Last Strike

Face Off

Elizabeth’s POV:

I settled into my seat, trying my best to focus on the onslaught of messages and emails on my phone. Unfortunately for me, the man next to me was not going to take the hint and drop the subject.

He continued to pester me with subtle remarks, probing for details he could undoubtedly add to his article. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, Ms. Mason, but haven’t you spent the past few months in Atlanta working your PR magic on Hawking’s shattered reputation? What brings you all the way to Chicago?”

That question made me snap. “Cut the crap, James, you know damn well what my presence here means. Just like I know that you already have a scathing article about Tate written up and ready to go to print. You’re just searching for additional juicy details.”

The smug smirk returned to his face. “I wouldn’t call it scathing, Elizabeth, merely factual.”

“So you were an eyewitness to the events that took place last night? If you weren’t, then your article is hearsay rather than factual. I know that you’ll tell me that there’s video footage, but there’s always more to the story than what we’re shown.”

The appearance of the team on the field pulled my attention away from the arrogant man sitting next to me. I watched Ashton as he warmed up with the team. His movements appeared stiff and strained. I guess spending a night in a jail cell will do that to you. Years ago, I would have felt bad for him if he had the slightest struggle, but those days are long gone.

Watching them get ready for the game made me wish I had brought a scorebook. My dad had been one of the best scouts in the league and had taught me, from a young age, how to keep score and even calculate each player's stats. Today, I will have to rely on an app on my phone.

My father would be horrified.

I watched with intense focus each time Ashton came up to the plate or made a play at second base. His head was not in the game. One strikeout after another and two errors at second were proof of that. It amazed me that Jacob hadn’t bothered to bench him at some point.

Once the game was over, James rose to his feet and sarcastically said, “Good luck with your new project, Elizabeth. You’re going to need it.”

I waited for the crowds to disperse before making my way towards the locker rooms. While I stood outside the locker room, impatiently waiting for Ashton to appear, I heard the sound of a familiar voice.

“Lizzy! It’s really you. Ash wasn’t lying!”

I looked up from my phone to see Malcom Jones, Ashton’s long-time best friend, who had been like a brother to me back in our college days. His boyish good looks and dazzling smile made him a favorite among the female fans.

“Malcom, it’s great to see you! Speaking of Ashton, how long does he plan to hide out in the locker room today in an attempt to avoid me?”

He immediately diverted his eyes to the floor. His complexion turned pale at my questioning. I chuckled softly as Malcom struggled to think of an excuse for his best buddy.

“Does he really think that I won’t come in there after him?”

Malcolm’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Um, I’m sure he’s just slower than usual today because he didn’t really get any rest last night. I can let him know that you’re out here waiting for him.”

I held out my hand to stop him in his tracks. “No need. I can handle this myself.”

Just as I was about to step in, Jacob came rushing down the hallway, wearing a look of panic on his face. “Elizabeth, the reporters are hounding us for an interview or at least a statement from Ashton. What should we do?”

“Absolutely no interview. He’s not prepared to answer any questions. Tell them that a press release will be issued within the next twenty-four hours.”

Jacob nodded and rushed back in the direction he had come from. I didn’t envy him having to face the jackals of the press, who were eager to latch onto any bit of information they could about Ashton’s predicament.

I turned my attention back towards Malcom. “It was great to see you, Jonesy, but if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find your man-child of a best friend.”

Pushing open the locker room door, the strong scent of sweat mixed with various aftershaves engulfed my nostrils. My heels clicked against the tiles, alerting any men left in the room to my presence. Most of them had enough common sense to cover themselves up or flee the room entirely, but not Tate. He chose to hide in the communal shower room, assuming that I would give up and leave, but he underestimated me.

Grabbing a towel from the rack, I stepped into the entrance of the showers. I felt sorry for the innocent rookie who happened to be there at that moment. His entire body flushed a shade of pink, and he quickly fled the showers. I was half tempted to at least compliment him on his nice ass as he rushed past me, but I thought better of it.

That left just me and Ashton, who initially started to turn around to face me, but then the realization that he was completely naked must have dawned on him.

He yelled, “Lizzy! What in the hell are you doing? You shouldn’t be in here!”

I cringed at the sound of him using my nickname. “First off, you’re not allowed to call me that. As for me being here, you were the one hiding like a child, leaving me no other choice. Now, get your ass out of the shower. We have work to do.”

I tossed the towel in his direction and went to sit on the bench in front of his locker. He emerged from the shower, covered solely by the towel hanging low around his waist. Drops of water cascaded down his toned chest, and I mentally scolded myself for looking.

Of all the male athletes making poor decisions and in need of my assistance, why did it have to be him?