The Practice Proposal (11 page)

…

Cole needed to blow off some steam. After two nights behaving himself in Miami, and
two wins for the Nationals, they’d lost to the Marlins when they could’ve clinched
the title—thanks to an error he made. His manager always said every play mattered
in the win or loss, and one play couldn’t be blamed for the outcome. Cole bought into
it when one of his teammates botched a play. But when it was his fault, that theory
was bullshit.

How did I miss that damn throw?
Lapses in concentration like that reminded him of his struggles in the minor league,
and the blown plays that happened in his nightmares.

Cole had decided to stay in his cookie-cutter hotel room and sulk while his buddies
went out and grabbed something to eat. He wasn’t hungry, and he didn’t want to commiserate
about a loss he probably could’ve saved. Had his head been totally in the game?

Propped against several pillows on the bed, he played solitaire on his laptop, trying
to distract himself. But he wasn’t really paying close attention and he quickly blew
the game.
Great—two-for-two tonight
. He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, thinking about Liza—because he
couldn’t concentrate on anything else, especially since she’d told him the story of
her fiancé. Unable to ignore his curiosity any longer, he clicked out of solitaire,
Googled Wes Kelley, and followed several links.

It didn’t take him long to understand what Liza had seen in Wes. The guy had played
college baseball at UVA—against Cole’s UNC team—then joined the Secret Service after
he graduated. From what Cole read in the obituary and other tributes, Wes had been
well liked, smart, and funny. What a waste that he’d died protecting a scummy dictator
who’d been on a controversial visit to the US. To make things even worse, the dictator
had been assassinated a few months later. Wes had been heralded as a hero, and rightfully
so.

Cole clicked on a few more links and came across some engagement photos of Wes and
Liza. They’d been taken by one of the rare talented photographers who could capture
real emotions with a camera. Cole caught himself envying Wes for the way Liza looked
at him in the pictures—with a sparkle of sincere devotion in her eyes. No wonder she
was cautious now.

Cole got up, grabbed a Gatorade out of the mini-fridge, and drank half of it in three
huge gulps. This night wasn’t getting any better. He’d lost the game for the Nats,
and now he was knotted up with envy of a fallen hero. Liza would never look at him
the way she’d looked at Wes in those pictures—especially if she found out about Frank’s
plan. He slugged some more Gatorade and his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID.

Nikki Barlow
.

It might as well have said
Trouble
. Frank would rip him a new one if he knew Cole had forgotten to block Nikki’s number
after their recent run-in with the cops. He hadn’t heard from her since, so he wondered
why she’d piped up tonight of all nights. Even so, he didn’t intend to find out. He
let the call go and clicked through Liza’s engagement photos again, torn between sorrow
for her and Wes, and envy of what he saw between them.

His phone rang again.
Nikki.
Man, things must be slow in Hollywood tonight. He ignored her call only to get a text
from her seconds later.

Call me. I need ur help!!

Cole couldn’t imagine why she needed his help, but she might be in trouble. No doubt
she had plenty of people she could turn to, but for some reason, she’d picked him.
He hated to think what might happen if he ignored her. He hesitated as long as his
conscience would let him, then called her. Frank wouldn’t like it, but he wouldn’t
have to know. Certainly talking to Nikki on the phone wasn’t going to stop the Nats
from offering Cole a new contract. Hell, if he kept making errors like he did tonight,
they probably wouldn’t want him anyway.

“Hi, sexy,” Nikki answered, not sounding the least bit troubled. The base beat of
a hip-hop tune thrummed in the background. “Saw the game on TV. Bummer.”

Not a good start. “For sure,” he said, hoping she’d leave it at that. “You need my
help with something?”

“Yep. I’m in Miami, too—havin’ a little party out on the Venetian Islands. I need
you to get on over here.”

“You’re not in trouble?”

“The only trouble is I’d rather be clubbing in South Beach, but I gotta keep a low
profile for a while. This party’s just a few drinks. I can’t risk gettin’ busted again.
Sorry ’bout that, by the way.”

“Me, too.” The drama with Nikki sure hadn’t helped his case with the Nats. He wasn’t
even sure why he’d bothered with her in the first place.

