Stealing Home (20 page)

I had no one. Self-pity. It wasn’t a position I liked to find myself in, and if I couldn’t chase it away with force of will, I’d try chasing it away with something stronger.

The first glass of champagne went down in two swallows. The second one I was just finishing when someone also on their own wandered up to the bar beside me. Noting my vanishing drink, Shepherd lifted two fingers at the bartender.

“I’m here for the free booze too.” Shepherd held out a glass for me, waiting.

“I’m not here for the free booze,” I replied before draining what was left in my second glass before accepting the fresh glass from him.

A smirk settled on his face. “No? Then what are you here for? Because Uncle Sam knows neither of us make enough to put a down payment on the items being auctioned off tonight to benefit some country that’s going to be renamed and run by some other dickface in a year.”

Shepherd wasn’t my favorite person to be around. Actually, he might have been one of my least favorite, but as the crowd around Archer continued to grow, Shepherd’s company became more desirable. I’d rather be talking to him than no one.

“I’m here to support the team,” I said right before I hiccupped. The champagne had gone straight to my head, which was a welcome relief since alcohol was clouding my Luke Archer Rubik’s cube of confusion.

“And support the team you do.” Shepherd followed where my gaze had moved to. That same person stationed in the center of the room, holding a room full of people in his hand. “So very, very well.”

“What does that mean?” My eyes narrowed from his tone or from what he was alluding to with his tone.

“This is Archer’s best season. And it’s not like his three prior seasons were shit, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m sure I don’t have a clue.”

“All I’m saying is that whatever you’re doing, keep it up, Allie.” Shepherd slid a little closer, his gaze dropping to where the V in my dress came together. “Archer stays this hot, I see a World Series win in our future.”

The skin on the back of my neck tingled. From what he was saying, from how he was saying it, from the way he was looking at me. I wanted to play dumb and deny his veiled accusation, but I hadn’t approached anything in life by playing dumb and I wasn’t about to start with the likes of Shepherd.

“Whatever you’re trying to say, Shepherd, spit it the hell out. My head’s swimming in too much champagne to figure out cryptic riddles.”

Shepherd didn’t stop running his eyes over me, and with him getting closer, I could make out the glassiness in his eyes. He was marinating in more champagne than I was.

“I’m saying that of all the Incentive Girls I’ve seen thrown at Archer, you’re the one who’s squeezed the best results out of our boy. Or should I say fucked the best results out of him.” Shepherd’s head tipped, his smile eclipsing into one that made me shiver.

“You’re drunk.”

“And you must be such a slut in bed, you might actually get to hang around for a second season. Most of the girls the team brings on only last a year, but you”—he whistled, shaking his head—“you just might be this generation’s Marilyn.”

Setting my glass down, I put some space between us. “At this point in your depravity, I think it’s a good thing I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please. Marilyn Monroe? Joe DiMaggio? Why do you think he became the legend he is today?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Because he was a great ball player?”

“Made great because he got to look forward to a fine piece of ass crawling over his cock every night.”

His words hit me like someone had just slapped me across the cheek. Whatever sexual harassment policies the team had drawn up, Shepherd was breaking just about every single one of them.

“You are an asshole.”

“Oh, please. That woman couldn’t act to save her soul. But servicing dick—she could have taken home the Academy Award.”

Anger coursed through me, mixing with the alcohol. It was a volatile combination. “I wasn’t calling you an asshole because of what you’re accusing Marilyn Monroe of. I was and still am calling you an asshole because of what you’re accusing me of.” Nevermind the fact that DiMaggio and Monroe hadn’t even met until after he’d retired from baseball. Clearly, Shepherd wasn’t up on his baseball trivia like I was.

Shepherd exchanged his empty glass for the one I’d left unfinished on the counter. “What? Are you
not
servicing Luke Archer’s dick?”

My stomach turned over. How did he know? How had he found out?

“Don’t worry, Allie. Your valiant Archer didn’t fuck and tell or anything.” He drained my glass in a single sip. “It was just implied in your contract when you were brought on.”

“I was brought on as an athletic trainer. Athletic trainer. The same exact job as the one you have.” When I realized my hands were starting to shake, I wound them behind my back. I didn’t want him to see me rattled. I didn’t want to confirm his suspicions.

“Yes, you were brought on as an ‘athletic trainer.’” He snorted. “Just like the girl last season was brought on as a ‘physical therapist,’ and the one before her as a ‘dietitian,’ and the one Archer’s first season as a ‘guest reporter.’”

The room started to close in on me. I had no reason to believe what Shepherd was saying; just like I had no reason to disbelieve what he was saying. He might have been an asshole, but he was a drunk one right now and couldn’t have just pulled all of that out of his ass if it wasn’t true. Or could he?

God, my head hurt.

“Oh please, don’t be so naïve.” Shepherd dropped his hand on my shoulder and gave me a little shake like he was trying to break me out of shock. “How do you think a team attracts a player like Archer and
keeps
a player like him? It sure as shit isn’t with just heaps of cash. But it’s not exactly like the Shock can put a traveling hooker on the payroll, so they’ve found legal ways around it.”

I shrugged out from beneath his hand, my eyes searching the room for Archer. He was still in the same place, but he was watching me. When he noticed the look on my face, his brows drew together. His eyes narrowed when he saw Shepherd so close.

It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Whatever I did or didn’t know about Luke, I knew he was a decent person. A good man. Someone like that wouldn’t condone or expect the team to hire some new woman every year to be his personal traveling fuck toy. Shepherd was full of shit.

“God, what is the matter with you?” Peeling my eyes from Archer, who looked close to tearing across the room for me, I crossed my arms at Shepherd. “Are you intimidated by me or something? Worried I’m going to take your position as lead trainer?”

