The Lies We Tell Page 4

  I should have let her leave and go stew alone while I got back to my dad. But instead, I decided to lie some more.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you or stand you up, but something came up.” At least I was starting with the truth. I didn't have it out for her. I didn't want to be a dick and make her life heard. I just wanted to protect myself.

  “Someone hit my car in the parking lot," I continued, "and I got distracted taking care of it. By the time that was done, I figured you were long gone. Please don’t tell me you waited all this time.”

  “Are you ok?” Her concern was a sudden whiplash in her demeanor.

  “I am," I said carefully, worried she would whip right back into lady goliath. "I wasn’t in the car, I just had to file a report and all.”

  “Ok, ok.” She was nodding, accepting my lie as a good excuse, calming down.

  “What about right now?” What the hell are you doing, Turner?

  “What right now?”

  “Check me over," I suggest. Bad idea, bad idea.

  “That is a bad idea,” she repeated the thoughts in my head.

  “It is a very bad idea,” I confirmed. “But it will get us what we both want. You get to make Gary happy; I get to get it over with.”

  “What’s the big deal, Chase? You’ve played for 10 years. You scared of getting your reflexes tapped?”

  I scoffed and shook my head, “No.” Yes. “What’s it gonna be, Kingkiller?”

  “Can you put shorts on first?”

  “Nah,” might as well make her uncomfortable, too. Maybe she will rush through and not realize my knees are shot.

  I hopped on the desk in the room and dangled my legs, my feet coming only inches from the floor. I figured this could be our makeshift training table but my towel had slightly opened and was barely doing the job I had assigned it to.

  But I didn’t move. I stayed steadfast.

  Becca turned away and wiped a hand down her face. I heard her muttering to herself but couldn’t make out what she was saying. I think I caught the word ‘stupid’ but wasn’t sure.

  She started looking around the room and then walked quickly to the bathroom. When she came back, she had a brush in her hand. Then, she went to the bedside and grabbed a pen. Finally, she grabbed my watch off the dresser and a cup from the minibar.

  I could almost guess what most of that was for, but the cup? “I’m not peeing in that, Princess.”

  She looked at me like I had lost my mind. “I am a trainer, not a specimen collector, Pancake.” Then she opened the minibar and poured an entire shot of vodka into the cup, downing it in one gulp. I cringed, the act reminding me I needed to get back to my dad.

  But I understood her need for liquor right now. If I didn’t have to drive across town in a bit, I would have joined her.

  Her feet were still bare—she had dropped her shoes when she walked in. She padded across the carpeted floor and stood in front of me. She used the brush to tap my knees, causing me to wince but not enough to make her suspicious. Then she wrote a few things down on the pad of paper.

  “Stand up," she requested when she was done.

  I did, not arguing. Arguing would only prolong this torture.

  “Spread your arms wide.”

  I made sure the towel was tucked tight and lifted my arms, straight and out to the sides, making a T. Becca licked her lips and muttered some more words to herself before lifting her hands to my shoulders.

  Once her soft fingers made contact, I shuttered. She withdrew her hands quickly and looked to me, trying to determine what was going on. “Your hands are cold,” I lied, again.

  “No, they’re not,” she objected.

  I remained quiet and she eventually took my silence as a go-ahead to continue.

  Once her hands were back on me, she rubbed them across my shoulders and squeezed. “Any pain?”

  “No.”

  She slowly moved her hands from my shoulders to my arms and squeezed my biceps. I winced.

  “Hurt?”

  “No.” Pain wasn’t what made this hard.

  She bit her lip and I wondered if she was realizing how her touch was affecting me. Why couldn’t she be a 300-pound man named Bubba?

  She rubbed me down some more, making sure she tested the muscles and reflexes in my arms.

  Then.

  Well, then she did the unthinkable.

  She fell to her fucking knees.

