The Game Changer(37)

Trina let out a giggle. “Thank you, Cassie. I actually am.” She paused. “A model, that is. Not gorgeous. Oh, gosh.”

I laughed. “A nice model? Who woulda thought?”

“Not most people, that’s for sure.”

As I focused on Jack again, his fluid movements caused sensations in me I couldn’t hide. My cheeks warmed as he leaned his body forward, focusing on the catcher’s glove. Even from where I sat, I could sense the intensity in Jack’s eyes. A battle waged between the hitter and the pitcher, and Jack hated to lose. A quick nod and one deep breath later, Jack’s arm hurled the ball past the batter, who swung his bat mightily, but missed.

“And definitely not them,” she said, directing her displeasure back toward the mean girls.

“They’re just jealous because you don’t have to bleach your hair some fake color or spray tan yourself orange to look good.”

She continued to smile at me. “Do you work, Cassie?”

I nodded. “I work for a magazine.”

“Strike two.” She arched her eyebrows, and I crinkled mine. “Didn’t you know it was our duty to quit working as soon as we started dating them?”

“Apparently I didn’t get that memo.”

“They hate girlfriends. And they hate anyone who works.” She shrugged. “You would think that we’d all support each other and be friends since we’re forced to spend so much time together. But that’s not how it works. You should have seen me last season, trying to talk to them at every game. Someone finally had to tell me that they would speak to me when I was worthy. That’s the word she actually used. Worthy,” she said, emphasizing it slowly, almost in a whisper, and I couldn’t hide my disgust. “But she’s not here anymore. Her husband got traded.”

“Wow. I did not sign up for this,” I said, the realization hitting me that these women would now be part of my life whether I wanted them to or not.

Trina brushed some loose hair from her eyes before continuing. “The worst one is Kymber.”

“Kymber? Even her name screams bitch,” I said with a quick laugh.

Trina’s eyes darted to Kymber before returning to mine. “She’s the queen bee here. That’s how she refers to herself. The Queen Bee. Who says that?”

Cheers erupted into the air, causing both Trina and me to look at the field as our team jogged off, disappearing into the dugout. I’d made it through half an inning. Only eight and a half more to go.

“Her husband has been playing the longest and makes the most money. That’s why she’s the queen. And all the rest of the wives bow down to her.”

A disgruntled sound ripped from my chest. “I’ve never been really good at bowing down to anyone. It’s not really in my nature.”

“Don’t worry, Cassie. She won’t make your life a living hell or anything. She’ll just act like you’re invisible. Like you don’t exist. And if that kind of thing doesn’t bug you, then you’ll be fine.”

I pondered her words, trying to figure out exactly how the situation made me feel. Was it better to be a verbal punching bag or to not exist at all?




When the game finally ended, I followed Trina down a long staircase. Her shoes clicked and clacked down the last set of public stairs before she headed through a private door, guarded by security. Once inside, I shivered as the air of the cold brick tunnels coursed through me. The tunnels ran the length of the stadium, and I quickly thanked Trina for taking me under her wing.

“No problem. I had no idea where the clubhouse was after my first game, and no one showed me. By the time I got down here Kyle was waiting for me, wondering what took me so long.”

A burly security guard stood between two metal guardrails. He smiled as Trina approached, giving her a quick hug before staring at me, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening.

“Carl, this is Cassie. She’s Jack Carter’s girlfriend.”

He reached out his massive hand, and I gripped it. “Nice to meet you, Carl.”

“You too, Cassie. Hell of a game tonight for your boy. Make sure you tell him I said good job, OK?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Honestly? I’ll probably get lost.”

Trina giggled. “Isn’t she funny, Carl? We’re going to be good friends.”

We followed the white bricks as they curved gently around a long corridor. Once around the corner, a Mets sign protruded from the wall, announcing the location of the player’s locker room. I smiled when we reached the double mahogany doors with a sign that read New York Mets Clubhouse above them. I curbed my desire to whip out my camera and photograph the doors and sign.