“Because I don’t like it when my players lie to me. In fact, I’m prone to going ballistic.”
“I’m not lying,” I lied. “I’ve never felt better.”
“So tell me about your date last night. The old-fashioned one, where you and Ellie weren’t even going to have so much as a good-night kiss.”
Oh, right. In all the drama of the fire, I’d completely forgotten that. “Um, about that.”
“Yeah, about that,” she echoed, her voice stern. “I seem to recall Joe having a meeting with the entire team before the season began. You remember Joe? The team owner and your boss?”
“Of course I—”
“I remember him telling you that there’d be no more of this playboy shit. Those were his exact words. Playboy. Shit. He said that you ballplayers were good boys, who would do the right thing by good girls. Remember that?”
I nodded but kept my lip buttoned.
“And if ever there was a good girl, it’s Ellie. She’s a nurse in Indianapolis who comes from a good family. Her cousin is Connor, the heartthrob catcher, for God’s sake.”
Had her voice wobbled when she mentioned Connor’s name?
“You do know how incredibly protective he is of his family, right? And that includes Ellie, the good girl. The one who was supposed to go home last night, untouched.”
My plan had been to keep my mouth shut. After all, that’s what a guy did when he was being chewed out by the coach. He kept his mouth shut and took his ass-chewing like a man. Except that Gia wasn’t satisfied with my contrite look. Or the fact that my face was burning red. She glared at me for a good long time, making me realize that I had screwed up again. Yeah, I was the hero of the hour who had saved Ellie and a kid from a burning building. But I was also the guy who had brought another good girl over to the dark side.
Shit.
“You promised me, Jake. You promised me and Joe that you were turning over a new leaf. No more picking up sluts in clubs. No more wild nights and not-so-wild performances the next day.”
“I’ve never slacked off at baseball. Never!”
“But you did promise us that you would change. Did you mean any of it?”
“Of course I did. And I have.”
“Right,” she drawled. “Now you’re seducing good girls.” She shook her head. “Connor is going to kill you.”
Hell. That was certainly true. I could probably brush this off with Joe. He would be angry, but boys will be boys and all that. Gia would give me a good chewing-out—which I deserved—but there was nothing she could really do. Connor, though, was a different matter altogether. In many ways, he was the glue that held the Bobcats together. The quiet voice of reason. The mature adult in a locker room of boys, though he was barely three years older than me. He just exuded authority, and I respected him more than I did anyone else on the team. More than I did anyone I’d ever met.
The idea of confessing to him that I’d had a hot, wild night with his cousin made me sick to my stomach. Sure, it had been consensual. And hell yes, I wanted to have more nights with her. But I’d made such a big deal about this being something special, that she was special. I’d promised to respect her and not take advantage.
How the hell was I going to explain what happened?
“Um, it’s not what it seems,” I said to Gia. The words were out of my mouth before I even realized what I was doing. But Gia was no idiot. She arched a brow at me and called my bluff.
“Really? Because it sure as hell looked like you were going all ‘gentleman’ on me. And because of that promise, I got the press to be there last night. There are pictures all over, of you and her, right next to the words ‘old-fashioned date.’ And do you know what else is all over the papers this morning?”
I shook my head.
“Her climbing down from your balcony.”
“The building was on fire.”
“I got that. We also got the fact that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. No bra. No panties. And she was climbing out of your hotel room.”
No way could they know that. I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could say a word, Gia grabbed her phone, flipped it on, and shoved a picture in my face. I looked down, dreading what I would see, but I had to look anyway.
There was Ellie on the railing just before she let go of the balcony. Her knees were bent, her bottom hanging down. I was there, too, my arms stretched up to catch her, but that’s not what the picture focused on. Nope. Right there was Ellie’s bare ass in full view. The caption read: “Moon over Chicago.”
I gaped at it. That couldn’t possibly be what people cared about. The hotel had been on fire. It had been a heroic rescue. Or maybe the press should have commented on how the sprinkler system hadn’t kicked on. Possible death and lawsuit in the offing. Why weren’t they talking about that? Instead, all this site cared about was Ellie’s bare ass.
