Dirty Curve

“He’s not in there.” His eyes narrow, flicking to my window and back.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.” I push my door open more, using my back to keep it from slamming shut.

“Team says he left the bar an hour ago.”

Bar.

My stomach curls.

Of course, I almost forgot about the stories that follow the players home after away games.

It’s the same for every sport, according to the few students of mine that are prone to overshare.

“Figured he’d be back by now.” He runs his fingers over the bill of his hat. “Oh well, he’ll call me when he’s … done.” A low snicker leaves him. “Guess old habits never die.”

I look away, refusing to fall into whatever it is this is.

The truth.

A trap.

A pit of lava with my name on it, also known as reality.

Coach Reid begins to walk away, but jerks to a stop, gazing at me curiously. “Shouldn’t you be on a call or something?”

“All my calls are done for the day, so I figured I’d take in all the hotel has to offer before I return to my chic little shed.” My voice is more bitter than intended.

His nod is slow, eyes narrowed, but before he goes, he says one more thing. “If you’re bored, you can catch his interview, should be up on the school website by now.” He walks away.

I quietly close the door and focus on what I need to do rather than the questions now threatening to cloud my mind. Placing Bailey in her playpen, I take the towel off of her so she doesn’t get herself tangled up, and she instantly begins to cry, the cool air now hitting her chilled skin.

“Just a minute, Bay.” I jog over and fill the sink with lukewarm water, quickly rushing back to her and lifting her into my arms once more.

“Hey, Bay, it’s okay. Here we go.” I gently lower her into the water, using a rolled-up hand towel as a pillow behind her head. “There we are. Here, want your mimi?”

She fusses a little more, but quiets in the warmth once the Binky is in her mouth. She rubs at her eyes so I bathe her as quickly as I can, thankful when she settles in the playpen after long enough for me to quickly wash myself off and free my hair of the chlorine.

She’s humming and fake cackling when I get out, so I throw my hair in the towel and get us both settled on the bed for her feeding.

She gets angry when she can’t play with my hair, but I run my fingers over hers a few times and a heavy exhale slips from her nose, making me smile.

“There we go, Bay,” I whisper.

She doesn’t eat much, too tired from her evening playtime to stay awake long enough, so I know she’ll wake again soon.

I should brush my hair out and get some of my own work done while I can, but instead, I open my computer, click on the school webpage and scroll down until I find the link for the Avix Inquirer.

The headline and time stamp that reads nearly four hours earlier makes my throat burn, but I click through anyway.

Avix Inquirer: Does the Playboy Pitcher have a plaything back home?

I push the ache creeping up my ribs down as I look to the placeholder image on the interview video, a dirt-stained Tobias standing beside a gorgeous reporter. He looks as handsome as ever.

Hat backward, smirk deep, and eyes playful.

I start the video and the woman speaks first.

“I’m here with the man everyone is just dying to get their hands on, the number one prospect this year, Tobias Cruz.”

Her innuendo is clear, and Tobias grins, letting her know he picked up on it.

“Tobias, tell us about tonight’s game. What was going through your head when that last batter stepped into the box?”

He licks his lips, drawing her and everyone watching at home’s attention to his mouth. “I was thinking about what I was going to order from room service when I got back to my hotel.”

A low laugh leaves me.

“Okay, so you were confident you were getting out of this game without a single run scored?”

Pride warms me, and I hope his parents felt compelled to tune in.

“It’s not the first in the season, and it won’t be the last. I’m just happy to have a kick-ass team behind me.”

“Was it a different kind of sweet to come to your hometown and dominate against the coach who didn’t offer a spot to you three years ago?”

“No, it was sweet to add another W to my coach’s record. And for the record, even if Cal Poly had wanted me, they wouldn’t have gotten me. Coach Reid is the reason I’ve become the player that I am, and I’ll forever be in his debt.”