The Game Changer (The Perfect Game #2)

The Game Changer (The Perfect Game #2) Page 29

I observed the scene unfolding like a car crash before my eyes. I couldn’t look away if I tried. He sauntered into the bar as one of the blonde girls hopped up from her stool and into his arms. She giggled as he gripped her ass, giving it a couple of smacks, much to her delight. She wrapped her legs around his waist, planting kisses all over his lying, cheating, rat-bastard face. Two more players, both married, entered the bar and a similar scene unfolded. I wanted to puke.

My jaw dropped wide open as all the feelings of Jack cheating on me poured into my bloodstream. My stomach churned, threatening to empty its contents all over the shiny tile floor. Jack suddenly appeared in front of me, his expression grim. “I told you not to look in the bar, Kitten. I told you.”

“Holy shit.” I shook my head, still shocked at the blatant display of infidelity and my own hellish flashbacks.

Jack grabbed my arm and led me toward the elevator. “That’s why I said no bar. And that’s why we’re on a different floor than they are. So you don’t have to see that shit. Come on.”

I stumbled as I tried to keep pace with Jack, who was clearly desperate to remove me from the area. “I can’t believe they act that way in public. Aren’t they worried about getting caught?”

Jack eyed me. “Not here.”

“Huh?”

Jack’s lips tightened. “We’re not talking about this here. Wait until we’re in our room.”

“Oh.” I sighed.

Stepping out of the elevator, we walked down the long corridor toward our room. I ran my fingers across the wallpaper as Jack pressed the card key into the slot. With two clicks, he pushed on the door, holding it for me to enter before he followed. He lay down on top of the bed.

“They aren’t worried about getting caught because everyone already knows.”

“You’re trying to tell me that Kymber the bitch knows her husband is a cheating piece of shit?” I asked, my tone clearly reflecting my disbelief.

He huffed. “Not in so many words, but yeah.”

“So she knows he’s cheating on her, and what? She just doesn’t care?”

I couldn’t fathom how anyone in their right mind wouldn’t care about being betrayed in that way. What kind of relationship was that anyway?

“I don’t know if she really knows, but I know she suspects it.”

“And she doesn’t care enough to find out for sure?”

“She probably doesn’t really want to know the answer. The reality is that a lot of these guys cheat on their wives, Kitten. It’s a really shitty fact, but it’s the truth. And yeah, the wives usually know, but they just pretend it’s not happening.”

“Like they’re in denial?” I shook my head, still trying to comprehend it all. I thought about Kymber and her crew of mean girls, and felt sorry for them.

“Either that or they just pretend it’s not happening because they like their lives.”

I shook my head, refusing to believe such craziness. “No way. All the material things they get are more important to them than being respected, or treated well, or truly loved?”

“I think it’s really easy to get accustomed to a certain lifestyle. And they’d rather not give it up.” He tousled his dark hair before pressing his head against the wall.

That entire concept seemed foreign to me. I wondered what caused a person to convince themselves that the trade-off was worth it. Who needed self-esteem and self-worth when you had big diamonds and expensive clothes? “Well, don’t you get any ideas, Mr. Carter, because that kind of crap will never fly with me.”

My eyes started to mist, my heart aching with the realization that he already did do that to me. The whole cheating, my knowing about it, basically accepting it, and welcoming him back with open arms. It all happened.

“Kitten, I would never do to you what they’re doing to their wives. I think they’re assholes. Especially the guys with kids.” He patted the bed. “Come here.”

I moved to lie down next to him, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “I know you aren’t like those other women. And I wouldn’t like you if you were.” His lips pressed against the side of my head. “I made a mistake before, but it won’t happen again. I know you’d leave me forever if I did and I can’t…” he paused, “I won’t lose you again.”

Shouldn’t She Be Hotter?

Cassie

Jack and I fell into a comfortable routine over the next six weeks. Matteo accompanied me to every home game, and the heckling basically stopped. Until Jack garnered his first lost for the team, that is. That night I was forced to hear a few choice things about how much “Jack sucked” and how I needed to “get his head on straight.” The hard-core fans were rabid. When you won, they loved you so fiercely you could do no wrong. But the moment you lost, they stepped all over you on their way out the door.

We talked on the phone constantly when he traveled. He wanted me to come to as many away games as I could, but it wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be. I spent most of my time wandering alone in a strange city or eating by myself in restaurants. From the outside, it seems so glamorous to be the girlfriend of a major leaguer, but it’s mostly sort of lonely. Not to mention the fact that seeing the other players constantly cheat on their wives made me sick to my stomach.

I had small bouts of insecurity every now and then, but I did my best to keep my fears in check. Jack tried his best as well, staying on the phone with me until all hours of the night, opting for room service instead of going out with the guys, no matter how many times I told him not to.

