with fatigue. “Just see if having the same driver all the time is an option. I think it would be beneficial if we only had one person taking us places.”

“Us?” He raised his eyebrows, taunting me.

“Fine. I’ll hire my own driver,” I shot back.

Jack lunged, pinning me beneath him as he planted a kiss on my nose. “Like hell you will. He’ll be our driver. If I like him, that is.”

“Fine.”

“Fine? You’re not gonna give me some sort of smartass comment, like ‘What if I like him and you don’t?’ Just, fine?”

“Sorry. I’m too tired to pretend argue.” I yawned, unable to hide my fatigue any longer.

“Bed?” he asked, his eyebrows wiggling.

“Yes. But for sleeping.”

“OK, Kitten. For sleeping.”

Monday afternoon, the phone at my desk rang incessantly, begging me to pick it up. The words Front Lobby displayed across the small screen and I reached to grab it before it stopped.

“This is Cassie”

“Hi, Cassie. Your driver is here.”

My what?

Oh, right. Sal’s cousin.

“OK, thank you. Can you tell him I’ll be right down?”

“Of course. See you soon.”

I hung up the phone without saying good-bye and shoved into my purse the camera Jack had bought me after my original one was stolen the night I was mugged at Fullton State. I rushed to file my last-minute photos into their corresponding online folders before speed walking to the elevator.

“Have fun tonight, Cassie.” Joey’s broad Boston accent filled the air, and I turned quickly toward him.

An uncomfortable blush crept over my cheeks. “Thanks, Joey,” I said with a tight smile. “See you tomorrow.” I pressed the elevator button, wishing it would hurry up and retrieve me. Working with Joey now that Jack was back in my life wasn’t necessarily the most relaxed of situations. I should have added a rule number five to my list after that night: Never date someone you work with. Because when it ends badly, it’s awkward for everyone. And there’s no escape.

The elevator dinged, and I stepped inside the crowded space. Squeezing my way in, I sandwiched myself between two men who thankfully didn’t smell terrible. Each time the elevator stopped and the doors opened, the people waiting on the other side realized it was too crowded for them to enter. They would step away as I offered a sympathetic smile, the doors closing. This happened repeatedly for twenty floors until we reached the lobby.

Finally free from playing sardine, I bolted into the lobby, looking for a driver who resembled Sal, complete with overstuffed belly and kind eyes. I scanned the room before stopping on a tall, striking man dressed in a black suit and tie. A pair of black sunglasses rested on top of his spiky dark hair, and even through his suit, I could make out the muscular body lurking underneath.

Good Lord, that is one good-looking man.

The security guard caught the man’s attention and then pointed at me as a wide grin spread across his face. The tall drink of water looked in my direction and asked, “Miss Andrews?” I stepped closer to him, my insides trembling.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Please, call me Cassie.” I smiled, trying my best not to look him up and down.

“I’m Matteo. Mr. Carter sent me to bring you to the game. Are you ready?”

“Yep,” I squeaked out when I noticed the hint of a tattoo peeking out from under his collar.

Jack sent a model to pick me up. A tattooed, freaking hot-as-fuck model.

Matteo opened the rear passenger door, and I settled inside. Suddenly feeling like an entitled snob, I fought the urge to climb over the seat and sit up front with my new driver. Unless I was in a taxicab, sitting alone in the backseat while someone else drove always struck me as odd. I reached for my phone, checking my personal e-mails as the car lurched forward. I glanced up briefly during the quiet drive to find Matteo’s blue eyes watching me in the rearview mirror. I darted my gaze from his and returned to my phone, fiddling with it to look busy.

Putting my phone down, I looked outside the window as the city flew by. I constantly found myself in awe of this place, with its massive buildings and old architecture. It was the ideal setting for the photographer in me.

“So, you’re Sal’s cousin, huh?” I asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence between us.

“Yeah. You see the resemblance?” He angled his head toward the backseat for a moment, and I caught sight of the smile spread across his tanned skin.

I smiled in return, my lips firmly pressed together as I imagined Sal’s oversized belly and receding hairline. “Definitely. You could pass for twins.”