“I definitely owe you one,” she said sweetly. “So why don’t you come hang out with
me?”

“I don’t think so, Nik.” Most men would question his sanity for turning down Nikki
Barlow, but it came out of his mouth with no hesitation.

“Aw, c’mon. You have to be feeling a little down…”

…after how you played in the game tonight.

“You deserve to relax a little,” she said.

He did, didn’t he? But he shouldn’t… “I appreciate the invite, but I’m just gonna
hang in my room.”

“Please, Cole. I really feel bad about what happened. Let me treat you to a drink
or two.”

He could use a drink or two. And spending a few hours relaxing with a small group
might help him get his head back in the game. Cole hesitated, but then said, “I can
probably make it for a little while.”

“I’ll text you the address,” she said. “Hurry.”

Cole opened his suitcase and pulled out a decent pair of jeans to wear, knowing he
should think this through before he went. But he didn’t want to
think
any more tonight.

He took a cab out to the island, second-guessing himself all the way, but not enough
to change his mind. It was a private party. Frank would never know.
And neither will Liza.
The cab stopped in front of a huge two-story villa, all lit up outside, with an ornate,
cut-glass front door. Cole paid the driver and got out. He stood and gazed at the
house as the cab pulled away, the muted thrum of bass reverberating in the balmy sea
breeze. He’d expected to be more relaxed by now, and ready to party. But he’d started
thinking about how bad things turned out the last time he saw Nikki, and wondering
why he’d even want to see her again.

Cole vividly remembered the night they’d had their run-in with the cops. He’d been
seduced by the idea of being with
Nikki Barlow
—the woman whom literally millions of men fantasized about every day. But she hadn’t
been all that, really, with her slurred words and revealing clothes, and her messy
dyed-black hair and heavy makeup. She wasn’t anywhere near as fresh and sexy as Liza,
who was always tastefully dressed, with her silky hair shimmering. Cole loved Liza’s
look—beautiful with little makeup on and those freckles dotted lightly across her
nose. But it wasn’t just how she looked that kept him thinking about her. She still
knew him better than anyone, and she’d given him a chance in spite of her own struggles.
He wondered what would happen if he just let go and allowed himself to fall for her.
Was it possible for him to give up the lifestyle he’d been hiding behind and commit
to something meaningful?

Most men probably thought he lived a fantasy life with his success in baseball, all
his wealth, and plenty of willing women. But those girls only wanted him for money
and fame. They’d been easy to find and hard to get rid of sometimes, but that was
the only choice he had. He couldn’t settle down with one woman. It simply hadn’t been
an option. In his position, he could never be sure if a girl was sincere. So he’d
kept things light and he’d kept things changing and he’d kept everything to himself.

But now there was Liza. Taking a chance with her daunted and excited him, but he was
ready to start right now. He stared at the villa and everything became clear. Liza
was definitely more important to him than going to any party, no matter how many Hollywood
starlets were there.

Cole turned away from the villa, walked a few blocks until he reached the Venetian
Causeway, and called a cab. He waited, hoping the cops wouldn’t pick him up for loitering,
and texted Nikki.
Can’t make it tonight after all. Thanks for the invite.
And then he blocked her number from his phone.

After a few minutes of staring into the distance, he took a picture of the view over
the water of Miami Beach beneath a starry sky, and attached it to a tweet.

Cole Collins
@ColeCollins

@LizaSutherland A girl without freckles is like a night without stars. Wish you were
here…

Frank would love that one. But Cole hadn’t done it for Frank, or the hope of a new
contract with the Nats. He’d sent the tweet for himself—and Liza—and just hoped she
was awake to see it.

The cab arrived pretty soon after that. Cole got in and gave the driver his hotel’s
address. Within minutes, his phone chirped.

Liza?

He glanced at the screen and his stomach clenched.

Nikki Barlow
@CrazyNikkiB

Hey @ColeCollins Wish you woulda stayed tonite. Now U owe me 1

Shit.
She must have seen him outside the villa.