His head fell back, and a laugh spilled past his lips. “Oh, yeah. That’s it. I’m truly intimidated by your ability to use your pussy.” My eyes widened, but he didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Please, what did you really think? That you were hired on because you were the best candidate for the job? This is baseball. It’s a boys’ club. The only cunts allowed in are the ones who know how to spread ‘em and bed ‘em.”

At my side, my hand twitched. The pull to slap him right in the middle of this charity ball was so appealing, I could taste it, but Luke was watching me again. I couldn’t give him a reason to come barreling over here and confirm Shepherd’s accusations. “You truly are a heinous person.”

Shepherd feigned insult. “You misunderstand why I’m bringing this up. It isn’t to insult you—it’s to congratulate you.” He clapped a few times at me. “You’ve done your job better than any of the ones who came before. Keep up the good work. Who knows? You might even get a little bonus at the end of the season—with your marching orders.”

I didn’t realize I’d been backing away from him until he cocked his brow at me. I was not going to be intimidated by someone like Shepherd. I was not going to let him think he could fire off some random threats and I’d lose all manner of composure and decorum.

“The wires in your head? Uncross them. Or exorcise the demon you’ve been possessed by. Or have your meds adjusted. And don’t talk to me again unless it’s about something work related.” I didn’t blink as I spoke, moving closer with every word and making sure he saw the seriousness on my face. I turned to leave once that slapping urge took me over again.

“Has he told you about the little boy yet?” Shepherd’s voice carried after me. “The one Incentive Girl Number One got knocked up with his first season?”

My feet froze in the middle of my next step. My heart froze with it.

AFTER THE BALL, I went home and got drunk like I’d never gotten drunk before. I shut off my phone, turned off the lights, and drank my way through the neck and shoulders of a nice bottle of bourbon.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. The next morning made me question if it wasn’t the worst idea instead.

My phone I kept off, knowing what would happen when I powered it back on and found all of his missed calls and texts. I’d call him back. I’d let him explain what Shepherd had said. I’d let his explanation cloud my reason. I’d let myself become the very person I was afraid of becoming again—the girl who exchanged what she wanted to be true for the actual truth.

The team was scheduled to fly out later that afternoon, and I was dreading the flight. Not just because I’d have to see Archer, but I’d have to face Shepherd again too. Have to face the whole team. How many of them thought the same thing Shepherd did—that I was just number eleven’s new fuck girl?

After downing a few aspirins and a few liters of water to rehydrate myself, I slid in front of my laptop and got to work. My apartment got good light early in the day, but I had to close the blinds to keep my head from splitting open. Plus, the dark fit my mood, given the content of my research.

Type Luke Archer’s name into a search engine and thousands of pages of baseball related pictures and stats would pop up. That wasn’t what I was searching for. Type “Luke Archer’s love interests” into the same search engine, and the whole tone of the pictures and articles changed.

From high school dance photos to candid snapshots taken at college parties with some girl he was caught talking with, the photos made him seem like some playboy who had had a different girl for every night of his existence since puberty. The propaganda wasn’t what I was interested in either though.

Adjusting my search, I found what I was looking for—the guest reporter who’d followed the Shock three seasons ago. Her name was Callie Monahan, and at the time, she’d been a reporter for a big national station. She was about my age, had gone to a good school, and had seemed to be rising in her career, but for the past few years, there wasn’t much of anything about her. She didn’t work for the same national station—or any station for that matter.

I couldn’t find any direct links between her and Luke—at least, not at first. It wasn’t until I was scrolling through some of the images of Callie that I found one that made my body go numb. It was a photo some fan had taken at a team dinner. Everyone from Coach to the players to the support staff to the guest reporter was in it.

Luke and Callie weren’t sitting by each other. They weren’t even sitting on the same side of the table. It wasn’t their proximity to one another that told me what I needed to know—it was how clearly aware they both were of where the other one was. While everyone else was looking at the camera, Luke and Callie were looking at each other. It had probably only been a fraction of a moment, but it had been frozen in time and made public for anyone to see.

The wheels of my computer chair rolled closer as I leaned in to study the photo. My ears were ringing like I’d just been knocked over the head with a brick. It wasn’t just that the two of them were looking at each other; it was the way he was looking at her. It was familiar. Achingly familiar. The set of his brow, the tip of his smile, the intensity in his eyes—it was the way Luke looked at me.

It was the same way he’d looked at her.

Jealousy was taking root, but I didn’t let it grow. Luke had a right to a past. He had a right to look at some other woman with care and concern. He had history with this woman, but that wasn’t why I was taped to my laptop when I could have used the extra hour of sleep. The women in his past weren’t what concerned me—it was how they’d become a part of his life.

I needed to see if Shepherd’s story had any credibility, because if it did, what did that say about why I’d been hired, why Luke had come into my life, and what the future of my career looked like?

I guessed I knew what it would say—I just wasn’t sure I was ready to hear it.

Scrolling through the last images of Callie, I couldn’t find any of her and Luke together. They’d been careful, just as we’d been. But in the last few images, I found yet another familiar face. This one was familiar because of the photo propped on Luke’s dresser.

It was the same baby in Callie’s arms, taken at about the same time as Luke’s photo, judging by the age of the baby. The caption read nothing more than “Callie Monahan and son,” but I knew.

He wasn’t just her son. With those eyes and that mouth, I knew who the father was.

My chest started heaving from my breathing. Why hadn’t he told me? Why would Luke keep something so big from the woman he was seeing . . . unless he had no intention of “seeing” her past the expiration of the season? Unless seeing was code word for using. Girlfriend code word for fuck toy.