The Game Changer(35)

Still weird.

“Mr. Carter is great. He’s a really cool guy, if you don’t mind me saying so,” he offered politely, and I wondered what thoughts were racing in his head.

“Why would I mind you saying so?”

He huffed out a quick breath. “Because it’s not very professional of me to use the word ‘cool.’ And I probably shouldn’t give my personal opinion on clients.”

Now I huffed out the loud breath. “Jack is cool, so I get it. And I asked. You were simply answering my question.” I wondered how Jack liked Matteo and if we’d be hiring him as our regular driver. Until I had those answers, I refused to get too chummy with Matteo. Chrystle proved that strangers can’t be trusted. At least, not in this business.

“It’s cool that he plays baseball for a living. You must love it, huh?” he asked sincerely.

My heart lodged in my throat. I struggled to formulate a response to his seemingly simple question as every emotion possible coursed through me in record time. “Yeah. It’s pretty great,” I lied.

We pulled up to Citi Field and Matteo parked the car in front of the Will Call window and hopped out. He opened my door and offered me a hand. I declined, pushing myself up from the plush leather seat.

“Your ticket is at the booth. I’ll be parked right here after the game ends, but Mr. Carter warned me that it may take awhile,” he added with a smile.

I flashed back to the many times I’d waited for Jack after his games ended. “Yeah, it takes a little bit to get back out here once the game’s over. Sorry about that.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll see you around eleven.”

“Thank you so much. It was nice to meet you.” I smiled before walking away.




With my ticket clutched firmly in my hand, I struggled through the crowds toward the section of seats reserved for the wives and families of the players. The smell of popcorn and hot dogs wafted through the air. I looked at the number printed in black ink and walked slowly down the stairs, observing the row number with each step. Almost walking right past it, I stopped abruptly. I glanced at the group of heavily made-up women in my section, watching my every move. Their eyes scanned the length of my body from the top of my natural hairstyle down to my inexpensive shoes. I hurried to my assigned seat before sitting down and stuffing my black purse between the side of my leg and the armrest.

I turned toward the women, who still stared at me, their faces devoid of any emotion. “Hi. I’m Cassie,” I said loud enough for the occupants of all three rows of seats to hear. The women simply continued to eyeball me, offering literally nothing in return. Not a smirk, not a sound. I started to wonder if I had something on my face.

I turned to speak to the women in the row behind me before thinking better of it. I sized up each of them instead, taking mental notes of their expensive clothing, brand-name accessories, perfectly styled hair, and overly made-up faces. One woman with an obvious spray tan and dyed blonde hair glanced at me before raising her eyebrows in disgust and shaking her head with an audible huff.

“Did you see her purse? What is that, Target brand?” I heard a voice whisper before a chorus of laughter followed.

What the hell?

I fought back the urge to defend myself. From what exactly, I wasn’t sure. But I suddenly wanted to shield my body from the exposed and raw feelings that took over. It hadn’t even occurred to me that these women would be rude or unkind. It was one thing I hadn’t overthought. Hell, I hadn’t thought about it at all.

Why didn’t Jack warn me?

He must not know. How could he?

Shoving my vulnerability into my gut where it rested like a giant boulder, my eyes fell on the enormous rock sparkling from Miss Spray Tan’s finger. It was the biggest, most ridiculous diamond I’d ever seen, and I’m from LA.

Wonder what her husband’s overcompensating for?

My gaze quickly darted to the left hands of all the other women, realizing that each sported their own hefty-sized rocks. Feeling like I was surrounded by a new kind of sorority girl, I turned my scrutiny from them and stared down at the field. Clearly I wouldn’t be making any friends tonight.

I thought I left this kind of bitch behind in college.

I craned my head in the direction of the bullpen at the end of the field, forgetting all about the rude women surrounding me when my eyes fell on Jack’s powerfully built frame. Heat flooded through my body and seeped into my veins with one look at him as he jogged toward the pitcher’s mound. The muscles in his legs flexed each time his foot crushed against the ground, and a smile crept across my cheeks.

God, I’ve missed watching him play.