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Amanda endured a few more minutes of the rookie’s flirtation, in an effort to get the story. It didn’t work. She needed more to write the article she had in mind. She’d have to work on it at the bar.
When she finally managed to ease away from him and head toward the exit, she couldn’t help but wonder about the rest of the evening. What would she learn about Brad? Who was the real man behind the pitcher?
And why did the idea of finding out appeal so much?
6
BRAD LEANED against the bar, his first beer in hand, barely touched. He didn’t want the damn thing, but someone had shoved it at him, so he’d accepted.
The band on stage delivered a sad country song. Cigarette smoke filled the room with a musty smell that he normally wouldn’t notice, but tonight it irritated him.
It had been Tony’s turn to pick the postgame spot, and he’d gone for the crowd and loud band. As always.
Truth be told, Brad had only showed up for Amanda. He’d much rather be at home, icing his arm in peace. Instead, here he was, trying to ignore his injury and angling for a way to win this bet. His mission tonight: get Amanda naked and in his bed. Any bed, for that matter.
At that moment, Becker edged into the spot beside him and ordered a beer. “What’s up, old man?”
“You tell me, kid,” Brad said. “You don’t know how to read signs or what?” He didn’t want to get into this tonight, didn’t want to get distracted from Amanda, but he was too pissed off to let it go.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“When Kurt gives you a sign, take it. That’s what it means. He asked for a curveball and you threw a fastball.”
“You’re Kurt’s messenger now? He can’t talk for himself?” Becker grunted. “And Simpson expected a curveball,” he argued. “I wasn’t about to give it to him.”
“Apparently, he expected heat because he stroked it right out of the park,” Brad countered.
“That was the only hit they got off me.”
“Because you followed the signs after that.”
The bartender slid Becker’s glass of draft across the counter and he tossed a few bills down. “I finished what you couldn’t and you don’t like it.”
Brad wanted to shake the kid for his stupidity. “You’re making the wrong choices, Becker. You shouldn’t be blowing off advice from the guys who have been around longer than you. Show some respect.”
“Maybe you old guys need to show me some respect. I got the arm to put this team in the playoffs if you’d just get out of my way. Management came after me in the draft and waved a big fat contract. Rumor has it they’re not offering you shit. There’s your sign. Your days as star pitcher are over, so step aside and let the real talent in.” Becker grabbed his glass and stomped away.
Brad downed his beer, suddenly grateful he’d accepted it. He’d barely had time to swallow when Jack sat on the bar stool next to him.
“Sucked to lose that record,” he said.
“We won the game,” Brad countered, sick of hearing about his lost record. “In the end, that’s what counts.”
“Tony’s next,” Jack said. “He’s charging after that home run record.” He took a drink. “Think he’ll get it?”
Tony was one of the best hitters Brad had ever seen. “Hell, yes. He’s got rocket fuel behind that bat.”
“Some say it’s more than rocket fuel.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brad asked. A warning bell sounded in his head. Jack had been acting differently ever since he took that new job, giving off a vibe that set Brad on edge. For whatever reason, he didn’t trust the guy to write the players’ side the way he used to. This suggestion that Tony was juicing reinforced Brad’s caution around Jack.
“Some say Tony’s rush toward the record came out of nowhere. That he got really good really fast.” He paused. “Maybe too fast.”
Agitated, Brad pushed off the bar, facing Jack. “I don’t know where you’re going with this,” he said, his voice low and tight, “but I don’t like it.”
Tony was doing well, and someone wanted to steal that from him. Brad understood how that felt. The past year had been him trying to save what everyone wanted to take.
“Whoa there, partner,” Jack said. “I’m just giving you a heads-up. It’s floating around. People are talking. They’re saying he’s juicing.”
Brad didn’t believe Tony was taking steroids for a minute. “Who’s your source?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
“You’re the only one I hear talking, Jack.” Brad leaned in close so his point would hit home. “Make sure you get your facts straight before you go shooting off your mouth.”
“I’m trying to get the facts right now,” Jack argued. “Talk to me. Help me get it straight.”