He laughed out loud.

“How’d you like Jack?” I asked, attempting to bring my boyfriend into the conversation.

Boyfriend.

Still weird.

“Mr. Carter is great. He’s a really cool guy, if you don’t mind me saying so,” he offered politely, and I wondered what thoughts were racing in his head.

“Why would I mind you saying so?”

He huffed out a quick breath. “Because it’s not very professional of me to use the word ‘cool.’ And I probably shouldn’t give my personal opinion on clients.”

Now I huffed out the loud breath. “Jack is cool, so I get it. And I asked. You were simply answering my question.” I wondered how Jack liked Matteo and if we’d be hiring him as our regular driver. Until I had those answers, I refused to get too chummy with Matteo. Chrystle proved that strangers can’t be trusted. At least, not in this business.

“It’s cool that he plays baseball for a living. You must love it, huh?” he asked sincerely.

My heart lodged in my throat. I struggled to formulate a response to his seemingly simple question as every emotion possible coursed through me in record time. “Yeah. It’s pretty great,” I lied.

We pulled up to Citi Field and Matteo parked the car in front of the Will Call window and hopped out. He opened my door and offered me a hand. I declined, pushing myself up from the plush leather seat.

“Your ticket is at the booth. I’ll be parked right here after the game ends, but Mr. Carter warned me that it may take awhile,” he added with a smile.

I flashed back to the many times I’d waited for Jack after his games ended. “Yeah, it takes a little bit to get back out here once the game’s over. Sorry about that.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll see you around eleven.”

“Thank you so much. It was nice to meet you.” I smiled before walking away.

With my ticket clutched firmly in my hand, I struggled through the crowds toward the section of seats reserved for the wives and families of the players. The smell of popcorn and hot dogs wafted through the air. I looked at the number printed in black ink and walked slowly down the stairs, observing the row number with each step. Almost walking right past it, I stopped abruptly. I glanced at the group of heavily made-up women in my section, watching my every move. Their eyes scanned the length of my body from the top of my natural hairstyle down to my inexpensive shoes. I hurried to my assigned seat before sitting down and stuffing my black purse between the side of my leg and the armrest.

I turned toward the women, who still stared at me, their faces devoid of any emotion. “Hi. I’m Cassie,” I said loud enough for the occupants of all three rows of seats to hear. The women simply continued to eyeball me, offering literally nothing in return. Not a smirk, not a sound. I started to wonder if I had something on my face.

I turned to speak to the women in the row behind me before thinking better of it. I sized up each of them instead, taking mental notes of their expensive clothing, brand-name accessories, perfectly styled hair, and overly made-up faces. One woman with an obvious spray tan and dyed blonde hair glanced at me before raising her eyebrows in disgust and shaking her head with an audible huff.

“Did you see her purse? What is that, Target brand?” I heard a voice whisper before a chorus of laughter followed.

What the hell?

I fought back the urge to defend myself. From what exactly, I wasn’t sure. But I suddenly wanted to shield my body from the exposed and raw feelings that took over. It hadn’t even occurred to me that these women would be rude or unkind. It was one thing I hadn’t overthought. Hell, I hadn’t thought about it at all.

Why didn’t Jack warn me?

He must not know. How could he?

Shoving my vulnerability into my gut where it rested like a giant boulder, my eyes fell on the enormous rock sparkling from Miss Spray Tan’s finger. It was the biggest, most ridiculous diamond I’d ever seen, and I’m from LA.

Wonder what her husband’s overcompensating for?

My gaze quickly darted to the left hands of all the other women, realizing that each sported their own hefty-sized rocks. Feeling like I was surrounded by a new kind of sorority girl, I turned my scrutiny from them and stared down at the field. Clearly I wouldn’t be making any friends tonight.

I thought I left this kind of bitch behind in college.

I craned my head in the direction of the bullpen at the end of the field, forgetting all about the rude women surrounding me when my eyes fell on Jack’s powerfully built frame. Heat flooded through my body and seeped into my veins with one look at him as he jogged toward the pitcher’s mound. The muscles in his legs flexed each time his foot crushed against the ground, and a smile crept across my cheeks.

