He was so screwed.
Chapter Four
Emmy wasn’t sure what she expected Tucker’s response to be, but the dumbfounded look he was giving her now hadn’t been it.
“Hey,” she said, kicking herself for sounding so meek. “Sorry again about earlier.”
“Huh?”
“The whole bike-accident thing?” She raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if maybe he had suffered a bump to the head.
The manager stuffed a wad of chewing tobacco into his upper lip and cast a wary glance between the two of them. Emmy had noticed he tended to regard everything like it was a problem waiting to happen. At least when it came to her. She knew hiring a woman hadn’t been his choice because he was as old-school boys’ club as they came in the league. It had been a progressive-thinking assistant general manager who’d seen her resume instead of her boobs and convinced the rest of them to give her the head trainer job.
When Chuck decided it didn’t appear they were going to do anything nefarious, he wandered away to yell at someone else.
“Oh, right,” Tucker said, bringing her back to the utterly awkward conversation they were engaged in. “Here’s my question. Since you knew who I was then, why didn’t you say something?”
She blushed, the familiar unwelcome heat flooding her cheeks. Even as a child she’d blushed too easily, which made it impossible for her to lie without giving an obvious tell. It also proved to be an embarrassing giveaway when she was aroused. Hard to play it cool when your cheeks and ears were as pink as a girly baby shower.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve mentioned that a few times now.” The smile he gave her wasn’t his big, toothy, press-conference smile, but it was sweeter. Just a small curve of the lips that set her heart aflutter.
“I was shocked, I guess. I mean, it’s not every day a girl almost kills a two-time Cy Young winner, you know,” Emmy teased, then blushed upon mentioning the prestigious pitching award. Now she sounded more like a groupie than a professional.
“So you figured your best bet was to run away and hope I didn’t recognize you?”
“Uh, yeah. Don’t you like my clever disguise?” She pointed to her ponytail and hoped he’d laugh. When he did, the pit of anxiety in her belly loosened. “This morning wasn’t at all how I pictured meeting you.”
“Probably left more of an impression, though.”
“No doubt. Now I’ll forever be that woman who can’t ride a bike.”
“I prefer to think of you as that woman who stole my lucky bandana.”
Emmy’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh crap. You mean the bandana I threw out when I got back to my rental?” She maintained her serious expression long enough for Tucker to look like he might cry, then winked at him. “I’m kidding. But I did throw it in the wash. I hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t sure I should return it to you covered in my blood.”
Tucker smiled again, and she was really starting to like this toned-down version. He was well-known for his big grin and dimples, but there was an earnest charm to the closed-lip grin he was favoring her with.
She got distracted by his eyes the same way she had earlier, switching her focus from the blue one to the brown one and back again. After a moment, she realized she was staring, and when you’re staring at someone’s eyes, it’s hard for them not to notice.
When she was obviously busted, he gave her a wink. They began to walk towards the rest of the players where the outfielders had already begun throwing drills.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
“Nah, I’m used to it. People stare a lot.”
Considering he stood over six feet tall, was handsome to the point of absurdity, and also happened to be one of the most famous—and well paid—players in baseball, Emmy was willing to bet his eyes weren’t what made most people stare.
“It’s cool,” she admitted. “I used to notice it on TV when I watched you play.” Once again, she was sounding like a groupie. “I mean…when I’d catch a Felons game. From time to time.”
“You a Felons fan?” he prodded.
Technically, the correct answer should
have been of course. But Emmy was a baseball girl and had been her whole life. She’d also been raised in Chicago and wasn’t about to lie to him about where her fandom allegiance was.
“Chicago Cubs.” She offered an apologetic shrug. They were almost to the bullpen, where a few of the other guys were firing warm-up throws to their catchers.