No One Like You (11 page)

“Go back to your padded cell.”

The Q&A came next. The crowd quieted, intent on listening.

The majority of the questions were lobbed to Rylan.

Halo snorted, swore he was invisible.

The reporters aired their concerns.
“Are the Rogues ready for the season?”

Ry never referred to himself, but always spoke for the team. “The team’s strong, focused, and prepared for whatever comes our way.”

“We’re all a year older and wiser,” he said, staying positive.

Two of the men played it light. Landon answered first. “Does stubbing my toe in the dark last night getting a drink of water count?”

The reporter smiled.

Zoo came next. He put his hand over his heart and said, “I have a broken heart. My girlfriend just dumped me.”

Females sighed, sympathizing with him.

Rylan held back. Predictions often bit a player in the butt. He was cautious in answering. He wasn’t psychic. He had no idea where the Rogues would be in the fall standings. He could only hope they’d be sitting at the top of the National League East.

Ry cringed when Halo looked into his crystal ball. The outfielder stood up, pumped his arm, and announced, “We’re going to win the World Series.”

There was a heartbeat of stunned silence before the crowd crowned Halo their hero. Their cheers would be heard all the way to the beach. He was always a fan favorite, but today he ruled.

He sat back down, and Rylan muttered “Idiot,” just loud enough for him to hear.

“A popular idiot, wouldn’t you say?”

Popular or not, Halo had put a target on the team’s back. The National League would be gunning for them—to prove him wrong. It would be balls to the wall all season.

Rylan sucked it up. He hoped Halo was right. If not, Halo would eat his words before the media and MLB. No man wanted humble pie as a main course.

The next question was tossed out to the men at large.
“How do you like the new spring training facility?”

“I like the new locker room smell,” said Landon—which drew laughter.

That newness would fade after their first game, Ry knew. Sweat and dirty uniforms would require air fresheners.

“Our Florida park is as nice as our home in Richmond,” he responded, paying a compliment to the community. “We’re glad to be in Barefoot William.”

A sports editor singled him out. “This being your hometown, do you have more to prove than your teammates?”

“Not necessarily,” Ry responded. “My bat speaks for me. Playing consistent is my goal.”

“Mine, too,” added Halo.

“Me, three,” said Landon.

The rest of the lineup chimed in with “Me, four” all the way to “Me, nine.” The fans loved it.

A female reporter from
Weekend Warrior
magazine was brave enough to get personal and ask about their haircuts. Halo was quick to give his unity speech. He likened the cuts to other teams growing beards or fully shaving their heads. He stated that the Rogues were unanimous in their decision.

A few of the men groaned, but no one challenged him. Not publically, anyway. Brody Jones cut Ry a
what-the-fuck
look. Zoo nearly fell off his stool. Throats were cleared. Sam punched his fist into his palm. Will snorted. Discussion would continue in the locker room. No doubt loudly.

Rylan glanced up at Beth to catch her reaction to the media event, thus far. He found her staring at him, fascinated, and taking it all in. The moment meant something to her. The corners of her mouth tipped in a small smile. She was enjoying herself.

Moments later, he saw her check her watch. She slowly stood, spoke to Shaye, and then scooted from the row. She carefully picked her way down the bleachers, avoiding the people who sat on the aisle steps. He watched her clear the gate. A part of him wished she could’ve stayed. But she was his assistant and had responsibilities.

Most important, his dogs expected lunch and a walk. Atlas had an inner clock. He would read her the riot act if she was late. The Dane could be critical.

Clouds shifted overhead, and fans stretched on the bleachers. The fun part of the morning came next. Jillian drew several kids forward so they could ask the players questions. A boy of ten inquired about their walk-up songs. That was the music played when the hitter left the on-deck circle for the batter’s box. Or the pitcher walked to the mound or bullpen. Entrance music defined the man.

Halo was a shock jock. His song intimidated. He’d chosen Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’s “I Put a Spell on You.” He would point at the opposing pitcher when Hawkins blurted out the line after the title, “Because you’re mine.” Fans would shout it out, right along with Hawkins.

Landon preferred “Game On” by Pitbull.

