Igniting the Wild Sparks (40 page)

“No joke.”

“I don’t blame her for being pissed off at you if she does know about what you did today. She probably already heard about it.”

“Yeah. I know this.”

“Shit. I’d tell you to call her, but that’d be a
really
bad move right now.” Closing my eyes again, I nod and he asks, “Are you going to Morgan’s wedding next weekend?”

“I doubt I’m still invited.”

“You should be there. Morgan’s on your team, too.”

“I don’t really think she’d care if I’m there or not.”

“Hadley will care.”

Rubbing the nape of my neck, I
crabbily demand, “Why are you still
here
?”

Not answering my question, he instead asks,
“What about Saturday? Are you coaching the game now since you’re here?”

I sit up and shrug.
“I don’t know. I haven’t decided. I know you’re quite capable.”

“You need to be there. Not just for the team, but for–”

“I’m going to go grab a shower.” I stand and unsteadily walk to the hallway, imparting, “You’re welcome to go home.”

“Gee, thanks, bud. I love you, too.”

Friday, I gather some more interviews I can do. It’s best to keep busy. If I don’t, I think, and thinking is
not
an option.

“Hey, there, stranger.”

Without glancing up from the files in the cabinet drawer, I banally say, “Hey, Cara. What do you want?” Nope. Not in the mood for stupid chitchat.

“You okay?”

“Yep.” I slam the filing cabinet door shut and read through a folder, wishing she’d leave my hangover and me alone.

“You look like you had a rough night.”

I unenthusiastically look up at Cara. She’s wearing a tight, black blouse with two opened buttons. She’s definitely pushing the office dress etiquette, especially since Hank just hired her permanently after she graduated last week.

Peering
back down to the paper I’m reading, I halfheartedly shrug. “It was definitely rougher than I had wanted.” While I was in the shower, my good friend Officer Tesco took my last bit of vodka and all my beer. Every damn bottle. That fucker is going to beg to jump out of the plane later without a parachute when I’m done with him.

“I thought Finn Wilder liked it rough?” I look up from my folder and see her biting the corner of her lip as she smiles.
I do, but Becks likes it, too. Shit. I don’t want to think about her, but then again, she’s all I
can
think about.

I
suspiciously narrow my eyes at her. “Who told you that?”

“Your legions of fans.” She grins and her eyes wander over me. Is Ricky right about her having a
thing for me?

I
impetuously roll my eyes. “Like they would know something personal like that.”

Cara
moves closer and her perfume floats around me. “They know what you’re like with all the dangerous stunts you do.”

“That’s
all
they know.”

“
Why? Is there more to Finn Wilder than meets the eye?” I really don’t have time for this.

Regarding her uncertainly, I impatiently ask,
“Is there something you wanted?”

She perks up. “Did you have lunch?”

I shake my head and return to my folder. “Not hungry.”

She touches my arm
, and I jerk my head up and glance down at her hand before I look at her face again. Smiling, she says, “Let’s get out of here. We can go get some coffee and you can help me with tomorrow’s game plan.”

“Game plan? It’s not football. You have a batting roster and assigned positions. Not hard.”

“Please? Maybe you can also take a look at my resume? Let me know what I have to change?”

I suppose I need to focus on the team, even if there are two distractions on it. Sighing, I throw the folder down on my desk. “
Why not, I guess? I don’t want to be gone too long, though. I have shit to do. I’ll drive.”

She grins wider.
“Okay.”

I pay for our coffees and walk over to sit down next to Cara on the corner loveseat near the fireplace.

“I love it here,” she comments as she takes her Styrofoam cup from my hand.

“I’ve been here once or twice,” I reply, trying to be somewhat affable. I know I’m coming off
as a prick, but I just don’t have the initiative to care today.

She sips her cappuccino. “I thought you weren’t going to be in Richmond. Didn’t you have a trip or something?”

“Change of plans.” I take a sip of my own coffee and hope she’s not going to delve any deeper.

“Are you going t
o be at the game tomorrow now?” At least it’s reasonably safe question.

I glance around to the nearly empty place and uninterestedly reply,
“I haven’t decided.”

She opens a folder
and the sound of paper rustling draws my attention back to her. She hands me one and says, “I brought the roster with me. Is there a trick to this?”

I shrug
and she leans against me to show me the list. Looking down at the roster, I point to it and say, “You want to put some of your best batters up first to get a leg-up on the opponent, but also not leave yourself with a trail of weak ones, either. I know this isn’t a major or minor league team, but we still have some good hitters.” I take the paper and put it on the coffee table to start rewriting it, moving Cara with me. “The first batter should be Gloria since she’ll have the pitcher throw a few. That’ll give us a chance to see how the pitcher is throwing. Second, should be Brandon since he’ll at least get to second base. Grant needs to bat third since he’s our best hitter.”

