Home Run Baby: A Sports Romance (2 page)

“You’re the only one free.”

“But I’m
not
…”

He leers at me a little longer. “Daisy, I’m bending over backwards just giving you
Saturday
off. You know what it’s like here during May.
Dads and Grads.
”

I bite my cheek, choking down the urge to crack his head open with this camera. “I get it,” I nod. “Sorry, Malcolm. It’s fine. I can take the shift.”

He says nothing as he makes a quick mark on his clipboard, most likely checking off
Ruin Daisy’s Pathetic Life
scrawled between
Eat a Shit Burrito
and
Don’t Do Laundry for Three Weeks and Hope No One Notices
.

I walk off and throw on another smile as I join the Johnson family by the computers.

If you had told me five years ago that I’d still be working in this freaking portrait studio now, I would have insisted you were crazy. There was just no way. I was young and bright. Blonde and hot. The sky was the limit for me. This job was supposed to be first base; just the first stop on the path to home plate. I’d work here for a while, learn all I could, and build up a portfolio to send off to bigger, better employers before waving my middle finger at this place and driving off into the sunset.

I guess I was a touch too optimistic.

At least, I’ll have my sister to vent at this summer. Nearly three months of mayhem with Rose should be enough to get me through life under Malcolm’s thumb until she goes back to grad school in the fall.

Also, it’s baseball season. My favorite season.

And
no one
is gonna ruin that for me.

***

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out to find a new text from Rose.

Just landed! See you soon!

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight slide off my shoulders as I blow it back out. Stress leaves with it and I forget all about Malcolm and Trey and that shitty photo studio job. The next few days will be nothing but rest and relaxation with my twin.

A few minutes later, a line of people walk out of the gate and I stand up from my chair in the crowded airport lobby. I offer soft apologies as I push through to the front, sliding beneath the arms of tall people towering over me. Most move to the side as I pass, likely assuming I’m a lost child at first but I guess that’s one perk of being petite.

I navigate to the front of the crowd and wait for my own face to appear in the door.

Finally, there she is, drifting through the doorway with her suitcase rolling behind her. She finds me instantly and her face splits with a huge smile, just as mine does as we both wave at each other.

Blonde hair, check! Glasses, check!

Giant, footballer boyfriend…
check?

I see him walking beside her and I cringe on the inside.

What the hell is
he
doing here?

“Daisy!” Rose throws her arms around me and squeezes tight.

“Rose!” I close my eyes, returning the hug for as long as possible before I have to deal with the tag-a-long.

We pull away and I look at him.

“Hey,
halfback
,” I greet.

“Hello, Daisy,” he smiles.

John Kirby. My sister’s boyfriend and newly-recruited professional football player. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, textbook handsome face. Not my type but my twin and I have always had different tastes in men.

“It’s nice to see you,” I say, “but what are you doing here? I thought Rose was coming alone this summer…”

Rose flicks my arm with a sharp nail before stepping closer to him. “I
am
,” she says. “John just came with me to make sure I made it safely. He’s flying back on Sunday since he has to start training on Monday.”

I smirk at him. “How
sweet
.”

“And…” She slides an arm around his back and he clings to her, too. “We have some news.”

“Really?” I swallow. “What is it?”

“You want to tell her now?” he asks her.

Rose nods and my gut sinks a little lower.

“Tell me what?” I ask.

They look at each other, their eyes shimmering with disgusting love, and I know exactly what she’s about to say before she even opens her mouth.

“We’re engaged!”

She whips her left hand forward and presents that sparkling diamond at me.

I stare at it without moving, without blinking, and without thinking, either.

“Daisy?”

I clear my throat. “Wow,” I chuckle, forcing some form of emotion to the surface. “That’s amazing! Congratulations!”

Rose smiles, pleased with the reaction as she detaches from John. “I know it’s pretty sudden, but…”

I wave a hand. “No, not at all. Of course, you guys were gonna end up together. No surprises here…”

She squints at me but I step forward to hug her again and bury my face in her shoulder so she can’t easily decipher what I’m really thinking.

Ah, crap.

Chapter 2

Daisy

I sneak out into the hall just after midnight to grab my keys.

Rose and John have made themselves comfortable on the futon in my living room, cuddling in the dark and snoozing softly. It’s been a long night for them, after all. The three of us sitting around, chatting about
their
upcoming wedding and
her
education and
his
football career while I emptied the last of my whiskey reserves and pretended not to be screaming inside.

I take off into the night with my phone and run a search for the nearest bar. Luckily, there’s one two blocks down. I’ve never been there before but I’m not picky — even if it is some rundown place in the basement of some fancy restaurant.

Unlike the eatery above it, this place is so empty, I think for a moment it might be closed. Dim, moody lighting blends with the red wallpaper, creating an atmosphere that I can really only describe as eerily romantic.

I turn to leave but the bartender silently waves me in from behind the bar.

He catches my eyes long before I fully adjust to the quiet lighting. It’s not easy to look away from him, honestly. He’s no older than I am, mid-twenties and average in height. The black shirt he wears hides a toned physique and I catch the edges of a few tattoos peeking out on his biceps.

I sit down at the bar and he drifts over to me.

“What can I get you?” he asks.

“Whiskey sour, please,” I say, withdrawing my wallet to find my ID. I flash it at him and his gaze barely snipes it as he pulls a clean glass out from beneath the counter.

