The Game Changer (The Perfect Game 2)

Good Lord, that is one good-looking man.

The security guard caught the man’s attention and then pointed at me as a wide grin spread across his face. The tall drink of water looked in my direction and asked, “Miss Andrews?” I stepped closer to him, my insides trembling.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Please, call me Cassie. ” I smiled, trying my best not to look him up and down.

“I’m Matteo. Mr. Carter sent me to bring you to the game. Are you ready?”

“Yep,” I squeaked out when I noticed the hint of a tattoo peeking out from under his collar.

Jack sent a model to pick me up. A tattooed, freaking hot-as-fuck model.

Matteo opened the rear passenger door, and I settled inside. Suddenly feeling like an entitled snob, I fought the urge to climb over the seat and sit up front with my new driver. Unless I was in a taxicab, sitting alone in the backseat while someone else drove always struck me as odd. I reached for my phone, checking my personal e-mails as the car lurched forward. I glanced up briefly during the quiet drive to find Matteo’s blue eyes watching me in the rearview mirror. I darted my gaze from his and returned to my phone, fiddling with it to look busy.

Putting my phone down, I looked outside the window as the city flew by. I constantly found myself in awe of this place, with its massive buildings and old architecture. It was the ideal setting for the photographer in me.

“So, you’re Sal’s cousin, huh?” I asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence between us.

“Yeah. You see the resemblance?” He angled his head toward the backseat for a moment, and I caught sight of the smile spread across his tanned skin.

I smiled in return, my lips firmly pressed together as I imagined Sal’s oversized belly and receding hairline. “Definitely. You could pass for twins. ”

He laughed out loud.

“How’d you like Jack?” I asked, attempting to bring my boyfriend into the conversation.

Boyfriend.

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 look

ed 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.