God, I’ve missed watching him play.

His Mets uniform reminded me so much of the one he wore in college that I couldn’t stop the memories from replaying. I clearly envisioned the first time I saw him pitching. It had been a truly beautiful experience, although I never admitted it at the time. His transformation into a completely different person once he stepped on top of that mound of dirt at Fullton State was unlike anything I’d ever witnessed before. Watching Jack play baseball was almost like a having a spiritual awakening. Through all my heartache and heartbreak, I’d forgotten this part.

How my pride soared as I watched him play baseball, knowing how much of his heart it held. And how it literally warmed me from head to toe being the person he loved more than it. I relished the moment, reaching into my purse for my camera.

I looked through the viewfinder and grunted audibly. My seat was great for viewing the game, but not photographing it. I was simply too far away, and I didn’t have my larger zoom lens with me. I snapped one picture anyway, just to remember the night by, before shoving the camera back into my non-designer purse.

In my dazed state, I barely noticed that the seat to my right was newly occupied. Convinced it was another horrible wife, I hesitated to acknowledge this person. I second-guessed myself, suddenly feeling no better than those other women, when a warm voice with a British accent interrupted my thoughts. “Hi. You’re new.”

I turned toward her and stopped my jaw from falling wide open. This woman was stunning. She had an exotic look that I assumed brought guys to their knees. Her long straight brown hair looked like satin. That combined with her naturally tan skin made the green flecks in her hazel eyes stand out even more. I didn’t think she had a stitch of makeup on, and I was convinced she was the prettiest woman in this stadium.

I offered a small smile. “Yeah. I’m Cassie.”

She reached out her hand. “Hi, Cassie. I’m Trina.” A wide smile appeared, and she grew even more gorgeous.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I told her, my voice genuine. After what I’d just witnessed, the fact that she was willing to talk to me at all eased my nerves.

“You too. So, who do you belong to?” She nudged my shoulder with hers.

“Jack Carter.” I tilted my chin toward the field. “He’s pitching tonight. And you?”

“The second baseman, Kyle.” She lifted her hand, pointing him out on the field, and I glanced at her ring finger. My shoulders relaxed when I noticed the absence of rings.

“Where are you from? I love your accent,” I said before suddenly feeling stupid.

“London. I like yours too.” She grinned.

“I don’t have an accent!” I laughed.

“You do. It’s like a totally Californian accent, dude,” she said, trying to mimic the way I sounded to her.

“Well, that’s awesome,” I attempted to say with an English accent, but failed miserably. “So, how long has your boyfriend been on the team?” I asked, desperate for her friendliness to continue.

“This is our second season. He got traded last year.”

“What’s with them?” I tipped my head subtly in the direction of the mean girls.

Trina’s face instantly filled with irritation, her perfectly shaped brows pulling together with distaste. “They’re bitches. They won’t talk to you until Jack has,” her manicured fingers shot into the air and did the symbol for air quotes, “paid his dues.”

“Until Jack has what?” I asked, with an expression that I’m sure reflected the confusion my brain was experiencing.

“He has to earn the respect of his teammates. Once he does that, then you’ll earn the respect of the Bratz dolls over there.”

“Seriously?” I reached for my head, massaging my temples as she continued filling me in.

“There is a class system among the wives. And well, you and I already have one strike against us because we’re not wives. We’re only girlfriends.”

“Uh, didn’t they start off as girlfriends?”

“I like you.” Trina laughed. “Of course they did, but that doesn’t matter. We’re nothing to them. The only way they’ll talk to you is if you do something wrong or get in their way. It’s ridiculous.”

My head ached as I tried to wrap my thoughts around the insanity that came with the baseball wives. Thankfully, the crack of the bat grabbed our attention and we watched as Kyle fielded the hard-hit grounder effortlessly. Trina released a breath, and a broad smile stretched across her cheekbones. My smile followed, thankful for the out. I wanted Jack to have a great first game.

I couldn’t keep from staring at Trina’s perfect features. “I’m sorry, but you’re ridiculously gorgeous. You look like a model.” The words escaped my lips before I could be embarrassed by them.