  OK, she didn’t fall, she squatted gracefully. But either way, she was on her knees, in my hotel room, with me in this towel, and her hair looking like I had just used it as a handle. Her head was looking down and I felt her hands on my ankles. Slowly--way-too-fucking-slowly—she brought her hands upward, squeezing my calf muscles as she went.

  Why was this happening?

  Oh yeah, it’s because my dumb ass didn’t want the pain in my knees detected so I scared the medical staff into a full-blown workup. Good job, Chase.

  Only, this didn’t feel like a workup, this felt like foreplay. Did Becca feel it too?

  As her hands squeezed the muscles in my calves, I forgot all about my knees. I closed my eyes, trying to picture “Bubba.” Trying to use that image to not embarrass myself with a "flagpole" under this towel.

  It only took one point of pressure to the tendons below my kneecaps, though, to open my eyes and wince. She nailed it, right on the source of all my fear and pain. And once I twisted in obvious pain, she stood up, quickly, not looking out for anything above her.

  I didn’t have a chance to channel “Bubba” so on her ascent, she bumped her head, right into the before mentioned flagpole.

  Fuck, this couldn’t get any worse.

  I stepped back and grabbed myself, protecting my hardened dick from her assault. Meanwhile, she jumped back, holding her head like my dick was in-fact made of steel and she was in danger of a concussion. Her eyes were wide, her face was red.

  I wasn’t sure if I was embarrassed or even more turned on. Neither one of us spoke, though.

  Neither one of us turned around, either.

  Someone had to do something and do it quickly.

  “You done?” I asked sharply.

  “Your knee," she mentioned, her eyes still trained on my face.

  “You need to leave.”

  “Yeah, I really, really, really do. But your knee needs…”

  “Nope.”

  “Chase…” she warned.

  I knew what she was thinking, she was going to report the knee pain to Gary. Gary would then call me in for scans. Scans would show tears, tears would sideline me, and Manny Fucking Fernandez would become the new starting catcher for the Atlanta Kings.

  No-fucking-thank you.

  Chapter 7

  Becca

  I stormed out of Chase’s room without saying another word. God, I was so humiliated.

  But I shouldn't have been surprised.

  I am not naive enough to think that my feeling all over his body, while he was naked in a towel, was a good idea. We even both established beforehand that it was a bad, bad idea.

  In any other context, those conditions would have led two available and willing adults to roll around in a bed for a few hours. Let's be serious about that.

  But this was work. This was our job. And I had been so desperate to finish my reports for Gary that I let myself get reckless. I would bet my entire shoe collection that Chase knew what he was doing—making me crazy. He probably hoped I would rush through and forget any issues if he spun me up enough.

  And it almost worked. I ran so fast out of that room I didn’t even finish my assessment, check his vitals, or take my notes with me. But now that I was in the safety of my own room, I knew what I had to do.

  I didn’t have a report to send to Gary, but I did have some insight on Chase Turner. He was a catcher, and catchers notoriously had leg and knee issues. I saw it that first day he was with Ethan Jones. The pain was written on his face with each squat; hindering his ability to react to balls thrown in the di
rt or too far off the plate.

  It was my job to recognize that and get him well. For his sake but also for the sake of the team. He shouldn’t be fighting me on it, either. We should be working together to get him ready for the regular season.

  At this rate, Fernandez would definitely be the opening day starting catcher, even without me poking Chase’s eyes out. And as much as I believed Fernandez could handle it, he wasn’t Chase Turner. As a fan, I wanted Chase.

  Gary and the manager would temporarily bench him the second they hear what I have to say. That was out of my hands. If he didn’t get himself right, the effects could be a detriment to the team.

  So, with my mind made up, I texted Gary that I needed to meet with him first thing in the morning about one of the catchers and went to bed.

  Sleep didn’t come easy, though. Instead, I found myself replaying the way I felt when Chase opened that door in only a towel. I kept seeing his hard body and the drops of water that ran down the planes of his tanned muscles from his shower. His chest had just enough hair on it to show me how all grown up he was. And without a shirt, his tattoo was entirely visible—a vintage baseball with claw marks through it. His hair was a sexy, wet mess. His eyes had been surprised to see me.

