“It’s an inappropriate interaction between an umpire and a player. It’s not something we can brush under the rug.”
“I’ve kissed my brother goodbye in the same way I kissed Alex in that photo.” She pointed at the garbage can like Donovan would be able to see it through the bin. “I can’t believe that’s proof of anything.”
“Are you denying you’re carrying on a relationship with Alex Ross?” Donovan asked, a hopeful hint in his voice, practically begging her to say it wasn’t true.
She wanted to deny it.
Instead she said, “No.”
“Go home, Alice.”
Could she kick and scream and stir up a fuss? Make a big scene and freak out? She wanted to. She wanted to act like an insane person right then, flip the desk over or something really dramatic.
Mostly, though, she wanted to cry, but she didn’t want to do it in front of Donovan. Once she’d thought of him as a father figure, someone dependable who treated her with respect.
In spite of knowing the mistake was hers, she wanted to blame the older man for what had happened. Why couldn’t he believe her? Why couldn’t he understand that sharing Alex’s bed didn’t extend to giving him on-field favors?
How could she fix things when it was clear they were already broken beyond saving?
She hugged her duffel bag in her lap and unzipped it slowly. After piling her uniform and home-plate mask on the desk beside him, she got to her feet and exited the room without another word.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Yes, I’ve seen it.” Alex sat on the chair in front of his locker, wearing only his boxers, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear while he rummaged for his socks. “No, Ricki, I really don’t know.”
His sisters had left him a dozen messages while he’d been at his game—his last with Lakeland—and their calls had varied from congratulatory to peeved. Ricki fell into the latter category.
“What are you thinking, getting photographed like that?” Ricki asked. “And who’s this girl you’re kissing? Is she trying to make you look like some kind of Lothario? And what are you doing making out with some Florida townie anyway? Are you some kind of Lothario?”
“Stop saying Lothario.”
“Then stop being a dirty poon hound and giving me reasons to call you names.”
“Poon hound? Jesus, Ricki, I’ll never be able to get that out of my brain now. Fuck you.”
“Don’t get mad at me because you put yourself in a position like this,” she snapped back, not missing a beat. “What do you know about this girl? How do you know she’s not using you for your money?”
“I’m not exactly Hugh Hefner, here, having ladies hurl themselves at me for my bank account.”
“That’s so naïve, Alex. You’re a millionaire.”
She would know, she was his accountant.
“She’s not interested in my money.” To be fair, she might be interested in his money, but he didn’t think Alice was working on things with him because she wanted a payday. She certainly wouldn’t have put up so many barriers if she was a gold digger. Ricki’s assumptions didn’t add up.
“It’s not about money. Not everything is about money, you know.”
“Pfft.”
“How did you find out about this so quickly?”
“I have a Google Alert set up for your name. The blog post went live this morning and was in my inbox when I got up.”
The Internet sucked. Alex longed for a time when news was relegated to actual papers and had to be approved through editors, and his sisters couldn’t have email alerts sent directly to their phones every day. He wanted to live in a world where his sisters had to wait for news from him, rather than getting it from bloggers.
“Stop doing that.”
“No.”
“Has Mom seen it?”
“Everyone has seen it.”
Thank God it was only a kiss and nothing more unseemly. Still, he hated knowing the Internet was responsible for telling his family about Alice. He’d discussed her with a few of his sisters, but not since they’d rekindled things. Now they all knew, and it wasn’t because of him.
The Lakeland second baseman came into the room, buttoning his shirt, and absently said, “There’s some chick outside looking for you, Alex.”
A cold sense of dread seized Alex. Alice was supposed to be calling a game—he’d planned to meet her afterwards—but there was no one else who would be waiting for him. And if she wasn’t at her game, that meant she’d either skipped it, or something else had happened.
“I gotta go, Ricki, I’ll talk to you a bit later.” He hung up on his sister before she had a chance to say anything else.