Trina let out a giggle. “Thank you, Cassie. I actually am.” She paused. “A model, that is. Not gorgeous. Oh, gosh.”

I laughed. “A nice model? Who woulda thought?”

“Not most people, that’s for sure.”

As I focused on Jack again, his fluid movements caused sensations in me I couldn’t hide. My cheeks warmed as he leaned his body forward, focusing on the catcher’s glove. Even from where I sat, I could sense the intensity in Jack’s eyes. A battle waged between the hitter and the pitcher, and Jack hated to lose. A quick nod and one deep breath later, Jack’s arm hurled the ball past the batter, who swung his bat mightily, but missed.

“And definitely not them,” she said, directing her displeasure back toward the mean girls.

“They’re just jealous because you don’t have to bleach your hair some fake color or spray tan yourself orange to look good.”

She continued to smile at me. “Do you work, Cassie?”

I nodded. “I work for a magazine.”

“Strike two.” She arched her eyebrows, and I crinkled mine. “Didn’t you know it was our duty to quit working as soon as we started dating them?”

“Apparently I didn’t get that memo.”

“They hate girlfriends. And they hate anyone who works.” She shrugged. “You would think that we’d all support each other and be friends since we’re forced to spend so much time together. But that’s not how it works. You should have seen me last season, trying to talk to them at every game. Someone finally had to tell me that they would speak to me when I was worthy. That’s the word she actually used. Worthy,” she said, emphasizing it slowly, almost in a whisper, and I couldn’t hide my disgust. “But she’s not here anymore. Her husband got traded.”

“Wow. I did not sign up for this,” I said, the realization hitting me that these women would now be part of my life whether I wanted them to or not.

Trina brushed some loose hair from her eyes before continuing. “The worst one is Kymber.”

“Kymber? Even her name screams bitch,” I said with a quick laugh.

Trina’s eyes darted to Kymber before returning to mine. “She’s the queen bee here. That’s how she refers to herself. The Queen Bee. Who says that?”

Cheers erupted into the air, causing both Trina and me to look at the field as our team jogged off, disappearing into the dugout. I’d made it through half an inning. Only eight and a half more to go.

“Her husband has been playing the longest and makes the most money. That’s why she’s the queen. And all the rest of the wives bow down to her.”

A disgruntled sound ripped from my chest. “I’ve never been really good at bowing down to anyone. It’s not really in my nature.”

“Don’t worry, Cassie. She won’t make your life a living hell or anything. She’ll just act like you’re invisible. Like you don’t exist. And if that kind of thing doesn’t bug you, then you’ll be fine.”

I pondered her words, trying to figure out exactly how the situation made me feel. Was it better to be a verbal punching bag or to not exist at all?

When the game finally ended, I followed Trina down a long staircase. Her shoes clicked and clacked down the last set of public stairs before she headed through a private door, guarded by security. Once inside, I shivered as the air of the cold brick tunnels coursed through me. The tunnels ran the length of the stadium, and I quickly thanked Trina for taking me under her wing.

“No problem. I had no idea where the clubhouse was after my first game, and no one showed me. By the time I got down here Kyle was waiting for me, wondering what took me so long.”

A burly security guard stood between two metal guardrails. He smiled as Trina approached, giving her a quick hug before staring at me, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening.

“Carl, this is Cassie. She’s Jack Carter’s girlfriend.”

He reached out his massive hand, and I gripped it. “Nice to meet you, Carl.”

“You too, Cassie. Hell of a game tonight for your boy. Make sure you tell him I said good job, OK?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Honestly? I’ll probably get lost.”

Trina giggled. “Isn’t she funny, Carl? We’re going to be good friends.”

We followed the white bricks as they curved gently around a long corridor. Once around the corner, a Mets sign protruded from the wall, announcing the location of the player’s locker room. I smiled when we reached the double mahogany doors with a sign that read New York Mets Clubhouse above them. I curbed my desire to whip out my camera and photograph the doors and sign.

“And now we just wait?” I asked Trina quietly.

“Yep.”

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 841