  I was mad at him when I got to his door, but I was even angrier at myself for not being able to control the way I responded to him. And Chase saw it.

  That is why he tried unhinging me.

  That is why Gary had warned me away on my first day.

  That is why he singled me out.

  I had bit back at him and yet, he had been right. I was proving him right. How predictable it was that a female working this close to the players wouldn't be able to see past her own lust to do her job properly.

  I sighed and flipped over, covering my head with my pillow. Tomorrow was a new day. No one but me knew I had this conversation with myself. No one but me knew how close I was to breaking the rules only a week into this job.

  So, tomorrow I would prove me wrong.

  ◆◆◆

  The next morning, Chase was already sitting on a training table when I walked in. I didn’t ask him to be here and he knew Gary would call him when he had his scans scheduled. So other than trying to make me crazier than I was, I couldn't find a reason he was there.

  He didn’t say anything to anyone. Not even the other guys as they all started filing in. Today was the first day with the full team reporting, so I figured Chase would be chattier--welcoming the others to spring training.

  He wasn’t.

  He just sat quietly on the training table until I finished what I was doing and headed to him.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked skeptically, hoping I was strong enough to not fall victim to any lies might try telling me. "I haven't had a chance to report to Gary yet this morning."

  He shrugged, “Just trying to save you from having to track me down. Ready to get this over with.”

  “I am sure Gary will call you when he gets my report.”

  “Oh, I know. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

  “Then why be here now?”

  “What else am I going to do? My knees are shot to hell, Princess. Now that you know, no sense making it worse.”

  “I think I am confused about why this is such a big deal.” Ok, I knew that was the wrong thing to say, but I only realized it after it came out. These guys eat and breathe this game, of course, this was a big deal.

  I could see it in his eyes, he was about to snap at me again, so I stopped him by rephrasing myself. “What I mean is…. wouldn’t you rather get this fixed than lie and let it linger?”

  Chase shook his head solemnly, “Not this year.”

  “Becca!!” I heard my name being shouted behind me, both Chase and I looking to see who it was.

  Manny Fernandez.

  “Hey, you ready for your wraps?” I asked.

  “Yeah, let’s do this,” he said as he approached the table next to Chase and hopped on. “What ya doing here, Old Man? Thought you were fine.” He was taunting Chase. Which, I learned, was what most of these guys did, 24/7.

  But instead of laughing with him, I got a little pissed.

  Chase didn’t even respond, just shrugged.

  From what I knew about him, that wasn’t normal. Chase was the biggest bullshitter of them all. Something was going on here. I could feel it. And the depth of that feeling was causing me to get more and more pissed at Manny.

  “Hey Grandpa,” Manny started again at Chase, “Why so quiet? Teeth fall out?”

  Calm down, Becca, this is what they do, this was how they showed their comradery. Boys are weird.

  Chase stayed quiet.

  “Ok, Mr. Geriatric, be a punk-ass little bitch.” Whoa. Manny took that one step further than my brain could comprehend. “I will be out there backstopping for Ethan if you decide you want to back me up.”

  Oh, hell no. How was Chase just sitting there?

  Say something, Pancake, say something.

  He didn't. He just stared at Manny impassively.

  And what the hell was about to come out of my mouth?

  “Actually, Fernandez, I sent Gary a request to have your knees x-rayed. He is on his way in. You need to wait for him to clear you.”

  Yep, I said that.

  “The fuck?” He yelled.

  I flinched at his anger. His very justified anger. He was completely healthy. But I had told Gary that one of the catchers needed scans and didn’t tell him who. Thanks to Fernandez pissing me off, he was now that guy. Because damn him.

  This was the opposite of professional, but I was on my knees in Chase’s room last night so why stop there? For the love of God, help me.

  “Watch your tone,” Chase finally spoke up to Fernandez.

  “Fuck off, man. I don’t need any delays. I am fine.”

