The Game Changer (The Perfect Game 2)

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.

His Mets uniform reminded me so much of the one he wore in college that I couldn’t stop the memories from replaying. I clearly envisioned the first time I saw him pitching. It had been a truly beautiful experience, although I never admitted it at the time. His transformation into a completely different person once he stepped on top of that mound of dirt at Fullton State was unlike anything I’d ever witnessed before. Watching Jack play baseball was almost like a having a spiritual awakening. Through all my heartache and heartbreak, I’d forgotten this part.

How my pride soared as I watched him play baseball, knowing how much of his heart it held. And how it literally warmed me from head to toe being the person he loved more than it. I relished the moment, reaching into my purse for my camera.

I looked through the viewfinder and grunted audibly. My seat was great for viewing the game, but not photographing it. I was simply too far away, and I didn’t have my larger zoom lens with me. I snapped one picture anyway, just to remember the night by, before shoving the camera back into my non-designer purse.

In my dazed state, I barely noticed that the seat to my right was newly occupied. Convinced it was another horrible wife, I hesitated to acknowledge this person. I second-guessed myself, suddenly feeling no better than those other women, when a warm voice with a British accent interrupted my thoughts. “Hi. You’re new. ”

I turned toward her and stopped my jaw from falling wide open. This woman was stunning. She had an exotic look that I assumed brought guys to their knees. Her long straight brown hair looked like satin. That combined with her naturally tan skin made the green flecks in her hazel eyes stand out even more. I didn’t think she had a stitch of makeup on, and I was convinced she was the prettiest woman in this stadium.

I offered a small smile. “Yeah. I’m Cassie. ”

She reached out her hand. “Hi, Cassie. I’m Trina. ” A wide smile appeared, and she grew even more gorgeous.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I told her, my voice genuine. After what I’d just witnessed, the fact that she was willing to talk to me at all eased my nerves.

“You too. So, who do you belong to?” She nudged my shoulder with hers.

“Jack Carter. ” I tilted my chin toward the field. “He’s pitching tonight. And you?”

“The second baseman, Kyle. ” She lifted her hand, pointing him out on the field, and I glanced at her ring finger. My shoulders relaxed when I noticed the absence of rings.

“Where are you from? I love your accent,” I said before suddenly feeling stupid.

“London. I like yours too. ” She grinned.

“I don’t have an accent!” I laughed.

“You do. It’s like a totally Californian accent, dude,” she said, trying to mimic the way I sounded to her.

“Well, that’s awesome,” I attempted to say with an English accent, but failed miserably. “So, how long has your boyfriend been on the team?” I asked, desperate for her friendliness to continue.

“This is our second season. He got traded last year. ”

“What’s with them?” I tipped my head subtly in the direction of the mean girls.