As he fixes my drink, I take a closer look at him. Bright, green eyes. Caramel-colored hair that’s just about an inch too long but he makes it work. It wouldn’t surprise me if he moonlights as a model or something — but maybe that’s just wishful thinking…

He glances up at me and I quickly look away. I focus instead on the old man sitting at the other end of the bar, hunched over a crossword puzzle with a tiny pencil in his wrinkled fingers. I spin around in my stool and stare into the empty corners of the place until I hear my glass touch the counter.

“Here you go.”

I face forward and nod without looking at him. “Thanks.”

He walks away, drifting back over to the other side to check on the old man while I waste no time downing my entire drink.

I glance around, noticing the magazine articles framed on the walls. Mostly local history. Nothing to get excited about.

I set the glass down and lean forward to rest my head on my arm.

Rose is getting married.

Of course, she is.

With closed eyes, I try to force the nerves out and listen to the dull music piping through the crackling jukebox in the corner.

“Wanna talk about it?”

I open my eyes and raise my head to find that hot bartender standing in front of me. “Do they train bartenders to ask that?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Really?”

“Most drunks just want someone to listen to what they have to say,” he says. “And most bars want to keep them talking for as long as possible because the longer they sit on that stool…”

I raise my empty glass. “The more booze they imbibe.”

He takes the glass and sets it in front of him to refill it. “Money in the register. Tips in the jar.”

“That’s pretty skeevy.”

He shrugs. “It’s just business.”

I nod, watching him as he mixes my drink again. “So, I’m a
drunk
, eh?”

“I didn’t say that,” he chuckles.

I point a finger. “You
implied
it.”

“Maybe. Would that also imply that you want someone to listen to what you have to say?”

“I don’t know.” I kick the leg of my stool with my heel. “This ancient stool feels awfully flimsy to be a soapbox.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

“Do you actually enjoy listening to the slurred ramblings of anonymous, inebriated, bar patrons?”

“Are you always this wordy when you’re tipsy?”

“Only on Thursdays.”

“It’s Friday.”

“Well, shit.”

He laughs and leans forward, resting his elbows on the bar between us. “So, I ask again. Wanna talk about it?”

I glance at the old man down the bar again before letting out a stiff sigh. “My sister is getting married.”

“And you’re not happy about it?”

“What makes you say that?”

He slides to the left and points over his shoulder, gesturing to the mirrored wall behind him.

I look forward into my own pale face and black-lined eyes, noting the deep frown and the rather heavy cloud weighing down on my shoulders.

“Oh. Right.” I take a long sip from my whiskey, nearly draining half the glass and a rush of dizziness plagues my head.

“Let me guess,” he says, sidling back over. “She’s your
younger
sister?”

“
Older
, actually,” I say. “By about three minutes.”

“You’re twins.”

“Yep.”

“Then, what’s up?” he asks. “You don’t like the groom?”

“
Eh…
he’s all right,” I shrug. “Pretty good, actually.”

“So, what is there to be unhappy about?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” I begin, “I
love
my sister. She’s my life; my blood. Quite literally my reflection…”

He waits.
“But…?”

I heave a breath. “Lately, it’s become painfully obvious to me how unequal we are.”

“How so?”

“She’s a teacher,” I explain. “She influences
lives
. She’s in grad school. She’s smart. Like
really
smart.”

“And you’re not?”

“I didn’t even go to college.”

“So?” He grabs the whiskey bottle and tips it over my glass, pouring it to the top. “Neither did I. Best decision I ever made.”

“But I wonder sometimes if having that one line of text on my résumé would have put me in a better place now.”

“And what do you do now?”

“I take pictures.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing — if I actually got to take the photos I
want
to take instead of telling asshole kids to smile or snapping yet another damn glossy memory of a couple slicing into an overpriced, multi-tiered, gluten factory.”

He laughs. “What would you rather be taking pictures of?”

I look away, hesitating to say it. “Baseball,” I mutter under my breath.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to be a sports photographer?” he asks, raising a brow.

I shrug. “It’s dumb, I know…”

“It’s
not
, actually,” he says. “That’s really cool.”

“That’s also really competitive and surprisingly difficult to break into,” I point out. “I’ve sent my portfolio to
Sports Illuminated
a half dozen times in the last few years and never got
one
call back. And
expensive
. You’d be shocked to discover how long it takes to afford a professional telephoto lens when you make a buck over minimum wage.”

He smiles. “And on top of all that, you’re
single
, too.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Just a wild guess.”

“Perpetually,”
I confirm, taking another sip. “And I don’t even mean to be. I’ll meet a guy and it’ll be great and then,
just like that
, it’s not anymore. I could sit here all night and list off all the made-up, bullshit reasons for why my relationships go wrong but the fact is… the only thing they all have in common is
me
.” I point my thumbs at my face. “This gal right here.”

“Look on the bright side…” he shrugs. “At least you won’t have to secretly superimpose your own face on your sister’s wedding photos to feel better about yourself. It’s already there.”

I chuckle. “Well, I’ll always have
that
.”

“See?” He holds up his hands. “Things are looking up already.”

I stare into my glass. “She wouldn’t even have gone out with him if it weren’t for me. That’s the big difference between us. My sister plays it safe. She doesn’t break rules. She doesn’t take risks.” I laugh. “And then
the
first time
she steps out of bounds…”