Page 32 of Moonshot

“Nah.” I smiled up at him. “But thanks. I’m gonna head to bed early.”

We approached the dugout, and he motioned me ahead, my eyes quick as I came down the stairs, scanning the bench, looking for anything that needed to be done. Behind me, a wave of men took the stairs, the area filling up quickly, spirits high, the air rough with masculinity and competitiveness. Still, I knew the minute Chase walked past. I felt the soft touch of his fingers as he brushed them against mine. I felt his presence, then ached for it as soon as he was past, as soon as his butt hit the seat of the bench, and I had only his eyes—burning contact that I had to avoid, had to look away from, lest we get caught. I turned toward the field, stepping up to the fence, and watching the outfield settle into place, but couldn’t stop my smile.

51

New York

“Chase, baby, how is life?” The fast crone of his agent took him right back to Los Angeles, to that big glass office full of ambitions and regrets.

For a rare moment when speaking with the man, Chase smiled. “Life is good, Floyd.”

“Really?” The skepticism was high, and Chase had to laugh. “The Yankees are treating you well?”

“I think they’re still warming up to me, but the home runs are helping.”

“How many COC lectures you gotten?”

Code-of-Conduct. The Yankees were big on everything, especially image. No facial hair, other than mustaches. No fighting. No drunk-in-public behavior. Nothing that would flutter the perfect hair of Maxine Grenada, the PR tycoon who kept the Yankee’s reputation squeaky clean. Chase winced. “A few.”

The man lowered his voice. “I really want you to think about stopping any powder. Every stupid thing you’ve done—”

“Already ahead of you,” Chase interrupted, opening the sliding glass door of his hotel room and stepping onto the balcony.

“Meaning what?”

“I’ve stopped. I could piss in a cup right now and be good to go.”

“Keep that up through the season, and you’ll make me a happy man.”

“I’m done with that shit. Permanently. Like you said, it gets me into trouble.”

The man was silent for a long, suspicious minute. “What about girls?”

“I’m dating someone.” The thought of her made him, for the hundredth time that day, smile. “Exclusively. So stop worrying. I’m behaving, I’m happy, I’m playing like God.”

“Who’s the girl?” His agent wasn’t happy yet, four years with Chase turning the man into the worst kind of cynic: a suspicious one.

“You don’t know her.”

“I need details. She a stripper or a saint? Where’d you meet her? No offense, Chase, but you’re batting zero when it comes to picking the right women.”

“She’s a bat girl for the team. She’s eighteen,” he added quickly.

“What are the Yanks doing with an eighteen-year-old bat girl? That’s asking for trouble.” The man’s voice was quicker, wheezing through the phone line.

“She’s been with the team a long time, since she was a kid.”

“Jesus Christ.” The man caught on, a heartbeat of pause before he continued, “You’re talking about the closer’s kid. Frank Fucking Rollins’s daughter? Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“She’s an adult,” he defended, his hands tightening against the balcony railing. “She’s five years younger than me. This isn’t—”

“Rollins makes one call to anyone, and you are fucked. The Yankees will drop you before the ink dries on the statutory rape press release. You’ll be done with MLB—shipped to Canada or Japan to play. And I don’t care if she’s eighteen. They’ll accuse you of cumming in her teenage panties. You think they’re not gonna care—screw that. They’re going to throw a fucking party over this story. You think Nancy Grace is gonna let this slide? She hasn’t had a Caylee Anthony or a Natalee Holloway in years. She’s gonna ride your ass right to a ratings high, and convince every person in America, and in the Yankee organization, that you’re a pedophile.” The man took a deep, shuddering breath. “You think I’m happy you’re exclusive with this girl? Do me a favor and find another girl. Hell, I got a stable of them on call. Just tell me hair color and measurements and I’ll send ten of them over.”

“You can’t replace her, Floyd. Ty, she—”

“Stop talking right now. Don’t be exclusive with this chick, in fact, don’t even go near her. I’m tempted to call up Thomas Grant right now and tell him to yank her from traveling with you guys.”

“Listen to me very carefully.” Chase turned from the view and stepped inside, closing the sliding glass door and speaking clearly in the silence of his room. “You can try to paint this however you want—the press can paint this however they want—but there is nothing wrong with our relationship. It’s the purest thing in my life. She is saving me. And I don’t expect you, in the twisted world you live in, to understand that. But you know this industry and that’s the only reason I’m still on the phone with you right now. I need this to work. I need her in my life. And I need you to tell me how to make that work.”