Ry kept the same song he had in St. Louis. John Fogerty’s “Centerfield.” The rest of the players rattled off their preferences, too.

A freckled-faced girl asked Rylan if he was a dog or cat person. His teammates answered for him. They barked.

Favorite cars, first jobs, workout routines, downtime activities, and were the men single or married were some of the questions. Jill let as many children as she could step up. An infatuated teenage girl blushed as she requested a hug from Rylan. He obliged. The crowd whistled its approval.

Media Day was to have ended at noon, but continued until one. The players didn’t mind. Not a bit. The fans supported them, and the team gave back.

Security ushered the crowd through the main gate once the event was over. The players returned to the locker room.

Zoo found Halo standing beside the food cart, peeling an orange. Zoo chose an apple, tossed it in the air, and cut to the chase. “What’s with the haircuts?”

“Unity—”

“Bullshit.” Zoo was not taken in.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Reality check, dude,” said Zoo. “Don’t conspire behind our backs. You should’ve consulted us first.”

“Damn straight,” echoed Sam Matthews.

Male dominance filled the locker room. Chests puffed and lips curled. Fists clenched. Landon moved to stand by Halo. Both men crossed their arms over their chests. Stiffened their stances.

Rylan shook his head. They were making more out of the haircuts than the cuts deserved. “Use your words, girls,” he called to them.

Halo flipped him off.

“We’re good with the tattoos,” Zoo growled. “That’s it.”

Halo rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Do or don’t. Doesn’t matter to me.”

“It’s about to matter to all of us,” Zoo stated. “You rolled a snowball into hell. Chances are good that hundreds of our loyal fans will show up with the same cut on opening day. We’ll appear to have lied to them if we don’t go along with your scheme.” He glared at Halo. “All your fault, dickhead.”

“Not his, but mine.” Rylan stepped up before further argument ensued. He needed to clear the air.

“Yours?” Zoo was disbelieving.

His teammates gathered around him. Halo offered him a section of orange, which he ate. Ry would’ve liked to let Halo take the blame, but truth was important to him. He did a quick recap of how his PA had trimmed his hair, mistaking crisscrossed strands for a cowlick. Beth then got hold of Halo. Halo went after Land.

The players shook their heads, but accepted his explanation. Most men laughed. Only Zoo rolled his eyes. “The moral of the story is to stay the hell away from Beth.”

“She’s smokin’,” said Landon. “Check her out at Ry-man’s picnic on Saturday.”

Rylan wasn’t sure he liked the idea. Beth was responsible for the afternoon running smoothly. She didn’t need to be tripping over ballplayers. “She’ll be working.” And keeping track of his dogs. Atlas would be beside himself, having so much company. He’d need a handler.

“Slave driver,” came from Halo.

“I pay her salary,” Ry reminded them.

Zoo shot Halo a condescending look. He spoke on behalf of the remaining players. “We’ll get the cuts, but you’ll owe us big, bro.”

“How big?” Halo didn’t like owing anyone anything.

“You’ll super-size when the time comes.”

“Super-size what? What the hell does that mean?”

“Whatever we want, whenever we want it.” Zoo left it open-ended.

“Shit.” Halo hated being left in the dark.

Halo had been warned, Rylan mused. He turned his back on his teammates. They drifted off. He unbuttoned his jersey, slipped it off. He untied his cleats, kicked them aside. Off came his baseball pants and on went his khakis. He slipped on his Henley pullover and leather flip-flops and was off. He left the locker room with several other players. Including Halo.

Rylan had parked his sports car in the far corner of the lot. Away from the other vehicles. A safety factor against dents and dings. Why Halo had angled his pickup near the McLaren was beyond Ry. He had a hundred spaces to choose from. Landon had left his Porsche by the south entrance, near the gate attendant.

Halo and Rylan matched strides. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Halo asked.

Ry wasn’t sure if the man was making conversation or hinting at stopping by the cottage. “I need to prepare a speech. I’m presenting a program at the Barefoot William Retirement Center tomorrow afternoon.”

“Maybe I’ll stop by.”

“Maybe you won’t.”

