Page 3 of Double Play

Anxiety rumbles over my flesh, and I give myself a full-body shake to calm the nerves.

It’s only an interview.

The Tennessee Terrors are located in Florida, short term, for our annual spring training, and part of the warmup to the season is promotional material. Interviews. Photoshoots. More of these moments belong to the players than the coaching staff, but they still happen and the leaders of the Terrors are on the docket for today.

My hand slips on the handle as I tug open the door to the small conference room set up for the interviews. A large banner hangs on the wall with our team logo. Two baseball bats crossed to form an X and a giant raccoon face that symbolizes our mascot.

But the person who captures all my attention is the beautiful creature with a mass of riotous midnight waves and red-framed glasses on her face, seated in a director’s chair opposite an empty one.

My heart leaps to my throat.

While I’ve seen India on the screen, from reels sent to me by Isaiah, I haven’t seen her in person in so long. Her beauty takes my breath away. I literally gulp in another calming breath and breathe out her name.

“India.”

Her head lifts and I’m met with the brightness of those silvery eyes, despite her glasses, and a warm smile that lasts for half a second.

Then something changes. Her eyes close for a beat. Her cheeks stiffen. The smile fades.

When she opens her eyes again, she sits up straighter, shifts in her seat, and rubs the palm of one hand down what looks like a slim-fit skirt.

For some reason, my gaze drops to her feet. High heels perched on the rung of the raised chair. She flicks one ankle side to side. A nervous tell. She’s as anxious to see me, but why the schooled expression then?

As I take quick steps across the small room, I approach her seated position first until a subtle hand raises. No more than the palm of her hand in a half-hearted halting sign.

Don’t get near her, it signals, and yet I’m puzzled. Why?

As a man trained to read hand signals, I straighten my spine, nod once, and reroute to sit in the vacant seat across from her.

The interview is strictly for marketing purposes. Some personal tidbits. Some funny quips. Nothing too serious, we’d been told.

But the atmosphere is this suddenly too small room is anything but light and casual.

“Wildfire,” I address her, the term familiar and yet dry as ash in my throat.

“Wylde Thing.” She exaggerates her retort like an insult, clearing her throat while dropping her gaze. “Let’s start with the old nickname. Has it followed you into your coaching positions?”

What that hell is this? The formality? The edge to her voice? The obvious dismissal of any recognition between us. Forget the carnal knowledge I have of her body. The intimate ways in which I touched her.

She’s my best friend’s younger sister so why the fucking cold shoulder?

As for the nickname that eventually became attached to my name, Declan Wylde, playing off my abilities at bat and covering first base, the title couldn’t be further from the truth.

The truth that I still hadn’t been overly ‘wild’ off the field despite the rumors that followed me in my younger years.

At forty-five, those years were a lifetime ago, and while even she once used the label in a playful manner, the name comes across more mockery than tease in her present tone.

A million questions rattle through my head, all of them bumping into one another like five-year olds playing T-ball. Gloves outstretched, but heads upward, searching for a ball that’s already dropped to the ground.

“Coaches don’t have nicknames,” I counter, leaning to one side in the suddenly uncomfortable seat made of loose cloth and wobbly wood. My knees are spread; my feet hooked on the low rung of the chair.

I watch her eyes as they dip between my thighs for a second. A mere flash.

Did she just dick-glance me?

There’s no way. Not with this haughty stiffness seated across from me and her too-prim-for-baseball presence.

Still, I can’t deny the slight stir in my polyester-blend baseball pants, that I wear as often as the players, in my coaching position.