Does the player have the awareness to recognize the opponent’s strategy? Yes. He has a fine grasp of the sport and can anticipate where the ball will go with uncanny certainty.
Does the player think like a champion? Yes. His history with the Cuban national team instilled confidence and a winning spirit.
Does he have the mental skills to maintain discipline? Yes. He is able to control his movements both on the field and in the batter’s box, doing exactly what needs to be done in any given situation.
Does he have the kind of work ethic required? Yes. He has consistently put in the hours during the assigned practices without complaint and spends any time he can in the batting cage.
She re-read her answers. They had been unequivocal. Yes, to every damn thing. No caveats, no asterisks.
He had the build for power along with the ability to control and execute it accordingly.
He had the agility to play third base from various positions around it, and the arm strength to get the ball across the field with heat-seeking accuracy.
There was every indication he would set the standard. She couldn’t see him faltering in any category, but she knew he was human, would have his slumps, his errors, his meltdowns, but he’d always come back better than before because of his self-awareness and self-confidence. He’d bring himself back from whatever edge he found himself on.
After her meeting with Mac, which lasted a couple of hours, she returned to her office and dropped down into her chair, breathing a sigh of relief. He’d agreed with most of her assessments, and they’d discussed the projections about Buzzley, the new closer, and Napolitano, a veteran infielder who Mac thought might be on his way out. He’d lost his agility on the field and his batting average last year had been abysmal. She’d had the same concerns, but Farina had loved him and wouldn’t have allowed for a trade. Now that they’d acquired dos Santos, Nap might be of use to them for one more season, but Mac suggested she look around at who was available as a utility player. He wanted to know his options.
She was going to leave that for first thing tomorrow morning. She wanted to pick up dinner and get to Mateo’s place. She had only picked at lunch, and her stomach was growling in protest.
Usually she would have ordered something to eat here, worked for a few more hours before packing it in, but she meant to keep her promise about Mateo.
After stuffing some folders into her briefcase, she closed the clasp, put on her coat, and shut off her lights.
Lyra was staring at her as she walked by her desk toward the elevator.
“Did someone call?”
The only reason Alicia would leave before her assistant was to answer an SOS made by one of her guys.
“In a way. I’ve got to go over some things with Mateo tonight, mostly financial. I’ll see you in the morning.”
When she got to her car, she turned on the engine and blasted the heat. Then taking her phone, she called Mateo’s number.
“Alicia. Is everything all right?”
“Yes. I just want to know if you’re home yet or still with Seb.”
“He dropped me off a little while ago.”
“Good. I’m on my way and bringing dinner.”
“You are coming home?”
She let that question hang in the air. They both knew it wasn’t hers, it was his, and even though her name was on the lease, it wasn’t held as joint tenants. Instead, she let him know why she was calling.
“I’m going to Legal Seafood. After being in Gloucester yesterday, I’m craving some fried clams. Do you mind fish again?”
“Not at all. Many assume that fish was the main food source in Cuba, but it wasn’t. I didn’t eat it often, so when I did, I enjoyed it.”
“For me it became too much of a good thing. When I left home, I rarely ate it. The cravings come after a visit.”
“My father brought home squid or octopus, but once he was gone, it became a luxury item. It was rationed by the state and families were allowed only so much a month. Friends of my mother would occasionally offer it as contraband when they could.”
Her blood pressure went up a notch just thinking of the man who’d left him behind. What kind of an asshole did that? Her parents might not have had a conventional kind of relationship but neither one of them abandoned their kids. She didn’t have long to dwell on it because he added,
“What we ate was made with inexpensive ingredients. Rice and beans, black bean soup, empanadas stuffed with ham if we could afford it, lots of sandwiches.”
“I’ve eaten Cubano sandwiches. They’re delicious. Shredded pork with pickles, cheese, some kind of mojo sauce. I can pick them up for dinner, but not tonight. My heart’s set on clams. Anything special you’d like?”
“I would try some of your clams.”
Not on your life.
“I’ll get you a fisherman’s platter. That way you’ll get scallops, calamari, shrimp, clams, and whitefish. You’ll have your own, so I don’t have to share.”
“I will set the table.”
“I’m calling the order in now, so it shouldn’t take me long to get there.”
“I will be waiting.”
“Can you have a bottle of beer ready, as well?”
“I can. See you soon.”
She didn’t want to admit it, even as her foot eased down on the accelerator, but she couldn’t wait to get there.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Mateo swiped off, he got up and busied himself in the kitchen, getting the plates out of the cabinet, the utensils out of the drawer, and then setting the table. He took a step back and decided that there was too much distance between them. He scooped everything up and transferred it to the kitchen bar, where they could sit closer together.
He’d been surprised that she’d called so early, knew she worked long hours, and he wasn’t expecting her back until way after dark. Now, he couldn’t wait for