“He is? I thought—”

“Grant is our best. After watching him during practice, he’s our most consistent batter. We can rely on him for some RBIs, at least. Fourth, is cleanup. That’s reserved for the batter who can hit the homeruns, our most powerful hitter.”

“That would be—”

“Amos.”

“I guess he’s hit a few.”

“He has. With bases loaded, he can hit a homer and send everyone in, possibly including himself.”

“Wow. I didn’t know there was an actual strategy to the way people bat.”

I nod as I scribble numbers with small notes next to their names. “There is.”

She slowly says, “So, what about everyone else?”

I place the list on her folder. “Just have them follow, whichever way you want. The cycle will eventually repeat if you can hold off the outs.”

She
frivolously laughs. “You’re so smart!”

I skeptically chuckle
and pick up my coffee. “It’s softball, not brain surgery.”

Leaning against me
again, she brushes her hand on my knee and purrs, “Still, smart is sexy.”

I
shrug. “That’s what I hear.” Not sexy enough, apparently.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

I inhale and before I take a drink, I ask, “Why’s everyone asking me that?”

“Because there’s definitely something on your mind.”

“Nope. Just softball.”

“How are things with
Ha—?”

I
sharply look at her and warn, “Don’t.” The pain creeps over me and I grind my teeth to push through it.
Damn it.

Cara
offers a sympathetic smile at my brooding. “Oh, I see. Are things that bad between the two of you?”

Resting my
elbows on my legs, I stare down at the light-colored, wood laminate floor. “I… I don’t… I can’t.” I shake my head to finish that thought. Yes. It’s been two days since I’ve talk to my girlfriend. I’m just waiting with baited breath for the axe to fall, ripping my heart out and ending my life.

“I’m so sorry.
It looks like you need to talk, Finn. What happened? Was it because of—?”

I cut her off at the pass again, “
I can’t talk about it.” I restlessly furrow my hand into my hair and shakily sigh. It’s killing me not to talk to Becks and to know she’s down there with a man who’s in love with her, too
.
I’m drowning here and there’s no life preserver in sight.

She pats my knee. “Why not?”

With my forehead on my hand, I quietly mutter, “Because it hurts too damn much.”
Fuck
. In my mind, I can see them holding hands, kissing… Shit.
I can’t do this!

“Finn, it’s okay. You have friends who care about you.”

I drop my hand and look around the shop. I can’t lose it here. People might recognize me and I’ll end up a Top Story at every water cooler in the Richmond viewing area. I impassively watch as an employee drags out a mop, taking it behind the huge potted plants dividing the small tables from the rest of the seating area that is situated around the massive fireplace.

Cara says, “I don’t want you to be alone. I’m here if you want to talk.”

I blink out of my stupor and again shake my head. “Thanks, but I don’t.”

“Okay.”
Leaning forward, she takes a paper from the folder on the table, brushing her tit on my arm. Feeling awkward, I move out of the way and she glances at me with a smile. When she sits back, she says, “Well, here’s my resume if you want to look at it.”

“Sure. Why are you concerned with your resume if Hank just offered you a job at the station?”

“I still want to keep my options open, so I can keep moving up.”

“Oh.” She hands me the paper and I take
it to examine, but not really concentrating. Nevertheless, I need to before my mind wanders to other things. As I get to the middle of the page, I notice a word that makes me unexpectedly laugh.
“Urine?
You actually have that word on here?”

She laughs. “I did clean it up when I worked at that place!”

I laugh again, and it actually feels good. “You can’t put that on a resume, Cara.”

“I’ll change it.” I keep reading, but stop to chuckle
about it every other sentence.

Casually, she
puts her hand back on my knee, but then astonishingly slides it up to my thigh. An alarm sounds in my head, stopping me, yet I don’t stop her. I want to ask what she’s doing, but she’s not really doing anything wrong. I’m not the one who ran off with… It feels nice to be consoled, even if it’s not the woman I want telling me that everything is going to be okay.

I clear my throat and say, “I don’t see anything else that stands out.” I lay the resume down on the coffee table
and her fingers squeeze my leg. Why does her touch feel good right now? I’ve never wanted her to touch me before.

Taking in a deep breath, I fleetingly peer around the small area around us, unsure of what to do. Part of me wants to jump up and drive straight to wherever the hell Becks is. While the other part of me just wants to shut everything and everyone out so I can wallow in my own madness alone.

She says, “That’s a relief.” I reluctantly glance at her and she smiles as she strangely studies my face.