Page 53 of More Than Pen Pals

I pin him with a steely gaze. “That’s Leslie Beckett,” I say through gritted teeth, “the PRrep.”

“All right, man.” He holds his hands up. “Message received. Hands off the PRrep.”

I want to growl at him, but I don’t. I’m surprised he doesn’t take my attitude as a challenge. Then again, maybe he does but simply doesn’t want me to know it yet.

“Are you two, you know …?” He raises an eyebrow at me.

It’s none of his business, but I need him—and Sanchez—to keep their distance from her, so I say, “Leslie and I have been friends since we were kids. We’re close.”

“Got it.”

I’m not sure he does, mostly because I don’t know what Leslie and I are, so how could he?

Leslie chooses that moment to turn around. When she spots Bobby, she heads up the steps and inside the suite to join us. I introduce the two of them, and Bobby is perfectly polite to her.

“Who else will be here?” she asks him after they exchange some pleasantries.

“Not too many people. Diego flew a couple cousins up from Houston. A few of my contacts here in town are coming. That’s about it.”

“Is Diego close to his cousins?” she asks.

“Yeah. The three of them grew up together in the Dominican. They’re more like brothers than cousins. When he made it big, he moved them and their families to the US, got them set up with green cards and jobs and everything. He helps them out financially when they really need it, and he pays for flights and such when he wants them with him, but he’s not letting them freeload off him, which I appreciate about him.”

I appreciate it as well.

Leslie asks Bobby, “Will they move to Chicago now, you think? For that matter, will Diego move here?”

I’m surprised they didn’t discuss his living arrangements yesterday at lunch. Whatdidthey talk about?

“Doubt it,” he replies. “He doesn’t like the cold. I can’t see him living here in the offseason. He’s planning on settling in at The Drake for now.”

Loud voices speaking in Spanish reach us from the direction of the door. Diego’s cousins have arrived. Bobby heads over to greet them, leaving Leslie and me alone at the table.

“He’s much nicer than I thought he’d be,” she murmurs to me.

“I can’t decide if it’s a front or not,” I reply.

“Ash!”

“Surely you know his reputation.”

“I also know yours, Grouchy Smurf, and it’s nowhere near accurate.”

I don’t have time to process her statement before Bobby brings Diego’s cousins over to meet us. They’re not as fluent in English as Diego is, and Bobby is apparently fluent in Spanish, but since Leslie doesn’t know the language, we all speak in English for her sake.

I like his cousins. They’re funny and laid back and they ask Leslie and me questions like they truly want to get to know us. We chat until it’s time for the national anthem, when we all head outside for the singing and then stay out there to watch Diego pitch.

Leslie sits between the cousins in the front row. They talk to her nonstop, likely telling her all about Diego. Bobby’s friends have arrived and are sitting on the other side of the aisle. I’m at a loose end about where to plant myself, but Bobby motions me over with his head, and I sit with his group. I hate making small talk with people I’ll probably never see again, but it’s part of the job. These guys are here to watch the game, so thankfully they don’t want to chat about much other than baseball.

After the third inning, I head back inside to get some more food. As I’m loading up a plate with another hot dog and some nachos, a somewhat familiar female voice says, “Ash Hamilton? Is that you?”

I spin around and chips fly off my plate. I try to catch them, but I end up dumping the entire thing on the floor.

The woman, who is none other than a grown-up Melissa Teague, claps her hand over her mouth and giggles. “Whoops! I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Not your fault.”

I bend down to clean up the mess, but a stadium worker is already at my side and refuses to let me help. I straighten back up, face Melissa, and force my mouth into a smile. “Melissa, it’s good to see you again,” I lie.

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