Page 125 of Chasing Headlines
I shrugged. “You should probably ask someone with a catcher's mitt. I was never that good at fielding.”
He nodded and adjusted his ballcap on his head. “Can't blame a guy for trying.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Depends on why he's trying.”
“Does it?”
“To me?” I zipped my baseball into my backpack. “Yeah, it does.”
“Fair enough. You did all your research on us, I figured I'd do a little on you.” He squinted in the direction of the sun, then dropped his gaze.
“Oh yeah?” I kept my game face frozen in place. Even as my stomach dipped low, out of the strike zone. “How'd that turn out?”
“A little surprising.” He tilted his head from side to side. “A little not wholly unexpected.”
“No? Well, nowI'mintrigued. You didn't find out that I was a terrible outfielder in third grade did you? Rode the bench most of my playable softball years before switching to track. Oh, whoops.” I pulled my backpack over my arm.
“I bet you were cute at that age. Long braids and missing teeth.” One eyebrow lifted. “Or was it pigtails?”
“Braids all the way. But certainly my cute days aren't all in the past.”
“Fraid so.” He shook his head. “You grew up. Nothing cute about a woman like you.”
I sucked in a breath. “Oh, so you reallydiddo your homework.”
“Quite the baseball pedigree you have for a reporter.” He crossed his arms. “And you pitch like your brother.”
“He taught me, sure. But no one pitches like him.”
He cleared his throat. “The style's the same. I see the similarity in mechanics. I study.”
Clearly, that was no exaggeration.
“Shame he couldn't make it back.”
“He says it happens. His recovery didn’t go as well as the doctors’ hoped. But, I don't think he should give up.”
His mouth curved. “Seems kinda strange to me that you don't tell people. Coach knows who you are. You could keep it to your brother as a legacy.”
“Which inevitably leads to his IML career and Silver Arrow win. Followed by injury, early retirement, and inevitably, his role as a scout.”
He nodded. “Sure would make being a baseball reporter easier, though, right?”
I shrugged. “It's not like I hide it. You all know my name. And Google knows all.”
“Reporters are a necessary part of the baseball world. Y'all capture our greatest moments for posterity.” He ducked his head. “But you're notinthe game.”
“Until I find another thirty miles an hour on my fastball and lose a portion of a chromosome, I'll never be in the game. That's how the world works for a woman born into a baseball family.”
He grinned. The bastard had the nerve to give me some brilliant, winning smile that made me consider whether I could get away with smacking him.
“I should, ah, get back, got some stuff to catch up on.”
He caught my elbow before I could get away. I wished I still had his glove so I could use it as a mild weapon. He leaned over my shoulder. “I like this. Knowing your secret. Having your attention. You're always so focused on Coop.” His lip curled up. “That volatile, unprincipled?—”
I turned to face him. “Don't talk about your teammate that way. You both need to get over your rivalry, put on big boy pants and get along. If you think scouts don't pay attention to what kind of team player you are, think again.”
“I'd love to know more about whatbaseball scoutsare looking for. In future major leaguers.” His eyes appeared almost golden in the mid-morning sunlight. I held my breath as he regarded me with a heavy-lidded stare.