Baseball kept Jack gone for literally half of each month. The most consecutive number of days he’d been home at one time was seven.

Seven.

Trust was a tricky thing. At times, it seemed like a living, breathing entity that I shaped, built, and conformed to fit my needs in that moment. And other times, it moved like an uncontrollable emotion that ebbed and flowed like the tides in the ocean. One day I’d be perfectly fine and the next I’d be a wreck, convinced that Jack was no better than his teammates.

I wished our relationship were easier, but we were a work in progress. The hardest part was being OK with that. I had a choice when Jack first came back. I didn’t have to let him through my front door, but I wanted to. I needed to move forward and believe that he wouldn’t hurt me again. My heart longed to accept his actions and take a leap of faith, but my head refused to give in.

Stupid head.

Jack being on the road didn’t mean that the online posts about us stopped. They didn’t. And no matter how hard I tried to convince myself not to read them, I usually couldn’t resist. My own curiosity killed me. I’d read the things written about me or Jack and I’d swear I’d never read them again because they caused me so much anguish. It became a vicious self-deprecating cycle, and I needed to work on my willpower.

And Melissa, bless her heart, didn’t always help matters. She kept tabs on every site that posted about me or Jack, and even though she claimed to not share them all with me, it seemed like she alerted me to a new post every day. I was exhausted simply hearing about it all.

Determined to stay focused on work and not the press, I scanned the Internet at my desk, searching through old photographs and news clippings for another photographer’s research. An e-mail alert from Matteo popped up on my screen.

Want to grab lunch today? I have no clients and Jack’s still out of town.

I almost typed back “Yes,” but stopped myself. I enjoyed Matteo’s company, and we’d become really good friends, but I knew what would happen. Someone would see us together and take our picture. That picture would be plastered all over the Internet within minutes and most likely printed in the paper the next day with some false headline and trumped-up story from an “anonymous source.”

I hated feeling like I couldn’t go anywhere with anyone when Jack was out of town, but all it took was one headline that screamed “While Jack’s Away, Cassie Will Play” to stop me. The headline was printed above a picture of me and Matteo laughing over dinner and resulted in a number of Internet accusations, not to mention my needing to reassure Jack that absolutely nothing fishy was going on between Matteo and me.

That was a nightmare I had no intention of repeating. I quickly typed a response back to Matteo’s e-mail:

Working on a project. Sorry. See you when Jack gets home.

Hopefully my last line made it clear that I wouldn’t make plans with him until Jack was back in town.

I worked straight through lunch and by the time I left the office, I was famished. After sweating through the humidity on the non-air-conditioned train ride home, I decided to stop at a café.

“Good evening, Cassie. You want to order something to go?” the short round man asked. I’d only been here a handful of times, but Roman always remembered me and greeted me by name.

“Actually, Roman, I think I’ll eat here tonight.” I smiled as he pressed his hands together with delight.

“You go ahead and sit anywhere you’d like.”

“Thanks.” I looked around at the empty tables before choosing one in the far corner near the window. Roman appeared at my table, an iced tea in hand.

“You need to see the menu?” he asked.

“I think I’ll just get your famous East Side sandwich and fries.”

“You got it, pretty lady!” He grinned and it stretched across his whole face, forcing me to smile back in return.

I rested my back against the wooden chair and watched the people dash by. New York was such a busy city all the time. Day or night, snow or sun, people always rushed around.

My phone vibrated against my hip pocket. Pulling it out, I read the text message from Melissa.

Cute top.

What the hell?

I looked around anxiously with the sudden wish that she were here for a visit and simply hiding from me. I typed out a response:

What are you talking about?

You’re on that Spotted website again. Spotted: Jack Carter’s girlfriend dining alone near her apartment in Sutton Place.

Immediately, I was lightheaded.

You’re joking.

Before I typed anything else, my phone beeped again. Melissa sent a screenshot of the website to my phone, complete with a picture of me staring out of the window I was actually looking out of.

Damn it.

I grabbed my purse, dropping more than enough cash on the table to cover the bill, and looked around for Roman. “Roman, can I get it to go? I need to get home. Something came up. Sorry.”

“Sure, Cassie. No problem. Tell Jack I said hello.” He transferred my food from the plate he carried into a box before handing it to me.

“I will. I left the money on the table. Thank you.” I smiled before rushing out the door.

I looked over my shoulder the entire walk back to my apartment. I couldn’t get there fast enough. Every step reminded me how exposed my life had become. From behind my sunglasses, I glanced at the passersby, wondering if the cell phones they held were actually being used to help splash my life across computer screens all over the country. Every tourist with a camera now seemed a potential accomplice in my media hazing.