There is a weird noise that comes over the bar in that instant. Maybe it’s a gasp, or a collection of whispers, but when I turn my head, three men are walking in.
Clark, one of the relieving pitchers on the Pistons’ bench, Walker, and Hayes come into Hudson’s. My stomach immediately drops, because I’ve avoided him since the confrontation in the massage room.
In fact, I’ve told absolutely no one about seeing Hayes that night, or the ugly words we’d slung at each other.
Whitney and Walker came over about two hours after the interview aired, knocking down my door at nearly ten p.m. until I opened up. They supplied the bottle of tequila that had me dry-heaving the next morning, but their company was crucial. I cried on their shoulders, lamented about the vile creature that my father is, and they completely supported me. Both of them had checked in during the week since, and the sting of the wounds my father had opened back up were slowly dulling into a sore ache.
Of course, that didn’t mean news outlets weren’t still covering it left and right. There was an even bigger bounty on my head to fail, and if having the pressure of the world breathing down my neck wasn’t enough, Uncle Daniel was on my case more than ever. I just have to keep my head down, do the work that needs to be done, and stop letting outside distractions and negativity affect me so much. Easier said than done.
Walker spots us, and they all walk over to our table in a group. Hayes is avoiding eye contact, and I squirm uncomfortably in my chair.
“Well, look who’s home from school!” he greets Anna, giving her a big bear hug.
She laughs. “That’s right. I think you should buy me a drink.”
“I think your dad would strangle me if I did that.” Walker pretends to choke.
Our baby cousin shrugs. “What the old man doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Just like when I didn’t tell him about that time you brought me to that Vegas casino and let me play craps when I was fourteen.”
Whitney starts laughing, and Clark cracks a smile next to her, raising his eyebrow in Walker’s direction.
“Jesus, you’re going to get me arrested or some shit, Anna. Keep that noise down.” Walker turns to me. “You doing all right today?”
My cheeks flame with embarrassment that he’s asking that in such a personal tone in front of Hayes. “Much better now.”
“Whit, Anna, I think you remember Clark. But this is Hayes, one of our newest teammates.” Walker makes the introduction.
“Hi, hope you ladies are having a nice night.” Hayes nods politely, but his small smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“All right, should we get to it? I need a burger, stat.” Clark nudges his friends, and they all wave goodbye before walking off to the bar.
We order another round of drinks and decide to split nachos.
“This was the best decision I’ve made all week.” I sigh as I stick a cheese covered chip into my mouth.
“And apparently, coming to Hudson’s was Walker’s best decision.” Whit nods her head toward the three men sitting in a booth along the far wall.
There are at least six women leaning into the table, thrusting their chests out and batting their eyelashes. I have to try hard to stop the snort from accompanying my eye roll, but it’s just to mask the mean green monster bearing down on my shoulders. Clark is extremely interested in every single one of them, which doesn’t surprise me. He’s like the league’s leading playboy and has even made advances at me even though it’s completely inappropriate. Walker isn’t turning them away either, and I could see my cousin walking out of here with someone tonight.
It’s not like Hayes has a girl sitting in his lap, boobs in his face, but he’s talking to the bat bunnies, all right. I hate the prickle of jealousy that runs along my spine, and I turn all the way back around so that I can ignore it.
“That man is fine. And you need to get laid.” Whitney nudges her wineglass in my direction.
“Who?” I pretend to play dumb.
“Hayes Swindell, the new guy. Although we all grew up around baseball, we know exactly who he is.”
“Hey, is he the one who they say won’t get married or date until after he’s done with baseball?” Anna muses, tilting her head to the side.
That rumor has followed Hayes for years. If you’re in the industry, you’ve heard it numerous times. I have no idea if it’s true.
“That man is a player on the team I manage, and what would give you the impression that he’s remotely interested in me? If you haven’t noticed, I think women are practically hanging their panties from the coat hook on his booth at this point.”
“Because he has barely taken his eyes off you since you walked into this bar.” Anna chuckles.
That has my head whipping back around, and my baby cousin’s statement is confirmed. My eyes meet a pair of emerald eyes, searing right into mine.
Woah. The intensity of Hayes’ stare nearly knocks me backward, and it’s a good thing I’m sitting down. The spark that runs between us, a line of energy connecting us across the restaurant, is charged and electric. My mouth goes dry, there is wetness in my panties, and suddenly I feel way drunker than I should for only having had two drinks.
It takes me a minute to blink and turn back around, ripping my eyes away from him. “That? It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me,” Whitney singsongs.
The rest of my night is dampened by the cloud of envy Hayes has draped over him. That look between us? It has to mean nothing.
Absolutely nothing but trouble can come of anything more than just a look shared with him.
14
Colleen
“Hey, don’t you dare!”
I swat Walker’s hand away, knowing he’s about to dive straight for my sweet potato fries.
“Oh, come on, just a few.” He gives me the puppy dog eyes that he’s been using as a tactic since he was seven.
Shaking my head, I pop one in ketchup and put it in my mouth. “I don’t know why you don’t just get your own order. You know how sacred fries are to me.”
“Fries don’t taste as good when they come from your own plate. Same as salads you make in your kitchen, or ice cream scooped by your own hand. It’s always better when someone else makes it, or if you’re taking it off someone’s plate. Everyone knows that.”
I tilt my head to the side, considering this. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. I tried to make pizza at home the other night, it was so mediocre that I didn’t even finish it. Imagine that, not finishing pizza? It’s just not as good as having it delivered.”
“See? So you have to give me some fries. It’s the rule,” my cousin points out.
My eyes roll as I pluck three off my plate and put them on his tray. As if he needs more food on there. We’re sitting in the player’s only dining room, having lunch together in the middle of my workday and his practices, and Walker has basically taken every single item off the buffet that was prepared today. I only eat in here when I’m with him, most days I pick at a salad or sandwich while elbow-deep in emails or contracts. But he convinced me to come down here, if for nothing more than to watch him stuff his face with every available cuisine they stock at this stadium.