  “Fine? I don't know about that." Chase scoffed tauntingly. "All I do know; is you need to watch how you talk to her.” His voice lowered with his last six words and sounded downright deadly.

  Chase hadn’t exactly been a gentleman when he talked to me, so it was a little weird hearing him so worked up at Manny.

  “This is fucking insane,” Fernandez yelled. “The only thing I need is a new fucking intern that knows what the fuck she’s doing. Maybe there is a reason that pussy doesn’t belong in this locker room. Bitches don’t cut it here.”

  My face was red. He wasn’t wrong about me being insane, because I was, indeed, insane. What had possessed me to cut him off today and feed him to Gary?

  Especially when Chase really did need the concentration.

  Speaking of Chase, he wasn’t exactly denying my lie. But that was most likely because he didn’t have a chance. Fernandez wouldn’t shut up long enough to let anyone else talk.

  And when Fernandez did shut up, it was because he was on his back, on the ground, blood running from his nose.

  Shit.

  I realized quickly that while I was having a small panic attack, Chase had hit Manny. Pretty obvious, actually, since Chase was shaking his hand out and giving Manny the death glare from hell.

  “Chase!” I yelled.

  But he wasn’t even considering me, he was leaning over Manny, “Don’t you ever talk to her, or anyone else, like that again.”

  “Fuck you, man. What is your fucking problem?” Manny asked.

  “All she’s trying to do is her goddamn job. She doesn’t need guys like you making it harder on her. If she fails, which she won’t, that’ll be on you for being such an asshole.”

  Ok, where the hell was Chase? Didn’t I just give him this same speech last night? Didn’t he give me this same shit?

  Of course, he didn’t call me a bitch. So there's that.

  I wiped a hand down my face in frustration. I couldn’t believe I lied. I couldn’t believe it turned into this. I looked around the training room, finally recognizing that we had caused a scene.

  No one came to Manny's aide, though. No one tried to get in between h
im and Chase. Everyone just had their arms crossed, watching, waiting to see what happened next.

  Including Gary.

  Including Kace.

  I decided I was done with this. Chase could do whatever he wanted but I couldn’t stomach being in a circle of all these guys, staring back. Very pissed off guys. I couldn’t tell if they were upset with Chase, Manny, or me.

  So, I walked out, passing Gary on the way. “Fernandez needs those scans I told you about. I will have Chase’s evaluation to you in a bit.”

  Gary quietly nodded while keeping his eye on the scene. I didn’t bother looking back. I didn’t care if Chase was still in Manny's face or if he let him get up. I was both mortified and mad—at myself.

  I let one little comment get under my skin. Something I was too chicken shit to take back now. Something that I had to see through.

  When Manny's scans come back clean, I knew I would be able to talk my way out of why I recommended them. But if I admitted I lied now, all this would have been for nothing, and I would be out of here.

  I headed to the office where I knew I could sit for a while and gather myself. I could work on paperwork and avoid everyone for just a little bit.

  Gary’s desk was the main piece in this office but there were a couch and a few small desks that we could use when we needed to. I walked in and shut the door behind me, pacing the room from the door to Gary’s desk until I felt calm enough to get back to work.

  After about ten laps, I turned from the desk, toward the door, and stopped. Chase was leaning on the door jam, arms crossed, and a sly look on his face. His hand had an ice wrap on it, and he was now in his uniform.

  “Welcome to the dark side, Cupcake,” was all he said, raising one eyebrow.

  I just shook my head in disbelief letting the nickname slide. It beat the hell out of being called a "bitch."

  “I cannot believe I said that. I cannot believe I lied.” Then I looked to his hand and back to his face. “I cannot believe you hit him.”

  He pushed himself from the doorway and entered the office with one step and a smirk. “Hey, you defended my honor, so I defended yours.”

  That got a tiny laugh out of me, but I didn’t respond.

  Chase reached behind him and shut the door to the office, closing us in—alone once again.