The Practice Proposal (12 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Cole hadn’t heard from Liza since he’d texted her yesterday. The Nats had the day
off, and they’d traveled from Miami to Philly, giving him plenty of time to think
about Frank’s threat to drop him. Cole couldn’t imagine losing Frank or working with
another agent. Straightening things out with Liza would ease Frank’s mind, and Cole’s,
too. Leave it to Nikki to complicate things just when he’d decided to take a real
chance with Liza.

Cole needed her at tonight’s game. It would show Frank that he had things under control,
and it would show Cole that she was just as into him, too. Now he faced the game without
her here, worrying what his next move should be. During batting practice, all the
stress nagged at him, and he took it out on the baseballs. He smashed every one that
came at him, and at least a quarter of them left the park. Feeling moderately better
now that he’d knocked the crap out of something, he headed into the visitors’ clubhouse
with his teammates, ready for the big game. He sat in front of his locker, double-knotted
the laces of his cleats, and checked his phone one last time.

His heart hitched. A text from Liza had come in just minutes ago.

Good luck in the big game.

DVRing it?
he typed quickly.

Nope. I’m in the stands.

Cole smiled and blew out a long breath. She was here.

He hated to admit it, but now he was twice as nervous as he’d been before he got her
text. This was unfamiliar territory. On the rare occasion he’d invited a girl to watch
him play, he came out with swagger, confident that whatever he did, she’d like it.
But Liza was different. She knew the game. And it was going to take a triple and stealing
home—the hardest play in baseball—to impress her.

See you afterward? he texted.

Only if you’ll sing. ;)

No way. He smiled as he put his phone in his locker and joined the team on their
way to the visitors’ dugout. The night had gotten cooler quickly, and a fine mist
made light in the stadium hazy. Rain was in the forecast, and Cole hoped it would
hold off. Muddy baseball might be fun to watch, but it was definitely no fun to play.

When they stood for “The Star-Spangled Banner,” he scanned the sold-out crowd and
spotted Frank sitting with Mack and Brenda, and Liza—all Cole’s VIP seats, all in
a row. He calmed down a little. Things were okay for now, and he could worry about
baseball. The Phillies had a way of sneaking up on the Nationals, and the Nats couldn’t
let that happen tonight. They were too close to clinching the division, and a win
tonight would get it done.

Cole sat at one end of a ridiculously huge couch in the corner of the upscale hotel
lobby, sulking. He wasn’t dressed to impress in a pair of jeans and a worn Tar Heels
T-shirt. But the clothes were comfortable and dry, and that’s all he cared about right
then. Nearby, an annoying wall fountain trickled water, reminding him of the incessant
light rain that had ultimately soaked him during tonight’s miserable game.

He thought he and his buddies would be celebrating clinching the division title. Instead,
most of them had headed to their rooms, embarrassed and angry at themselves for letting
the game get away. The Nats had taken the lead in the third, 2-0. Then a bad call
at first had put the Phillies catcher on base. The next batter hit a homer, tying
the game, and the Nats’ momentum was gone. From then on, their bats were quiet, their
bullpen struggled, their gloves were slippery, and they’d all-around sucked. The Phillies
had won 5-2.

His phone pinged with a text from Frank.

Tough loss. Saw the little lady at the game. Nice work.

Cole needed to set Frank straight and tell him their plan had shifted. The only “work”
Cole was doing with Liza now was trying to win her heart. He needed to make sure that
wasn’t complicated by a slip from Frank, clueing her in to their initial plan.

Seconds later, she came into the lobby, carrying a paper lunch bag. Cole stood and
caught her attention. She made her way over to him, wearing a stylish black rain jacket
over jeans and a snug ivory cable-knit sweater. The girl defined wholesome-hot. Two
bellmen and a desk clerk checked her out appreciatively, and Cole had the knee-jerk
instinct to take her in his arms to show those guys that she was his. Then he remembered
that she wasn’t…yet.

Even so, he pretended she was and hugged her tightly, inhaling her flowery scent,
and feeling better about the Nats’ loss, if only for a moment. She wrapped her arms
around him and it was the best feeling he’d had since he’d left her days ago.

