The Sweetest Game (The Perfect Game 3)

“Seriously,” he deadpanned.

“What flight are you on?”

“Not yours, so don’t worry about it. ” Dean entered the security line and I stood there completely stunned.

“Holy shit,” I said to no one in particular.

Melissa’s eyes teared up, but she sniffed them back as I gave her one last hug. “I’ll call you later. ” She sucked in a breath and entered the line by herself, now separated from Dean by numerous people.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked, the shock still overwhelming my senses.

She forced a smile. “Yep. ”

I reached for my husband’s hand and squeezed it hard. Jack told Melissa good-bye again and pulled me toward the exit doors. “I cannot believe he did that,” I said, stealing a look into Jack’s chocolate-brown eyes.

Jack shot a sideways glance my way. “Hate to admit it, but that was pretty badass. ”

I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Sorry, Kitten, but she deserves it. ”

Oh, how I wanted to disagree. I wanted to defend my best friend and tell my husband that he was wrong and being an asshole. Go off on him for being so cruel and callous, and tell him only a complete jerk would say something like that at a time like this. But he was right. And I knew it. So even though I wanted to stand up for her, like she’d done so many times in the past for me, I couldn’t.

I tightened my grip on Jack’s hand and allowed him to pull me outside where Matteo was waiting by the car. The heat and humidity smacked me square in the face and I sucked in one final breath before letting all the stress of the weekend go.

A couple of weeks later, I still couldn’t believe what had happened between Melissa and Dean. Watching him lose his shit on her was the most I’d ever seen him act like Jack. And it was hot. I’d never admit that to Jack, but it really was. I was surprised Melissa’s panties didn’t melt off her body and into a puddle on my apartment floor. Instead, she dug in her heels and acted stubborn and defensive, which was her version of a defense mechanism, I supposed.

Truth be told, I was really sad for them. I wanted them to work it out and I had no idea why Melissa was fighting it so hard. What kind of person doesn’t know what the hell was wrong with her best friend?

All I knew for sure was that I did not want to be in the middle of the two of them, so I bowed out; told them both I didn’t want to be involved. True to their word, neither of them asked me about the other when we talked, which wasn’t as often as it used to be. We’d all come so far from our college days in the student union.

Dean kept busy maintaining the office while Jack’s agents, Marc and Ryan, traveled around the country scouting new baseball talent. It was Dean’s job to be the local contact for potential talent. He took phone calls, handled the mail and the contracts, and filed scouting reports. He also kept tabs on new, upcoming, and past players, and was available in person at any time. Dean told me once that the only thing he didn’t do was sleep there, but that could be arranged if they bought a couch. I laughed, but felt pride warm my heart at how hard he worked and loved the business.

Melissa, on the other hand, had convinced her mom to let her open a small extension of their public relations firm in Orange County. She informed her mother that over half their clients lived in the OC, and it didn’t make any sense to force them to drive out to LA for in-person meetings. Their current clients were thrilled and word of mouth spread quickly about the new office location. Melissa found herself understaffed and her mom couldn’t have been more proud of her only daughter. I always knew Melissa would run that place, so nothing she did surprised me.

Things with Jack and me had improved tremendously since he first got injured. He refocused all of his energy into working out and doing strength exercises in his opposite hand. When the team was on the road, he spent most of his time at the ball field with the team trainers. And when the team was home, he played pranks on all the guys during the games. They actually begged me to start keeping him home so he’d stop fucking with them.

I asked Jack over dinner one night what he was doing to torture his teammates and he couldn’t stop laughing. He said, “I kept moving the new kid’s gear in front of Newman’s locker. ” I remembered that Newman was a veteran ball player, and if there was one thing that any first-year player had to do, it was respect the veterans. They weren’t supposed to talk to them, let alone go anywhere near their stuff.

Jack leaned back and chuckled. “Newman was pissed and the poor kid had no idea how his shit kept getting there, but he couldn’t say anything. Because, you know, he can’t talk to a veteran player, and he certainly can’t defend himself. Newman would take out all the crap in his bag, throw it across the locker room, and threaten the kid. I just kept doing it the whole weekend. Poor kid was about to lose his mind until someone told him, ‘Welcome to the big leagues. ’”

“Did they tell him it was you?” I smiled, happy to hear Jack laughing.

“Fuck no! No one tells him who is fucking with him. It’s a rule. You play pranks, but you don’t rat anyone out. ”

“Glad you’re having fun with your teammates, babe. ” I smiled, reaching my hand across the table and touching the stubble on his cheek. I loved his scruff.

I will admit that having Jack home for dinner was really sort of nice. He’d never been around this much, and while his mind was definitely preoccupied with his injury, his physical presence was a welcome change. It made me realize how little he truly was home. And how rare it was for us to sit and have dinner together every night. That almost never happened.

Even during the off-season, Jack was always focused on what was to come. His mental state was all about working out, staying fit, eating right, and doing whatever had to be done to stay relevant and needed for the upcoming season. I honestly didn’t mind the amount of his time that baseball took, but some moments, like the ones right now, it was nice to have him around.

Staring over at my sexy man, I stifled the urge to crawl across the table and eat him for dinner. I knew he wouldn’t mind, but didn’t want to stop the current conversation that flowed between us. Watching Jack smile and laugh had been the highlight of my day.

“So, tell me about the rookie they brought up to pitch for you,” I said and his eyebrows lifted.

“Did I tell you he won’t be staying?” He smirked and a dimple appeared. I wanted to get lost in that dimple.

I reached for my wineglass and took a sip. “Where’s he going?”