The Game Changer (The Perfect Game #2)

The Game Changer (The Perfect Game #2) Page 17

“Jack! Will you sign my son’s ball?” A man’s voice echoed into the night air.

I glanced at Cass, and she smiled, slowing her pace to a stop. “Sure.” The rest of the fans quickly gathered around, and I scanned the group, only signing balls and posing for pictures with kids or guys.

“Can I get a picture, Jack?” I looked up to see a pencil-thin, busty blonde batting her eyelashes at me. I wanted to fucking puke.

I looked at Cass sympathetically as she nodded, letting me know she didn’t mind. With a terse “Not tonight,” I barely looked in the woman’s direction before throwing my arm around Cass and walking toward the car. The woman mumbled “asshole” under her breath, and Cassie’s shoulders tensed.

Anxious to get going, I scanned our surroundings, not wanting to be surprised by anything or anybody as we walked toward our waiting car. I spotted a large, muscular silhouette in the distance. “How do you like Matteo?”

Cassie stopped abruptly, turning to face me. “Can you believe he’s Sal’s cousin?”

I laughed because I’d thought the exact same thing when he picked me up earlier. “No! I almost died when I fucking saw this guy. He’s good-looking, right?”

The guy looked like someone you’d see on a billboard or a shopping bag at the mall. I hired a fucking model to drive my smoking hot and incredibly kind girlfriend around town.

I’m an idiot.

“Yeah, he’s pretty good-looking,” she responded matter-of-factly.

I could always fire him.

Or hit him.

“You don’t get to leave me for some driver.” My body tensed as jealous insecurity raged through me.

Her face contorted; I could see that my words were settling for her. “Uh, you’re insane.”

“I might be insane, but I mean it. You can’t ever leave me for someone else.” The very fucking idea of Kitten leaving me for another guy made me want to rip someone’s head off. I’d die before I let that happen. This girl is my world.

“Jack, where is all this coming from?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I think since I fucked up so badly, the only way for us to be even is for you do the same thing.” I shrugged and watched as her face changed from concern to anger.

She placed her hand firmly against her hip as she lit into me. “First of all, you don’t get to tell me what to do. You also don’t get to be the one to dictate what makes us even when it comes to your colossal fuckup. Do you understand?”

I knew she didn’t really want an answer, so I remained quiet as she continued her tirade. “The biggest thing you don’t get to do is turn this around on me. I’m not the one who did anything wrong. I’m not the one who cheated, got someone fake pregnant, and then got married. So you do not get to make this an issue where you’re the one feeling bad and I’m supposed to feel guilty over something I had no control over. That’s bullshit, Jack, and you know it.”

Chills surged down my neck, causing the hairs to stand on end with her demands. She was hot as fuck when she was angry. I wanted to rip her clothes off and take her right here, while our model driver watched. “You’re right. You’re totally right. I’m sorry.”

Her breathing still erratic, she reached for my hand, pulling me toward the giant waiting shadow. “Don’t be like that. It’s not fair to me. I’m the one who gets to be upset and have insecurities, and figure out how to trust you again. Not the other way around.” Her voice turned to a whisper as we neared Matteo.

“Good evening, Mr. Carter, Miss Andrews,” Matteo’s voice rang out as he pulled open the rear door.

“Seriously, Matteo, call me Jack. Or Carter, even. Just drop the mister. Please.”

“Are you sure?” he asked one last time.

“I’m fucking positive,” I answered with a laugh, hoping that the f-word would break the ice even further.

“OK, boss. If you insist.”

That’s right. I’m your boss, model boy. And I do insist.

“How about you, Miss Andrews?”

Cassie leaned her head to the side, her lips puckering. “How about me, what?”

Is she flirting with him?

“What do you prefer I call you?” His eyes locked on to hers, and I wanted to introduce my fist to his jaw. Or piss all over Cassie in an effort to claim her as mine.

Get it together, Carter.

“Just Cassie would be great. No Miss Andrews. It’s sorta weird and creepy.”

“You’re weird and creepy.” I leaned into her ear, whispering.

She whipped her head around to face me, and I grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her mouth to mine. Her tongue parted my lips, and I deepened the kiss, my hands roaming down her back to her ass. I squeezed and she moaned into me. My lower body willing and able, I suddenly wished for privacy glass so I could take her in the back of this car.

Matteo cleared his throat as he eased the car forward. “Sorry. I just wanted to make sure we were heading home and not stopping anywhere first.”

“We have to stop somewhere. I’m starving,” I said. “But no pizza. I need meat.”

