Pitch Perfect(14)
Any harbored grudges over her profession were forgotten, and the men wished her a good night. A few followed shortly behind her, making the quick walk back to the Hyatt.
“Are you staying at the hotel?” Tucker asked Emmy when only he, Chet and Alex remained at the table with her.
“No, I rented one of the little cottages at Lakeland Villa. I don’t like hotels. The laundry detergent they use gives me a rash. On road games I have to ask for hypoallergenic linens, but for training it’s just easier to do my own laundry.” Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment at the admission. Maybe she should have stopped after two beers.
“Those aren’t far, I’ll walk you.” He got to his feet, all six-foot-three-inches and two hundred and ten pounds of glorious Tucker Lloyd stretched up in front of her face. She might have reviewed his stats once or twice before coming out for the evening.
“You don’t have to. Really. It’s so close.” Don’t listen to me. You should definitely walk me home. Please don’t listen to me.
“Nice try.” He offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet like she weighed nothing. He was almost a foot taller than her, so even on solid ground she still had to look up at him. “I’m walking you home.”
Chapter Seven
They fell into a bashful silence as soon as they left The Low Ball, neither quite sure where to pick up the conversation. During the evening they hadn’t spent much time talking to each other directly, and it made it tricky to start on a topic when they hadn’t left one unfinished.
Tucker got tired of listening to his internal monologue and settled on the first thing he could think of.
“Do you miss Chicago much?”
Emmy tugged her thin coat around her shoulders, fending off the nighttime chill that had crept into the air. Palm fronds still dry from winter rustled overhead, whispering dirty little secrets in the darkness.
“I’m not sure yet. Everything happened so quickly, getting the call. I barely had time to dump all my boxes at the new place before we had to fly out here. Kind of hard to figure out if I miss anything, you know?”
Tucker had spent such a long time living in the same city he didn’t think he could relate to her cavalier attitude about being uprooted.
“Actually, scratch that. I miss Giordano’s.”
No stranger to Chicago, Tucker chuckled. “The pizza place?”
Emmy nodded enthusiastically. She seemed to forget her chills for a moment and started speaking animatedly with her hands, letting her jacket flutter open in the breeze. “I used to go in—before I worked with the Sox mind you—and watch games at the bar. That damn pizza takes forty minutes to make.”
“I know.”
“So I’d sit around shooting the shit with the bartenders, talking smack about visiting teams.” She gave him a soft smile, her eyes dancing in a mischievous way that made him want to hug her. Or punch her in the shoulder like he was in sixth grade. Instead he dropped a step behind and let her lead, afraid he might spook her if he gave in to his beer-tinted urges.
“Is there anything you like that isn’t baseball related?”
Emmy’s frown made him regret the question. She gathered her lapels together and crossed the street, not waiting for the walk sign to change. “Is there anything you like not baseball related?” she fired back, like she was teasing but still sounding a bit peeved.
“Not for the last decade.” Tucker jammed his hands into his pockets and met her pace easily. “Unless you count Guitar Hero.”
She laughed, and he felt stupidly proud of himself for making it happen. “You need to be careful. Guitar Hero is notoriously dangerous for pitchers. You don’t want to be the next Joel Zumaya.” She was referring to the former Detroit Tigers pitcher who was sidelined with an injury he got playing the video game.
“I lack his dedication to the solos.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I need you throwing knuckle-curves, not mastering ‘Freebird’.”
“I was never good at ‘Freebird’ anyway. That song goes on forever.”
They’d cleared the distance from the bar to the nearby Lakeland Villas along Edgewater Beach in short order, and Tucker was wishing he’d walked slower.
“So are you from Chicago originally, or did you move there for the Sox?”
“My Cubs loyalty didn’t give away my seedy Windy City roots?”
“Probably should have, but you never know what kind of weird stuff a girl can get into when she moves to a big city.” He’d intentionally slowed down to draw out the trek a bit longer.
“Born and raised. I’m surprised you haven’t made the connection yet. Smart guy like you should know baseball history.” She was rifling through her purse for keys and barely paying attention to him as she spoke.