The Game Changer (The Perfect Game #2)

The Game Changer (The Perfect Game #2) Page 15

“Deal.”

I watched as she untangled her body from mine, slipping out from the bed and into the bathroom.

Welcome to the Big Leagues

Cassie

And here we are.” I wiped the tears falling down my cheeks.

“Here we are.” Jack reached out his hand, brushing his thumb along my jaw.

“I can’t believe that was all last night. How is it possible that it feels like so long ago?” I asked, feeling like a freaking lunatic.

He sighed before responding. “Because today has been like six months all rolled into one single day. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Me too.” I laughed.

Scanning his muscular body with my eyes, I was momentarily distracted when he asked, “Do you think I should call Sal’s cousin tomorrow? I mean, do you think setting up a driver is a good idea?”

I nodded my head before answering. “I do, actually. I think it’s a great idea. You should see if you can hire him exclusively.”

“So he wouldn’t drive anyone else around?”

“No. Not like that,” I tried to explain, my brain literally pinging with fatigue. “Just see if having the same driver all the time is an option. I think it would be beneficial if we only had one person taking us places.”

“Us?” He raised his eyebrows, taunting me.

“Fine. I’ll hire my own driver,” I shot back.

Jack lunged, pinning me beneath him as he planted a kiss on my nose. “Like hell you will. He’ll be our driver. If I like him, that is.”

“Fine.”

“Fine? You’re not gonna give me some sort of smartass comment, like ‘What if I like him and you don’t?’ Just, fine?”

“Sorry. I’m too tired to pretend argue.” I yawned, unable to hide my fatigue any longer.

“Bed?” he asked, his eyebrows wiggling.

“Yes. But for sleeping.”

“OK, Kitten. For sleeping.”

Monday afternoon, the phone at my desk rang incessantly, begging me to pick it up. The words Front Lobby displayed across the small screen and I reached to grab it before it stopped.

“This is Cassie”

“Hi, Cassie. Your driver is here.”

My what?

Oh, right. Sal’s cousin.

“OK, thank you. Can you tell him I’ll be right down?”

“Of course. See you soon.”

I hung up the phone without saying good-bye and shoved into my purse the camera Jack had bought me after my original one was stolen the night I was mugged at Fullton State. I rushed to file my last-minute photos into their corresponding online folders before speed walking to the elevator.

“Have fun tonight, Cassie.” Joey’s broad Boston accent filled the air, and I turned quickly toward him.

An uncomfortable blush crept over my cheeks. “Thanks, Joey,” I said with a tight smile. “See you tomorrow.” I pressed the elevator button, wishing it would hurry up and retrieve me. Working with Joey now that Jack was back in my life wasn’t necessarily the most relaxed of situations. I should have added a rule number five to my list after that night: Never date someone you work with. Because when it ends badly, it’s awkward for everyone. And there’s no escape.

The elevator dinged, and I stepped inside the crowded space. Squeezing my way in, I sandwiched myself between two men who thankfully didn’t smell terrible. Each time the elevator stopped and the doors opened, the people waiting on the other side realized it was too crowded for them to enter. They would step away as I offered a sympathetic smile, the doors closing. This happened repeatedly for twenty floors until we reached the lobby.

Finally free from playing sardine, I bolted into the lobby, looking for a driver who resembled Sal, complete with overstuffed belly and kind eyes. I scanned the room before stopping on a tall, striking man dressed in a black suit and tie. A pair of black sunglasses rested on top of his spiky dark hair, and even through his suit, I could make out the muscular body lurking underneath.

Good Lord, that is one good-looking man.

The security guard caught the man’s attention and then pointed at me as a wide grin spread across his face. The tall drink of water looked in my direction and asked, “Miss Andrews?” I stepped closer to him, my insides trembling.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Please, call me Cassie.” I smiled, trying my best not to look him up and down.

“I’m Matteo. Mr. Carter sent me to bring you to the game. Are you ready?”

“Yep,” I squeaked out when I noticed the hint of a tattoo peeking out from under his collar.

Jack sent a model to pick me up. A tattooed, freaking hot-as-fuck model.

Matteo opened the rear passenger door, and I settled inside. Suddenly feeling like an entitled snob, I fought the urge to climb over the seat and sit up front with my new driver. Unless I was in a taxicab, sitting alone in the backseat while someone else drove always struck me as odd. I reached for my phone, checking my personal e-mails as the car lurched forward. I glanced up briefly during the quiet drive to find Matteo’s blue eyes watching me in the rearview mirror. I darted my gaze from his and returned to my phone, fiddling with it to look busy.

Putting my phone down, I looked outside the window as the city flew by. I constantly found myself in awe of this place, with its massive buildings and old architecture. It was the ideal setting for the photographer in me.

“So, you’re Sal’s cousin, huh?” I asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence between us.

