Rhett: A porn star? You have a meeting with Katrina at 2 to discuss PR control.
Great. Now I’d get to discuss my sex life with the Beasts’ public relations director. At least it was Katrina Delaney now and not that bitch Lana from earlier this year. Katrina, I could handle. She had already dealt with her own personal scandal, so she probably wouldn’t judge me too harshly for mine.
Me: I’ll be there. And sorry for the bad PR. I didn’t know who she was until I just read about it.
Rhett: Do you need to make an appointment with team physician? STD panel?
Holy fucking shit.
Me: No. Not stupid. Strapped up tight.
Rhett: That’s what Ace thought before Little Ace came along.
I pressed my knuckle into my eyeball. This was fucking embarrassing, but he’d brought up a good point. An STD panel might not be a bad thing. There was the woman from last night, and God knows how many men she’d been with before. Then the groupie two nights ago. Then…
Dammit. I was turning into Ace Newman, man-whore extraordinaire. Well, the Ace Newman before settling down with Holly and having a baby. The badass shortstop was an ooey gooey lump of family man now.
Me: I’ll take care of it.
Rhett: Good. Not to sound like a daddy, but I dropped sixteen million on your ass. Don’t need syphilis rattling your brain.
I was so glad we weren’t having this conversation face-to-face.
Me: Copy that and agreed.
Rhett: Focus on breaking this losing streak instead of pussy.
Dammit. Nothing mattered more to me than winning and taking advantage of the five years of freedom I’d been granted, and it pissed me off that my boss thought differently.
Me: Absolutely. We’ll get back on track.
I stared at my screen, waiting for his reply. When nothing came, I shoved my phone deep in my pocket, daring the damn thing to vibrate again. I started jogging, which was why I was out on the sidewalk to begin with, needing to loosen up my muscles after last night’s sex-a-thon. “See, Rhett,” I mumbled to myself as I picked up speed, “I’m focused.”
So far this season, we’d played one hundred and forty games. Up until two weeks ago, we’d won a shit ton of them. Then we hit a slump, and dammit, we were still slumped. Bad. We’d lost eleven straight games. If we didn’t pull our shit together, we wouldn’t even make it as a wildcard, let alone a contender to the playoffs.
My phone vibrated again. Dammit. What now?
I considered ignoring it but wasn’t a “put off until later what you can do now” kind of guy.
Stopping, I moved out of the way and into the mouth of an alley. Dreading looking at the screen, I scowled at the unknown number but tapped the glass to pull up the text.
Unknown: Last night was the bomb. Ready for round two? I’m free tonight?
Oh hell no. It was Chelsie.
Me: Did you see front page of Behind the Scenes?
Chelsie: Yes!!! ? It’s on all the major websites now. My agent is thrilled. Already booked two new gigs!!
I stared at my phone. Un-freakin-believable. And how did she get this number?
Me: Congratulations?
Was there an emoji for sarcasm? I wasn’t sure.
Chelsie: Thanks! <3 What about tonight?
Me: No but good luck with your life.
With some quick actions of my thumbs, I blocked her number and powered off my phone before I threw the damn thing against the wall.
Jamming it back into my pocket, I turned and ran straight into someone, reaching out to steady them — her — after nearly knocking her down.
“Oops,” she said, the bright smile not leaving her face as her blue eyes met mine.
Damn. It was like staring into the sky on a sunny day.
She blushed, and the freckles on her nose seemed to grow darker. But before I could say a word, she darted around me and continued down the alley.
Where was she going?
“Hi, Joseph,” I heard her say but didn’t see anyone in the dim light. A dog jumped out from behind a dumpster, its tail wagging in delight. She squatted down and reached into one of the large canvas bags she carried, patting the dog on its head. “Hi, Target. Have you been a good boy? Ready for some breakfast?”
Stepping back so she wouldn’t see me hovering like some psycho stalker, I looked around the corner to see her feeding the dog. The thin creature gobbled it down in only a few swallows, then looked up at her, his face filled with expectation of more.
“Time for your flea medicine,” she said and pulled a little tube out of her bag. Within seconds, she’d dosed the happy dog. Soon, he was chewing on a bone while she ran her hands down his spine. She lifted all four paws, checking the pads. “You look so much better, don’t you, boy?” I smiled at the dog’s response to her baby talk.
She stood and pulled out a brown paper bag. “Ham and cheese today, Joseph. Hope that’s okay.” She pulled out a box of antibacterial wipes and opened the lid. A man stepped from behind the dumpster and took several, wiping off his face and hands.
“Thank you, Eliana. I’m sure it will be as good as always.”
“Here are your vitamins.” She dropped several pills in the man’s hand then gave him a bottle of water, waiting until he washed them down. He guzzled the water, emptying the bottle. She took it from him and handed him another. Watching him drink so thirstily made me feel like shit. I wrote huge checks to various charities but had never reached out beyond the Beasts sponsored events Katrina forced us too. I’d have to change that.
She leaned forward and kissed the old man on his cheek. “Need anything special tomorrow?”
The man was already biting into an apple. “No, no. You already do too much.”
“Be sure to eat all of it. Target has already eaten, so you keep the rest for you.”
The old man laughed. “I will. Thanks again.”
She patted Target on the head one last time before turning my way. I jumped back and stepped into the doorway of a store, pulling my cap down lower on my forehead.
Peeking out, I watched her cute ass practically skipping down the sidewalk, the ponytail containing a mass of hair that wasn’t quite red or blonde or brown swinging side to side. Was she always this happy? Did her skin always glow?
Wearing dark skinny jeans and slip-on canvas sneakers, she’d topped the casual look with some filmy peasant-looking top that kept sliding off one shoulder, giving me a glimpse of freckled skin.
Damn, I wanted to play connect the dots with my tongue.
Everywhere she went, she stood out among the rushed urgency of businessmen and women talking on their phones or tapping at screens, as if some ray of sun followed her every movement.
At the next alley, I witnessed the same interaction, except the dog was a hound named Daisy and the homeless man called Lou. She fed them both, poked and prodded the animal before dosing her with flea meds and playing a game of fetch with the long-legged, floppy-eared animal.