Page 30 of Baller Boss


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AUSTIN

“So, tell me,”my date says, leaning forward coyly. “What was it like to face down Evan Porter’s pitching at the top of the ninth? After what happened the year before?”

“Intimidating, yeah. Sure was.” I’ve been pushing a grilled chicken salad around my plate for twenty minutes. It looks good enough, but I’m just not hungry.

And it wasn’t the cookie appetizer that killed my appetite.

My date’s a nice girl—pretty, interesting, smart. She’s a friend of Hakeem’s wife we ran into when we were all out for dinner the other week. But, since we sat down, she’s been asking about my baseball career. It’s flattering, and yet I have absolutely no interest in rehashing the past. That’s all I did for over a decade.

“Is your food okay?” she asks.

“Uh huh.” I nod. There’s no slick way to admit you ruined your appetite on cookies without sounding like a seven-year-old.

There’s also no way to admit that my head is swimming with another woman.

The one and only Jenn Walker.

I can’t help thinking about our fun trip to the pier this morning. Her eyes, her nose crinkle laugh, her delight in the small things like a surprise cookie… I keep wanting to reach for my phone and text her to check in.

But I don’t. because I’m a gentleman, and the least I can do is make polite conversation with the nice woman in front of me. But clearly, I’m not polite enough, because by the time our bill arrives, my date is struggling to hide her exasperation. She’s bringing the lion’s share of the energy to the table, and we both know it.

“I’m sorry,” I say finally, as I leave cash for our meal. “My mind’s elsewhere today. Business, you know,” I offer lamely. “The launch.”

The confession seems to ease her mood. She offers a warm smile. “It’s okay. Text me if you want some distraction.”

She adds a wink, making it clear what kind of distraction she’s offering. But even though I smile, and nod as we say our goodbyes, I already know I won’t be taking her up on it. It’s been a while since I hooked up, sure, but I’m not about to go leading anyone on when my heart—and my head—is just not in it.

I head backto the office, and take my time touring the ground level, aka, spa central. There’s still way too much to do before things are even half-way presentable, but if I check my list again, I know, I’ll just spiral.

Standing in the lobby, I close my eyes, trying to imagine what it’ll feel like to be up and running.

The work done, no dust sheets and paint cans, just calm, clean space, full of happy guests and skilled therapists. Light shining through the windows. A soothing trickle of water lulling everyone—

My eyes snap open. “Asher?” I call to my assistant. “Where are we at on that waterfall wall?”

“Uh, waiting on a call back from the installation guys.” He says, tapping on his tablet.

“Call again. every day, if necessary.”

“Yes boss.”

I take a deep breath. There’s so much riding on this, it makes my stomach lurch just thinking about it. And not just because I’ve sunk every dollar of my substantial savings into this place, as well as all my investor’s money, too.

What I told Jenn was true: It’s not just about the money but proving that there’s life after baseball to me. That I’m not some dumb jock who’ll be washed up by the time he’s thirty-five. I see it all the time in my teammates. Guys who lived life for the game—and then just faded away when their time on the field came to an end. They get sportscaster gigs, or coach, or even just sit around at the bar every night, talking over former glories because they just can’t let those victories go.

I want more than that. I want to be taken seriously for more than just my athletic training. To build a future, for me and my family. Something to pass down, someday.

And, yeah, make a shit-ton of money and be the best around.

What can I say? Some competitive streaks die hard.

“Hey, Bossman.”

I look over to see Dash and Sebastian stroll in, looking curiously around. “Hey,” I greet them, smiling. “What brings you to this part of town?”

“Just checking out the progress,” Seb says. “Since Flynn won’t stop going on about the herringbone floors.”

“Oh, yeah,” I say, nodding. “They’re pretty sexy, I’ve got to say.”

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