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“Thanks,” I say even as familiar anger burns in my chest. I gave so much to the Loons, but they threw me away like I was worth less than nothing. I’m still pissed about it. I imagine I’ll be pissed about it for a long time.
I force the negative emotions down and clear my throat. “I’m happy for you and Anna. You’ll be great parents.” Kendrick has the patience of a saint and a heart of gold, matched only by his high school sweetheart, Anna. The two have been together since they were sixteen, and while I never thought a youthful love like theirs could stand the test of time, they have.
“Going soft on me, Corey?” Kendrick jokes, patting my back.
I snort. “Hardly.”
“Good. I don’t know what I’d do if Corey Johnson turned soft. Especially now that he’s going to be my starting pitcher.”
I cringe at the reminder. To Kendrick, my move to the Lonestars is exciting. To me, it’s a downgrade. The Lonestars haven’t advanced past the first round of playoffs in ten years while the Loons have made it to four of the last ten World Series. The organization needs help—more help than only I can give.
I take a sip of the beer I’ve been nursing for over an hour, much to the bartender’s annoyance. I ordered a basket of unappetizing nachos to make up for claiming a spot at the bar. They sit untouched in front of me.
“Some of the guys are over there playing pool.” Kendrick hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Want to say hi?”
I really don’t.
If it were anyone but Kendrick asking, I’d say no. But just like in college, I find it difficult to say no to the guy. It’d be like dismissing a friendly golden retriever.
“Sure.” I take another sip of beer and then set it down on the bar. “Let’s go.” I put more than enough cash on the counter to cover my bill before following Kendrick to the back of the bar.
I keep my ball cap low to avoid recognition, but I realize it doesn’t matter when I glance at the pool tables and see four very recognizable Lonestars players with cues in their hands, chatting amicably with the small crowd of men and women around them.
I try to come up with a way to avoid interacting with fans of a team I’m less than thrilled to be joining, but then my eyes land on a woman with long legs and a killer ass. Both are accentuated by heels that are at least four inches tall. Long blonde hair hangs in waves to the middle of her back, covering the laces of a corset-style top as she leans over the pool table, racking the balls. Even in my sour mood, I can admit the image is hot. So hot, that I switch my plan.
Rather than finding a way to avoid joining the group, I’m wondering how I can get an introduction to the woman. My self-imposed dry spell has gone on long enough. Maybe a night with a beautiful stranger is what I need to turn this shitty day around.
I haven’t seen the woman’s face, but I have no doubt she’s stunning. I consider she might be one of the players’ girlfriends, but I don’t see any of them in personal space, silently staking their claim to dissuade any man who might think of shooting their shot.
And I just might… shoot my shot, I mean.
“Who’s that?”
Kendrick is two steps ahead of me. He pauses and looks back at me with a raised brow. “Who?”
I jerk my chin in the blonde’s direction. “Her.”
Kendrick turns around. “Oh.” He smiles before continuing to lead me towards the group. “That’s the team’s social media coordinator.”
“The team’swhat?”
“Hey man, don’t knock it. She’s done great things for the team and our personal accounts. I have so many sponsored posts on products I already used, that I’m raking in cash. All because of Carlee.”
It’s on my lips to remind Kendrick he’s already raking in cash with the five-year extension he signed last year when the name registers.
“Wait…”It can’t be.“Did you say, Carlee?”
Carlee isn’t a unique name. Not in the slightest. But something in my gut tells me that this Carlee ismyCarlee.
“Yeah,” Kendrick says over his shoulder. “She’s awesome.”
I stay quiet, my thoughts racing. We reach the pool tables. Kendrick walks over to the other players to introduce me, but I stop by the table where the blonde is chatting with her opponent. I don’t recognize the guy, but he looks young. I guess he’s a first or second year player.
I’m trying to convince myself that I’m mistaken. This woman isn’t the girl I grew up with—the only person I’ve regretted not coming back to Texas to visit even though I knew it was for the best.
There’s no way the woman with the killer figure, tight jeans, and sexy top is the only woman I’ve ever felt a level of affection for that, if I weren’t an emotionally stunted mess, could’ve grown into love.
But then I hear it—her laugh. Not even ten years apart could make me forget the sound of that laugh. I’m not known for my sense of humor, but damn if I didn’t try to hear the sound of that beautiful laugh every chance I could when I was a young kid.