“Hi there,” he said, and reluctantly released her.

“Hi, yourself.” She grimaced, yet still managed to look pretty. “You okay?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been better.”

“I’m sorry about the game.”

He clenched his jaw. “We’ll get ’em tomorrow night.” He sounded more confident than
he felt. If he kept playing the way he had this week, he’d be no help to the Nats.
Worrying about things between him and Liza and Frank had affected his game, but everything
would get better now.

He led her over to the couch and they sat down.

“I need to tell you what happened between me and Nikki Barlow,” he said quickly, before
he lost his nerve.

She blushed. “I saw the tweet. But you don’t really owe me an explanation.” She bit
her lip, looking vulnerable. Her reaction made him want to explain himself more.

“So the thing with Nikki…” His chest tightened. Saying everything he’d planned was
going to be harder than he’d thought. “I had a bad game in Miami the other night.”
He shrugged. “Kinda like tonight. I was so coiled up inside—pissed at myself for making
that error that cost us the game.” He told Liza about Nikki’s invitation, his bad
decision to accept it, and that he’d taken a cab out to the party. Liza listened attentively,
but only made eye contact with quick glances.

“I stood in front of the villa and debated whether to go in,” he said. “But I didn’t
feel like partying, and I
really
didn’t want to see Nikki again. So I left. She must’ve seen me outside, and that’s
why she sent the tweet. I swear I never saw her. I mean, I walked to the causeway
and called a cab.” He reached over and gently swept his fingers beneath her chin,
guiding her head until she faced him. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

She furrowed her brow for a quick moment, confusion in her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

He sighed. “There’s something different about you. It’s no secret that I’ve dated
a lot of women, and the media have been more than happy to publicize that.” He leaned
close to her, his elbows propped on his knees, her hand in his. “But none of those
women
know
me, including Nikki Barlow, and I’m not sure they really want to. They want my money,
or my fame, or what they think is my glamorous lifestyle. But when it gets down to
telling them I was the poor kid from Mebane, North Carolina, whose alcoholic mother
was sure she was going to hit it big every time she spent our welfare money gambling
in Atlantic City, I don’t think they’d understand. And they wouldn’t want to hear
that my father wasn’t around—whoever he was—and my mom was always in a bar, or off
with her latest boyfriend. Or that my grandma raised me, scraping for every cent so
I could play travel baseball and maybe land a scholarship.”

Liza gazed at him intently.

“But you met me when I was an eighteen-year-old poor kid who was at baseball camp
because of someone’s charity. There you were, the Hall-of-Famer’s daughter. You knew
where I came from and what I was all about—but you liked me anyway.” He could hardly
believe what was coming out of his mouth, but he kept talking. “You were the first
person who didn’t seem to judge. Anywhere I went in my hometown, people knew me as
the drunk lady’s son.”

Liza clutched his hand. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. She hadn’t lived that kind
of life herself, but she’d worked with boys like him at the camps run by BADD. Maybe
that was why she seemed to relate.
Or maybe that’s just who she is.

No wonder he was falling for her.

“So that’s why I sent you the tweet about the stars and the freckles. And that I wished
you were there…” He trailed his fingers down a lock of her silky hair. “That was all
true.”

She sat quietly for a moment, and he hoped she would say something soon. He’d gone
and left himself vulnerable, and he didn’t like the feeling. He was amazed how this
girl who might not be that into him had made him wish she were.

“I brought you something,” she said after way too long. She handed him the paper bag
she’d brought with her.

He looked at her curiously, but she gave nothing away except her mouth quirking up
at one corner. The bag crinkled as he opened it, and he pulled out a plain white napkin
and a plastic bag. Inside it were four round sandwiches on white bread with peanut
butter and jelly oozing out around the edges.

“Baseball PB and Js,” she said.

Cole stared at the sandwiches, thinking that no one besides her had ever done something
this thoughtful for him. Even after she’d seen Nikki’s tweet and could’ve made all
kinds of assumptions about what had gone on between them, she’d been thinking about
his feelings instead of her own. Cole took her in his arms and held her tightly until
a wolf-whistle pierced the silence. “Get a room.”