The sound of Cass’s cell phone beeping distracted me from my starving stomach as I wondered who was texting her this late. As if sensing my question, she said, “It’s Melissa. She wants to know if we’re fighting already.” She scratched the side of her head, her hair dangling around her fingers.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know. I’m asking her.” She barely responded as her fingers raced across the cell phone screen.

“I keep forgetting it’s three hours earlier there, you know?”

“I know, right? Me too,” she said, still typing.

I watched as the Manhattan skyline grew closer with each passing moment, marveling at the unmatched character of this city. I’d never seen so many tall buildings in such a small space before. I knew that seemed stupid, but there was nothing like this in Southern California. I fucking loved it here already. Cassie’s phone beeped again. And then again, as I turned to her.

“Oh my God.”

“What is it?” I focused as she covered her mouth with her hand. “Cass?”

She waved a finger in the air. “There are pictures of us online already. From when we were just talking a few minutes ago. They look bad.”

Cassie shoved her cell phone in front of my face, and I stared at the three attached photos, all showing Cassie looking upset and angry while I stood there like a jackass. The Internet caption on the photo read: “Jack Hits a Home Run on the Field, but Strikes Out at Home!”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, her voice shaking.

I tossed my arm around her shoulder, pulling her body against me. “There’s nothing you can do. We should probably be more aware from now on when we’re out in public.” Anger worked through me as I digested the simple fact that nowhere was safe from prying eyes. It was the one part of being a professional athlete that I loathed. I hated having no control over which pictures were posted of my personal life and when. I honestly couldn’t give a shit what they posted about me, but posting things about Cassie crossed the line.

“I’m so sorry, Jack. I didn’t even think about who might be watching.” Her breath warmed my chest.

“It’s not your fault.” I planted a kiss on the top of her head. “We didn’t have to deal with this kind of stuff before.”

“I look like such a bitch in those pictures.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I tried to reassure her but ended up pissing her off instead.

She pushed away from my chest, squaring her shoulders to me as her breath quickened. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”

I leaned forward, cupping her cheek in my hand. “I’m just saying that people are going to think whatever they want to think, no matter what we look like in some online photo.”

Her eyes closed as her breathing evened out. “But I don’t want people to think you have some crazy mean girlfriend who yells at you after your games.”

“They won’t,” I told her. I couldn’t promise her that people wouldn’t think badly of her, but I’d do my fucking best to try. I’d fight the press for her. I’d do anything to keep her feeling safe, happy, and loved. She didn’t deserve to be vilified online for any reason. Hell, if the public knew anything about our relationship, they’d be hunting me down daily with pitchforks and chanting. “But you have to promise me something, Cass.”

Her brow furrowed. “What?” she pouted, looking up at me with those big green eyes.

“You can’t let them get to you. The press will write and post whatever they think will sell ads or get them attention. They say things all the time that aren’t true, and you just have to remember what is and what isn’t. OK?”

I’d experienced how rabid the press can get when it comes to players. I’d escaped the scrutiny somehow in regard to everything that happened between Chrystle and me. I always wondered if Marc had something to do with that, but I’d never asked him. I watched my teammates’ relationships crumble under the pressure and never once blamed them or their girlfriends for not being able to handle it. But I knew I couldn’t let that happen to Cassie and me. I’d make sure of it.

“Cass? Just try not to read anything if you can help it. Tell Melissa to filter what she sends you,” I suggested.

“Like only send me something if it’s good?” She shrugged.

“Yeah, Kitten.” I pressed my lips against her forehead. “Tell her to only send the good stuff.”

When Life Gives You Lemons

Cassie

Not wanting to wake up Jack, I grabbed my things for work as quietly as possible and headed out our front door. Once outside the apartment building, I rushed toward the subway station, noting the time. If I missed my train, I’d have to grab a cab. And grabbing a cab would take forever at this time of the morning.

I passed by a local newsstand as a headline caught my eye: “WELCOME TO THE BIG APPLE, JACK CARTER! GRAB A SEAT AND STAY AWHILE!” Jack had a love-hate relationship with the press. He told me once that the press only likes you when you’re winning. But the second you lose, you’re the first one they blame. It didn’t serve any purpose for him to read the things written about him by strangers, so he never did. He always said that he knew what he needed to improve upon, and he didn’t need it shoved down his throat by some reporter who had no idea what it was like to stand on that mound.

Plus, the bad articles really pissed him off, and he almost punched out a reporter once. One long-winded talk in the manager’s office with the media director present, and Jack vowed to never read any more press about the team again.

Even still, seeing this paper caused my heart to swell in size. His first win for the Mets was printed in black ink, and I wanted to cherish the memory, even if he didn’t. I figured since the article was positive, maybe Jack wouldn’t mind. So, I purchased one copy to read and another to keep.