Page 30 of The Strike Zone

Unfortunately I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, and collided with one of the grounds staff watering the huge trees in the atrium. Pablo shook his head and turned away.

“Sorry, man.”

“Parker?”

“Yeah, coming,” I called and raced after Scout.

I caught up with her right before she reached the elevators and hit the button.

For the first time today, I had time to properly look at her, soak in those big blue eyes of hers sparkling like sapphires. Faint laughter lines fanned around the corners, and I realized I hadn’t ever properly heard her laugh. I’d heard her giggle, I’d seen her smile, but I’d never been present for one of those big, deep laughs drawn from the depths of your belly. The type that made those creases, anyway.

What did Scout find funny? What made her laugh? Whatever it was, I bet she looked stunning. I bet her cheeks turned rosy pink when she did. She was so goddamn pretty.

I wanted to make her laugh, and then it occurred to me that even if I never got any further than this moment, being her friend and getting to know her—like normal people did, or however Payton put it—would still be totally worth it.

“Is there something on my face?” she asked after a second, scrubbing her spare hand over it before running her fingers through her hair.

“No, you’re all good.” I shook my head with a laugh and changed the subject before she could ask what I was staring at. “So, are you coming on the road with us?”

“I am.” She nodded, a grin widening on her face. “Not gonna miss the first game of the season at Wrigley Field.”

I matched her grin with one of my own. “It’ll be a fun one.”

“You want to tell me what you’ve got planned for the rookies?”

Slowly, I shook my head and did my best to ignore the way her eyelashes were batting as her eyes turned pleading. “No can do, I’m afraid.”

Every year, the first away game in Chicago was a big one, and not because we had a game to play.

It was the setting for the rookies’ rite of passage, a tradition that had them on an excursion to the nearest coffee shop in Wrigley Field with an order for everyone on the entire Lions roster, coaches, and additional staff. I don’t know how or why it started, but it was something all the teams did—it was fun, team bonding, and always raised a smile, especially as we added an extra element—our rookies had to wear dress-up.

And what they wore was always kept a closely guarded secret until the last minute.

When I’d been a rookie the theme had beenWizard of Oz, I had the honor of dressing as Dorothy.

Today, the nine rookies coming on the road with us would be in yellow Minion costumes, all wearing their own shirts and numbers while they walked—or waddled, given the size of the costumes—through Wrigleyville.

“Are you sure?”

“I am. You’ll find out soon enough.”

“No fair.” She chuckled as the bell rang and the elevator doors opened.

Stepping aside to let her in first, I noticed Scout glance down at her phone and frown deeply. Three small lines stretched across her brow and her eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just…oh, it doesn’t matter.” She nodded, and before she could stop it, her mouth opened in a wide yawn.

As her arm shot up to cover her mouth, her phone flew out of her hand. I bent to pick it up and pass back to her, trying my hardest not to look at the stacked-up messages on her phone screen from someone called Shit Head.

Rangers Douche.

“Do I need to fetch you a coffee once I’m done with these boxes?” I asked, doing my best to push through the irrational jealousy that had my teeth grinding.

Scout shook her head and laughed, her blonde hair coming untucked from behind her ear, and I found myself fighting not to place it back.

“Sorry…” She yawned again. “I usually pick one up from around the corner on my way in. But…” She glanced down at the boxes with a sheepish smile.

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