Page 12 of The Catcher

Tre tried to object, and they began yelling at each other, and one of the assistant coaches had to come in and break it up so the cameras didn’t pick up on it.

I should have tried to move away, but my heart was still hammering in my chest.

“And you,” Tanner said, grabbing my chin with his hard hands, “You’re not allowed to sit in the stands during games anymore. Get your ass in the dugout instead.”

“W-why?” I asked, feeling my hands start to tremble. His grip on my chin was so tight my jaw ached. Up close he smelled like sun on skin, his body so big he blocked everything out around me.

“You’re not here for some third-stringer to try to grab your tits,” he snarled, shoving me back so that I stumbled a bit. “I want your ass in the dugout from now on.”

He moved to get his batting helmet on, but all I could do was back away, my jaw aching, wondering how I was supposed to do my job when I was so frightened of my client.

Half the money was already in my pocket.

If I could only hang on a few more weeks, I’d get the other half.

Tanner somehow managed to hit 2-for-4, which was his best game in weeks, but he insisted on me coming with him to the post-game interview. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was just practical, because I’d seen footage of some of his interviews and they were not great. I’d seen him storm off, break the microphones in his face, curse out the reporters. Maybe that’s all this was, just a tactical choice to get his endorsements back.

The ESPN reporter was a tall, stunning auburn-haired woman named Genevieve. “Are you nervous about the random steroids testing?” she asked.

The question annoyed me for some reason, and I jumped in indignantly, even though I had wondered myself if him testing positive for steroids meant I wouldn’t get the other half of my money.

“Mr. Courtenay undergoes the same rigorous testing regimen as every other major league player,” I said, adding, “in fact, he’s willing to be tested right now if you doubt him. We are just interested in moving forward and talking about securing a playoff spot.”

I stopped, feeling the trickle of sweat make its way down the small of my back, but she didn’t seem to notice my nerves.

“Why should Phoenixes fans trust that you’re clean now?” she asked, balls-bustingly. It was a more than fair question, but it wasn’t my job to agree with her.

“Mr. Courtenay is dedicated to making sure no other athletes make the same mistakes he did,” I said, with much more confidence than I felt, as Tanner’s hands tightened painfully on my back, digging into my flesh, pulling the shirt so tight against my breasts and ribcage that I had to take short, hasty breaths.

“Is that true?” Genevieve asked, looking behind me.

“Yes,” he said. “My focus is on making the playoffs.”

My heart was fluttering as he didn’t let my shirt go, but Coach Hernandez unexpectedly came to my rescue.

“No more press!” I heard Lou bark behind me, and I had never been so relieved to hear Coach Hernandez’ vibrant spit as it rattled around his ever-present can.

I was happy to be leaving to go back home and visit my friends for the weekend. I needed a little break from Tanner, even if it was only for a few days.

My car was parked at the team hotel, and by the time I made it back to the parking lot, the guys had also arrived from their post-game meeting.

“See you at tomorrow,” Steak said, giving me a high five. He had gone 2-for-5, with a solo shot, and the win had made them buoyant. Only 5 games out of the second wildcard spot now.

“I won’t be there Saturday,” I said, “I’ll see you Monday.”

Tre came over to give me a hug. “Ugh, you’re all sweaty,” I said, and he teasingly rubbed his chin on my head.

I laughed. I didn’t want this job, and honestly the other guys were one of the few good things about it.

The team all high-fived me and headed up to their rooms to shower. I turned to leave, but there was one person blocking my path.

Tanner Courtenay.

“I didn’t say you could miss a game,” Tanner said, his eyes boring into mine. “You will be there to do my interviews.”

“I’ll only be gone for a few days,” I retorted, my feet aching. I shouldn’t have worn such high-heeled boots.

I saw his eyes flick up and down my body. He was still in his game uniform, the shirt unbuttoned so I could see the corded muscles on his chest, the sheen of sweat from the hot day.

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