Page 13 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Don’t jinx me, dude. Bad juju is everywhere these days.”

“Look who you’re talking to,” Easton says with a shake of his head. “I feel like I’ve been swimming in it for months. My luck has to return soon.”

“Fucking bad juju,” J.P. says with a laugh before leaning closer to Easton and murmuring so I can barely hear it, “But dude, the DL has never looked as appealing as it does right now.”

“Watch Guzman’s slider tonight,” Easton says, talking right over the comment as if he didn’t hear it. “I was studying him against the Yankees the other night, and it’s starting to float some.”

“Ah, the beloved hanging curveball,” J.P. says as he takes a few steps backward toward the door. He slides his eyes my way and offers up a smile before looking back to Easton. “Good thing I know how to swing my stick.”

Easton picks up his shirt sitting beside him, balls it up, and throws it at him, just as he darts out of the doorway and past the windows, into the depths of the now-full clubhouse. I avoid the natural inclination to watch him, because the pregame ritual has started out there, and that means men in varying stages of undress, shooting the shit as they mentally prepare for their night of work.

“Hot damn. She’s as hot up close? Shit,” someone says loud enough for me to hear. Seems that J.P. was the one elected to come on in and get a closer look at the new female trainer.

There’s one in every clubhouse.

“Hurt me, baby,” someone else cries out.

“Oh, Easton. Let me stretch you and bend you and do naughty things to you,” another teammate mimics in a high-pitched voice.

Without glancing up, I lift my middle finger to the men, who I’m more than sure are watching and waiting to see my reaction from their schoolyard ribbing. Laughter rumbles through the locker room at my response, but I hear a muttered, “Goddammit,” beneath Easton’s breath.

“Let me guess? Tino and Drew?” I ask, completely unfazed.

“Yep,” he sighs with a roll of his eyes.

“Good to see they’ve matured since high school,” I say lightheartedly as I continue to put the ultrasound machine away. But when I turn back around, I’m stopped in my tracks by the look on his face. His expression is guarded, and yet there’s something about it—a hint of surprise maybe—that holds my feet still and my attention hostage. “What is it?”

“Just trying to figure you out, is all,” he says with a shake of his head.

“There’s not much to figure.”

“I disagree.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” I say as I spray disinfectant on the table and start to wipe it down, anything to avoid the softening of his eyes and the questions I don’t want to answer. “I’m boring. A what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of girl.”

“Except you wear your heart on your sleeve.” My hand falters mid-motion then I continue to clean with a renewed vigor, but he doesn’t turn to leave like I had hoped. “You come off tough as nails, like you don’t let shit get to you, and yet that heart you’re wearing says there’s a helluva lot more than the tough exterior does.”

“And your point?”

“Nothing. Just making an observation.”

Those words scrape nerves already raw after the last few months. Comebacks and rebukes all swirl in my head, but every single one of them is on the defensive. And while the defensive implies he’s right—and he is right—I sure as hell don’t want to let him know that.

This is work—the reputation I’m trying to establish. And he’s a client who holds the ticket to achieve two of my goals.

“Scout and Easton sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” someone sings above the fray outside the door.

“Let it rest, guys,” Easton shouts over his shoulder.

“It’s fine,” I say.

“Of course it is. Anything to save you from having this discussion, right?”

“There’s nothing wrong with wearing your heart on your sleeve.” I may say the words to play it off, but my tone doesn’t sound as forgiving.

“Sorry.” He sighs. “For what I said . . . and for the assholes.”

“Don’t be. I’m here for you. Not them.” I risk a glance their way and smile. “Hopefully none of them get hurt, because I’d be a lot less gentle if I have to rehab them.” I get the chuckle from him I was working for and hope the discussion is now buried.