“Yeah. You see the resemblance?” He angled his head toward the backseat for a moment, and I caught sight of the smile spread across his tanned skin.

I smiled in return, my lips firmly pressed together as I imagined Sal’s oversized belly and receding hairline. “Definitely. You could pass for twins.”

He laughed out loud.

“How’d you like Jack?” I asked, attempting to bring my boyfriend into the conversation.

Boyfriend.

Still weird.

“Mr. Carter is great. He’s a really cool guy, if you don’t mind me saying so,” he offered politely, and I wondered what thoughts were racing in his head.

“Why would I mind you saying so?”

He huffed out a quick breath. “Because it’s not very professional of me to use the word ‘cool.’ And I probably shouldn’t give my personal opinion on clients.”

Now I huffed out the loud breath. “Jack is cool, so I get it. And I asked. You were simply answering my question.” I wondered how Jack liked Matteo and if we’d be hiring him as our regular driver. Until I had those answers, I refused to get too chummy with Matteo. Chrystle proved that strangers can’t be trusted. At least, not in this business.

“It’s cool that he plays baseball for a living. You must love it, huh?” he asked sincerely.

My heart lodged in my throat. I struggled to formulate a response to his seemingly simple question as every emotion possible coursed through me in record time. “Yeah. It’s pretty great,” I lied.

We pulled up to Citi Field and Matteo parked the car in front of the Will Call window and hopped out. He opened my door and offered me a hand. I declined, pushing myself up from the plush leather seat.

“Your ticket is at the booth. I’ll be parked right here after the game ends, but Mr. Carter warned me that it may take awhile,” he added with a smile.

I flashed back to the many times I’d waited for Jack after his games ended. “Yeah, it takes a little bit to get back out here once the game’s over. Sorry about that.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll see you around eleven.”

“Thank you so much. It was nice to meet you.” I smiled before walking away.

With my ticket clutched firmly in my hand, I struggled through the crowds toward the section of seats reserved for the wives and families of the players. The smell of popcorn and hot dogs wafted through the air. I looked at the number printed in black ink and walked slowly down the stairs, observing the row number with each step. Almost walking right past it, I stopped abruptly. I glanced at the group of heavily made-up women in my section, watching my every move. Their eyes scanned the length of my body from the top of my natural hairstyle down to my inexpensive shoes. I hurried to my assigned seat before sitting down and stuffing my black purse between the side of my leg and the armrest.

I turned toward the women, who still stared at me, their faces devoid of any emotion. “Hi. I’m Cassie,” I said loud enough for the occupants of all three rows of seats to hear. The women simply continued to eyeball me, offering literally nothing in return. Not a smirk, not a sound. I started to wonder if I had something on my face.

I turned to speak to the women in the row behind me before thinking better of it. I sized up each of them instead, taking mental notes of their expensive clothing, brand-name accessories, perfectly styled hair, and overly made-up faces. One woman with an obvious spray tan and dyed blonde hair glanced at me before raising her eyebrows in disgust and shaking her head with an audible huff.

“Did you see her purse? What is that, Target brand?” I heard a voice whisper before a chorus of laughter followed.

What the hell?

I fought back the urge to defend myself. From what exactly, I wasn’t sure. But I suddenly wanted to shield my body from the exposed and raw feelings that took over. It hadn’t even occurred to me that these women would be rude or unkind. It was one thing I hadn’t overthought. Hell, I hadn’t thought about it at all.

Why didn’t Jack warn me?

He must not know. How could he?

Shoving my vulnerability into my gut where it rested like a giant boulder, my eyes fell on the enormous rock sparkling from Miss Spray Tan’s finger. It was the biggest, most ridiculous diamond I’d ever seen, and I’m from LA.

Wonder what her husband’s overcompensating for?

My gaze quickly darted to the left hands of all the other women, realizing that each sported their own hefty-sized rocks. Feeling like I was surrounded by a new kind of sorority girl, I turned my scrutiny from them and stared down at the field. Clearly I wouldn’t be making any friends tonight.

I thought I left this kind of bitch behind in college.

I craned my head in the direction of the bullpen at the end of the field, forgetting all about the rude women surrounding me when my eyes fell on Jack’s powerfully built frame. Heat flooded through my body and seeped into my veins with one look at him as he jogged toward the pitcher’s mound. The muscles in his legs flexed each time his foot crushed against the ground, and a smile crept across my cheeks.

God, I’ve missed watching him play.

His Mets uniform reminded me so much of the one he wore in college that I couldn’t stop the memories from replaying. I clearly envisioned the first time I saw him pitching. It had been a truly beautiful experience, although I never admitted it at the time. His transformation into a completely different person once he stepped on top of that mound of dirt at Fullton State was unlike anything I’d ever witnessed before. Watching Jack play baseball was almost like a having a spiritual awakening. Through all my heartache and heartbreak, I’d forgotten this part.