“I like your gramps.”

“Frank’s yet to pass judgment on you.”

“We could get better acquainted.”

“Don’t go there. Find someone else to play with.”

“I have a lunch date,” Halo boasted. “With Scratches.”

“Take Neosporin,” Ry advised; the man didn’t need infection. As an afterthought he added, “Don’t forget the Gallery Walk.”

“We’ll be there.”

“Later, then.” The men parted ways at their vehicles.

 

Beth slept longer than she had planned. She’d stretched out on the sofa after lunch to watch her favorite soap opera and drifted off. Her legs felt warm and a bit numb. She soon realized why. Atlas had joined her on the couch. He lay on her calves. She couldn’t feel her feet.

She turned slightly and nearly came out of her skin. Rylan stood over her. He’d caught her napping on the job. She struggled to sit, but the Dane held her down.

“Atlas, up,” Rylan said with authority.

The dog yawned in his face.

Beth gave the big boy a push. Atlas didn’t look pleased. He made a rumbling sound in his throat.

“Let me move and you can stay,” she bribed.

Atlas gave her an inch.

Her legs tingled as she swung her feet to the floor. Sharp prickles shot to her hip. She rose too fast, and her legs gave out. Ry reached for her. His firm grip on her shoulders eased her back down. Her bottom bounced on the cushion.

“My legs are asleep,” she told him, rolling her ankles.

“Let’s wake them up.”

He rounded the end of the sofa, crouched down before her. There was no hesitation in his touch. He started with her right foot, massaging her sole through her sock. He rotated her ankles in a circle. Then rubbed upward.

Beth tensed. “I haven’t shaved my legs.”

“I thought I’d caught a splinter.”

She cuffed his arm.

He laughed. The man had a sense of humor.

Beth gave an inward sigh. Rylan should’ve been a masseur. His hands were big and strong. Unsettling tingles came from his touch. Her calves were no longer asleep. Her whole body was awake. Her skin heated. Could legs blush?

“I enjoyed my hour at the stadium,” she initiated.

“I saw you in the stands.”

She’d seen him, too. He’d stood out among his teammates, a man of quiet strength and seriousness. His haircut captured his athletic fierceness. He filled out his uniform like a sports hero. She’d loved every minute.

“Halo’s quite a crowd pleaser,” she noted.

“Give him an audience and he has ready dialogue.”

Ry’s hands worked higher. A sinfully steady pressure.

Her mouth went dry. She could barely speak. “Three of you now have the same cut.”

“Two were by the same barber.”

That barber would be her. Apparently Rylan knew she’d taken scissors to Halo. Did he know the reason why? “I wanted to level the playing field,” she admitted.

“You did.” He chuckled. “Halo then went after Landon in the locker room. The starting lineup will look alike on Monday.”

“An initiation into spring training?”

“You could say that.” He took a moment and concentrated fully on her knees. He found pressure points that should’ve relaxed her further, but didn’t. His thumbs pressed deep, sending pleasure straight to her crotch. She shifted uneasily.

Concerned, he asked, “Am I hurting you?”

He was turning her on. “No, I’m fine.”

Rylan rocked back slightly. Met her gaze. “Halo mentioned delivering a bench.”

She nodded. “He arrived at nine-fifteen.” She remembered the time. “He insisted on putting it together.”

Rylan scratched his chin. “Makes sense. He was already late when he came by the cottage.”

She bit down on her bottom lip. “I tried to hurry him along. Really, I did.”

Atlas barked, supporting her. Beth patted his backside.

Ry again focused on her knees.

She could’ve told him to stop anytime, but she didn’t. What would a few more minutes hurt? His massage felt too good to quit.

“Halo made you his fall guy,” Rylan said.

She had expected no less.

“The truth did come out though.”

“How so?” she asked.

“Let’s just say some woman left her mark on him.”

Some woman
. Rylan apparently didn’t know her name.

But Beth did. Ava Vonn. Apprehension slowed her breathing. What should she do? Loyalty to her boss came into play. Was it her place to tell Rylan that Halo had hooked up with Ava? Or should she let him find out on his own? The moment turned awkward.