The Pitcher's Assistant

Snatching up my purse, I run to the front door and out of the house, nearly knocking over the driver in the process. He’s waiting on the path, holding an envelope with my name on it. The suited man hands the white square to me and I don’t bother waiting for him to open the back door of the limousine. I just throw myself onto the leather seat and beg him to break the speed limit. During the drive, my nervous energy leads me to open the envelope and I gape at the ticket, which is located in a private box usually reserved for family and team administration.

Which is very nice, but that’s not going to work.

I won’t be able to speak to Cort from there.

There is urgency inside of me, demanding I talk to him before the game. When he takes the mound today and attempts to break the slump, I want him surrounded in love. I want him to know how much he’s already come to mean to me.

When we reach the ball field, I exit the limousine at a dead run, handing over my ticket to one of the workers at the entrance. His eyebrows fly up when he sees my designated section is the team box and he calls someone on a radio to escort me. With a smile on my face, I let them go through the motions, even though I know I’m going to make a break for it as soon as I’m inside the stadium. And I do.

I let the red-vested escort get ahead of me a little, then veer into one of the tunnels leading to the field. My high heels aren’t the greatest for running, but I do it anyway, jogging around the perimeter of the field, purse clutched under my arm—and there he is. Cort.

My Cort.

He’s near the bullpen now, stretching, warming up his billion-dollar arm. My legs turn to goo at the welcome sight of him and I nearly stumble, but manage to keep going after I catch my breath. I speed up when I hear the escort calling for me to wait. No way. No time. I haul butt, circling the bottom of the stands that are rapidly beginning to fill up with spectators, my focus on one thing and one thing only. Him.

When he glances up suddenly, as if sensing my presence, time seems to stop.

He drops the baseball in his hand, his mouth moving in the shape of my name.

After what seems like a million years, I reach his section of the field. He meets me at the rail, but he’s a few feet lower than me on the field, so I lean over the barrier, breathless. “Cort.”

“Pippa.” He draws off his hat, his blue eyes scrutinizing my face. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything.” I shake my head, ordering myself to think straight. “I’m not going to write the article.”

He rocks back on his heels, something like cautious hope crossing his face. “You’re not?”

“No.” I wet my dry lips. “I’m grateful for everything you told me. I know it wasn’t easy. And those things are just for us to know. Nobody else.”

His chest lifts and falls with a heavy breath.

People are beginning to gather around, leaving their seats to observe what’s happening between the crazy girl and the future hall-of-famer. Field security jogs over, looking alarmed, but Cort holds up his hand, stopping them in their tracks. “It’s okay.”

He’s not even talking to me, but I respond as if he did. “No, it’s not okay.” I take a deep, shuddering breath and let it out. “I should have told you last night that I love you. I was just scared—”

“Scared of what?” Cort rasps, stepping closer, shoulder muscles coiling.

“Scared of losing sight of what’s always been important to me. But I realized this morning that more than one thing can be important to me. And you…you, Cort Mulloy. You are important to me. So important. More than any exclusive.” Tears swarm my vision. “And I love you. I should have told you—”

Before the final word is out of my mouth, Cort is reaching up and pulling me down out of the stands, spinning me in two laughing circles, before sealing his mouth over mine. A roar of approval goes up in the stands, but I’m only vaguely aware of the deafening sound because I’m kissing the man of my dreams and he’s kissing me back like his life depends on it. He buries one hand in my hair, the other arm wrapping beneath my butt so I can cling to his beloved frame, and we kiss to the applause of thousands. It’s no match for the cheering in my heart, though.

That drowns out everything.

Later that afternoon, Cort’s slump comes to a resounding end…and our forever begins.