…

Cole hadn’t even made it to the hotel before Frank called. No doubt he’d seen Nikki’s
tweet. The guy never missed
anything
. Cole wondered how he had the time and energy to keep up with all the athletes he
represented—all the way down to their Twitter accounts. It crossed Cole’s mind that
most of them probably didn’t worry Frank the way he did.

“Hey,” he said, gazing out the window as the cab whisked through Miami.

“Wanna tell me about that tweet from Nikki Barlow?” Frank asked in a fed-up tone.

Cole heard a television in the background. He imagined Frank sitting in a big leather
chair in the great room of his sprawling Northern Virginia home, watching West Coast
ball games on several flat screens mounted on the wall. His place was like a country
club sports bar.

“Not really,” he said. “I got it under control.”

“The hell you do, son.” Ice cubes clinked into a glass.
Time for another scotch.
“Does getting another contract with the Nationals really matter to you? Because takin’
up with Nikki Barlow is about the quickest way to ensure that you won’t.”

Cole had known he was making a stupid decision to go anywhere near Nikki’s party.
At least he’d gotten his head straight and stopped himself before he went in the villa—but
not before she had seen him. He raked his hand through his hair. “I’m not taking up
with Nikki.”

“That’s just what the honchos at the Nats need to see—you gettin’ tweets from Crazy
Nikki saying she wished you’d spent the night.” Frank sounded righteously pissed.
“And what’s Liza gonna think when she sees it? What respectable girl would want to
touch you after you’d been foolin’ around with that Hollywood trash?”

“We weren’t fooling around,” Cole said. “I didn’t even see her.”

“Those lies might work with the ladies, but don’t even try ’em with me. We had a deal.
No other women except Liza until after contract negotiations. You’re not just blowing
your chances with the Nats; other teams won’t look at you either if you can’t stay
away from the parties and keep your pants on.”

Cole clenched his teeth and stared at a hole in the worn backseat of the cab. Thoughts
of Liza had kept him from going in to Nikki’s party, but Frank would never believe
that, especially after he’d pretty much called Cole a liar. “I’ve kept my end of the
deal.” Air hissed on the line and Cole imagined Frank taking a long drag of his cigar.
He waited for the exhale, and it came a few seconds later.

“Say what you will, but it damn sure doesn’t look like it. If you can’t take your
career seriously, then I sure as hell can’t. I don’t need your kind of trouble. I’m
all set for money, son. And I’ve got a roster of top guys—more than I can handle.
No need to waste my time negotiating for you. Either straighten up or find a new agent.”

Cole sat there, blindsided, his heart hammering. Outside of his teammates and coaches,
only three people meant anything to him—Mack and Brenda, and Frank.
And Liza?
How many of them was he willing to alienate?

“I understand,” Cole said.

Frank cleared his throat, as if he’d been getting ready to say something but decided
not to. “Then you and I are square. Now you need to figure out how to handle this
with Liza.”

Chapter Twelve

Liza sat at her desk on Thursday morning, preparing to go through the motions of making
Frank’s donation process look official. She’d asked him to come to the foundation
today so Ross and her coworkers could see her making an honest effort at fund-raising.

An honest effort?

Okay, an
effort
—not necessarily an honest one. She certainly wasn’t being honest with Cole, or maybe
even with herself. If she were, she’d admit she wanted to talk with Frank about more
than his donation. She’d woken up this morning to a heart-flipping tweet from Cole.
Interested to find out what else he’d been up to, she’d clicked on his home feed and
seen the stomach-clenching tweet from Nikki Barlow. Jealousy had bitten her and kept
gnawing. No matter how hard she’d tried to shake it, she couldn’t stop imagining them
together and wondering what had gone on. Had Cole kissed Nikki the way he’d kissed
her? She’d immediately called Frank, figuring his donation would be a sure thing now,
so she might as well have him play the big-donor part.

Her office phone rang and she answered quickly. ���Hi, Carla,” she said to the foundation’s
motherly receptionist, whose name appeared on the caller ID.

“Mr. Frank Price is here to see you.”

“Thanks,” Liza said. “I’ll be out in a second.”

She let Frank wait a little, hoping some of her coworkers would see him and start
asking Carla questions. That would pave the path perfectly for his donation to look
legit when it came in.

