His smile sends goose bumps up my spine. “There’s something about the contest I haven’t told you yet. Another perk that goes with winning.”
“Which is?”
“The winning team gets to call one inning of an Arizona Diamondbacks game.”
I clean cheese off my fingers while my heart beats faster. “Regular season?”
“The real deal.”
“At the stadium? In the booth?”
He nods. “If we were to win this, you’d make it to the big leagues ahead of your dad.”
The napkin crumples in my fist. My breath comes short. I know it isn’t healthy to hate your dad. It isn’t healthy to want him to hurt.
That doesn’t change the way I feel.
There’s heat behind my eyes, but I won’t cry. I’m not the needy kid I used to be. It’s the one thing that haunts me: the memory of how pathetic I was. I thought we were a team when my father never cared about me.
But he cared about baseball.
Making it to the major leagues was the one defining dream of his entire life. Would it break him to see me in the broadcast booth of a major league game? To know I made it when he never did?
No. Of course not.
But would it hurt? Would it sting a little?
Yeah, it might.
Garrett smiles. “I found your why.”
I nod because there’s no denying it. “You found my why.”
Chapter Nine
“I love being right.” Garrett leans back. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now; it happens all the time.”
I toss my napkin at him.
He laughs, catching it with a deft flick of his wrist and tossing it back. “Everyone has a why, even if they don’t know it.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I drop the napkin in my basket. “Are you done gloating?”
Laughter seems to lighten the color of his eyes. “I will never be done gloating.”
I’m distracted from replying by the sound of plastic wrap. I blink and point to my brownie, which is now unwrapped and in his hand. “Hey. You stole my brownie.”
“We’re partners now, Walters. We share everything. Even chocolate.”
The word “partner” gives me pause, but I break off a corner when he holds out the brownie. “I’m still not saying yes. I don’t have time for revenge.”
“There’s always time for revenge.” He sets the brownie on a napkin between us where I can reach for more. “Is it your job? Because I only need you for two home games a week, usually Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“It’s not that,” I admit. “Brandi is flexible with my schedule and my main shifts are Wednesday Book Club and Saturday Storytime.”
“Then what?”
“I run a business with my mom. AromaTher skin care.”
“Oh,” he says, as if he’s solved a puzzle. “That’s why you smell good.”
I roll my eyes but still feel an unwelcome spike of pleasure at the compliment. “You only think I smell good because you spent all that time in the booth with Nathan.”
“Possibly.” He splits the last piece of brownie and hands me half. “So can’t she give you six weeks off?”
“I’m not an employee. I’m a partner.”
“A partner?”
“It’ll be official when I turn eighteen in May.”
“Really? Is that your idea?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
A tick beats at the corner of his jaw. “I’ve got a father who wants me to go into business with him. And it’s definitely not my idea.”
“What kind of business?”
“Accounting. He has room for another tax guy.”
“And you’re a tax guy?”
“I’m good at math.”
“Is that the same thing?”
“No,” he says flatly. “And I hate accounting. But that’s a minor detail for my dad.”
I can feel his tension across the table, and I’m curious in spite of myself. “So you have a better plan?”
“I did.” He shakes the ice cubes in his cup, but I have the feeling he’d really like to launch them.
“Let me guess. Plan A was baseball.”
“And Plan B and Plan C. But now I’m supposed to embrace Plan Never-Going-to-Happen and move to Dallas.”
“Your dad lives in Dallas?”
He nods. “My parents are divorced.”
“So what are you going to do? You can’t pitch—not with a bad arm.”
“There are other things I can do to stay in the game.”
“Like broadcasting?”
“Broadcasting would be one option.” His eyes lower, shuttering his expression. I wonder if this broadcasting contest is about more than winning. If it’s a way for him to show his dad it’s a better career path for him. No wonder he’s been working this so hard.
Still. You have to know when to say when. Dreams are opportunities for disappointment—I’m an expert at that. I’m doing him a favor, even if he doesn’t realize it. I open my mouth, but he speaks before I do.
“Please, Josie.” His voice comes low, almost pleading.
My words dry up. My dad never once said please.
His eyes snag mine, holding me in the beam of his need. I feel myself waver. Beneath the Teflon charm, Garrett is actually afraid. He needs this.
Maybe I need this, too.
If I do it, maybe I can finally put my dad in the past. I can let it go once I show him his daughter is a winner, even if he never was.
My hands are sweaty as I clasp them together under the table. “All right. I’ll do it.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, showcasing perfect bone structure and a mouth that makes me think of kissing. He really is gorgeous, damn him. And he’s looking at me with so much warmth, I want to melt.
Nope. No way.
Instead, I stiffen my spine and focus on his nose. It’s an extremely average nose. “There are going to be rules,” I blurt out.
“Sure,” he says easily. “What rules?”
I pause. What rules? “Well. For starters, no extra games, no tournaments, no weekend showcases.”
“No problem. You don’t even have to call the playoff games. The contest entries are due May first at the end of the regular season so no team has an unfair advantage. You can be done once we turn in our tape. You won’t have to see me again until June twenty-sixth.”
“What’s June twenty-sixth?”
“The Diamondbacks game where you and I