Cole recognized his roommate’s voice, and turned to see him heading for the elevators.
“You’re in mine,” he teased.

He opened the plastic bag, pulled out two sandwiches, and offered one to Liza. She
took it and they sat quietly, eating their PB and Js.

“Will these make me play better?” Liza licked some jelly from her lips and Cole got
all kinds of ideas that had nothing to do with baseball or his grandma. He leaned
over and kissed her softly, then rested his forehead against hers.

She leveled her green-eyed gaze on him. “Only if you believe they will.”

If anyone could make him believe again, it was her.

He sat back and took another bite of his sandwich, thoughts of the game creeping back
into his mind. He shook his head. “So much of baseball is mental.”

“That’s what my dad has always said.”

Cole grimaced before he could stop himself. He was still really pissed about the game,
and the last thing he wanted to hear was what Sutherland had always said.

Liza sat back and narrowed her eyes. “What’s with you and my dad?”

She had to ask that question tonight of all nights. “What do you mean?” he asked,
buying time.

“You seem to get tense whenever I mention him. And when you two were together at Sweet
Bee’s, something just seemed…off.”

Cole leaned his head back on the couch and blew out a heavy breath. “I don’t really
want to involve you,” he said gently, “in what’s between your dad and me.” He knew
it was unrealistic, but he really did feel that way.

She gazed at him, her eyes looking darker in the dim light of the lobby. “So there
is something.”

Cole dragged his hand down his face. He had to get this out there if he expected to
have any kind of real relationship with her. “Your dad was the best coach I’d ever
had,” he said. “I mean, he really knew the game, but he was even better at seeing
guys’ skills and playing them where they belonged. And he didn’t put up with any crap
from a bunch of cocky teenagers, either.”

“I know.” Liza nudged his shoulder. “I was one of them once, too.”

“I guess the short version of the story is that your dad was like the role model I
never had. I really looked up to him. And your mom was so…motherly. Kind of like my
grandma, but younger, obviously. I got the crazy idea that they were my adopted parents,
sort of, as weird as that sounds.”

She smiled knowingly.

“So there I was,” he said, “with your mom being motherly and your dad paving the way
for me to play at UNC. And once I was there, they’d come to my games sometimes and
take me out to dinner. Before I graduated, they bought into the Orioles. I remember
how excited they were.”

“Me, too. It was a huge decision for them. My dad was so thrilled to be able to stay
so close to baseball, and my mom started BADD so we’d still have the camps.”

“Right before graduation, your folks and I were out to dinner one night.” He remembered
the exact booth they’d been sitting in at the Outback Steakhouse between Chapel Hill
and Durham. “And your dad really built up my hopes about being drafted by the Orioles.
He said there was some behind-the-scenes negotiating going on, and he was sure things
would work out.”

Liza drew her head back and lowered her eyebrows.

Cole pressed his lips together tightly. “But at the last minute, I was drafted by
the Nationals.”

“The draft is so unpredictable,” she said. “My dad
always
wanted you to play for the Orioles, but he said the Nats snatched you up before the
Os got their chance.”

“That’s what he told me afterward, too, but he’d been so certain about me going to
the Orioles. I had my heart set on it.” Even though Cole was successful now, he couldn’t
help but wonder what might have been if things had worked out with the Orioles—and
with John and Sylvia. “It was a really awkward time. After that, we just drifted apart.
I got a birthday card from them every year. A Christmas card, too, I think.”

“They still talked about you a lot,” Liza said, as if she thought he needed to hear
that. “I figured you all were going in different directions with your teams, and just
didn’t have the time to get together anymore.”

Cole shook his head, still feeling hollow from losing them. “They were like family…and
then they were gone. I’ve always thought, when it came down to it, your dad changed
his mind about me and the Orioles backed out of the deal. I can’t blame anyone but
myself, but I spent years playing in the minors and blowing chances at the top because
my head was so screwed up.”