Just as Liza stood and smoothed her skirt, her phone pinged with a text message. She
glanced at the text and her heart pitched.
Cole
. Twitter wasn’t working out too well for him so he’d resorted to texting?

Wanna come to Philly tomorrow night? Baseball history in the making—division title
on the line. Tix for you at Will Call.

No mention of the tweet from Nikki Barlow.

She let the message sit and went out to greet Frank under Carla’s watchful gaze.

“Mr. Price,” Liza said, “so nice of you to come.”

Frank gave her an easy smile and stood. He had a cup of coffee in one hand, and shook
her hand firmly with the other. “My pleasure, Miss Sutherland.” He looked business
casual dressed in black slacks and a mint-green oxford shirt.

“It’s such a beautiful day, why don’t we have our meeting in the courtyard, then I’ll
show you around?”

He followed her several steps, then turned back toward the receptionist. “Nice to
meet you, Miss Carla.” He tipped his cup to her and winked. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Liza turned to see Carla blushing.
Like agent, like client.
Frank and Cole sure had a way with the women.

She led him out into the brick-walled courtyard to a wrought iron table and chairs
nestled beneath one of the ginkgo trees. Ross and several of her coworkers had a view
of the courtyard from their offices on the second and third floors. She hoped they’d
all take notice of her meeting—especially Ross.

“Nice setup y’all have here,” Frank said as they sat at the table. He glanced up at
the back of the antique-brick townhouse and around the courtyard, his gaze resting
on a cluster of mums. “Lots of orange.”

Liza gave him a half smile. “Go Orioles.”

He nodded, and things were awkwardly silent for a moment. “You want to talk about
Cole?”

Liza was happy to bypass more small talk. “You saw his Twitter feed, right?”

Frank pursed his lips and nodded. “That starry sky one he sent you was pretty darn
romantic.”

“Not considering the tweet from Nikki Barlow that came after it.” She lifted her chin,
pretending this was all about business. “Cole is obviously seeing other women and
not falling for me, as you claimed. So I’m hoping you’ll consider making your donation
to BADD immediately and release me from our agreement.” Her heart thrummed. If Frank
said yes, she’d keep her job and the camps would get even more funding from his donation.
She could get back to her life as she’d known it—running the camps, following the
Orioles, and missing Wes. Her comfort zone, as Paige would say.

But then you won’t see Cole again.

“Are
you
falling for
him
?” Frank asked.

“No,” she said, too quickly. “I just want your donation, and I want out.”

“But that wasn’t our agreement.”

Liza picked up a yellow ginkgo leaf from the table and twirled it by the stem between
her fingertips. “I realize that, and I don’t know why I didn’t think to add something
like that to the deal. I mean, a guy like Cole was bound to go out with other girls.”

“Why don’t you give him a chance to explain that tweet from Nikki Barlow? Maybe it’s
not what you’re thinking.”

Liza’s temper flared. “I don’t care about Cole or Nikki Barlow or whatever is going
on with them.”

Frank nodded. “Whatever you say. Whether you do or not, our agreement stands as it
is. If you want out now, just say. But I won’t be making a donation to BADD.”

Liza rubbed her forehead, thankful Frank was facing the building instead of her. Ross
would really wonder what was going on if he could see her face. Her stomach felt hollow
and she wished she’d eaten breakfast. On second thought, maybe not.

“So you’ve got a decision to make,” Frank said. “Are you in or out? And if you say
in, remember the terms. You date Cole until the end of the baseball season. And you
can’t be avoidin’ him if he wants to explain that tweet, as I suspect he will.” He
slugged the last of his coffee. “No shenanigans.”

Liza stared at the ginkgo leaf she continued to twirl as she considered her predicament.
She needed Frank’s donation—if she wanted to keep running the BADD camps and selecting
deserving boys to attend, and if she wanted to prove herself without asking for help
from her parents.

But she had to be honest with herself, too. She was definitely in danger of falling
for Cole. Her jealousy over Nikki Barlow’s tweet told her that much, and so did her
heart. She had no idea how things were going to work out, but she couldn’t give up
now. She took a deep breath, released the leaf and watched it flutter to the ground.
“I’m in.”