He tried to drape his arm over my shoulders again, but this time I was too fast and avoided him.
“Ready to head to the field?” I asked.
“Sure thing, Saucy,” he leered. I didn’t even bother asking him to call me something else. It hadn’t worked in the past, it wasn’t going to work now. “Mike told me you need a lot of help on this one,” he said as we headed towards the parking lot.
“Mike just wants a good article,” I said, trying to be as diplomatic as possible.
“Yeah, and clearly he regrets sending a girl to do a man’s job.” Tim unlocked his car—some vintage model that he was trying to rebuild himself and doing a really, really bad job. The whole thing looked like it was Frankenstein’s monster gone very wrong. I yanked the door open, knowing there was no way Tim the jerk was going to open it for me. This, of course, was the same guy who complained about women being too independent these days. He always seemed to long for the era when his car and his imagined ideal woman existed. Not like he practiced any of the manners men exhibited during that time.
The seatbelt in the car was broken, and the entire thing smelled like fast food and cigarettes. I was incredibly grateful that I wasn’t hung over, because if I threw up in Tim’s car, he would have surely found a way to get me fired immediately.
“So, I took a look at what you sent Mike,” Tim was saying, pulling out a cigarette with one hand, driving with the other. I had sent a very rough draft of my article last night after my cry fest, half hoping that Mike would call off Tim, but knowing that was very unlikely. He had been right—I didn’t have anything. Everything I had on Nathan was off the record and I wasn’t going to cross that line, not even to forward my own career.
Tim was swerving all over the road and I held tight to my useless seatbelt, thankful that the car ride would be over soon and praying that it wouldn’t end in a wreck. He grinned, clearly enjoying my fear and blew smoke over at me. I tried not to cough. The windows were open and the A/C was either broken or not on, so I was being blasted with hot smoke and thick, humid air. How someone could smoke in this heat baffled me. Even my mother, who loved her cigarettes, found air-conditioned dive bars to do it in.
“It’s rough.” I wondered if I could hold my breath until we got to the field as Tim blew another plume of smoke in my direction.
“You can say that again.” Tim shook his cigarette at me, raining ash down on my slacks, which I quickly brushed away. This was my nicest suit and I couldn’t afford to replace it. “It’s a mess, babe. It’s got no balls.”
If it had been anyone else, if it had been Nathan or Mandy, I would have made some joke about baseballs, but it was Tim so I said nothing and just gritted my teeth.
As we pulled into the lot next to the field, my stomach was twisted up in knots. And it wasn’t from the smoking or even Tim’s shitty driving. I was nervous about seeing Nathan. I wanted not to care, but I hated that he thought that I might have planned all of this—that this was all some big, elaborate plan to get him to spill his deepest, darkest secrets. Secrets I hoped he did not have. Because if he did, Tim was going to find them. That’s what Tim did. It’s why he kept his job after years of complaints from female employees and inappropriate pranks and the occasional public intoxication—because he knew how to find a story, and the dirtier, the better.
We got out of the car and Tim squinted over towards the stands. I could see Mandy there with Chris and Nathan. My stomach did an unpleasant flip-flop. My heart did the same, much to my annoyance. How had I let myself get in so deep, so quickly?
It was the kiss, I decided. Nathan was an amazing kisser, I admitted to myself, lost for a moment in the memory of last night. His wonderful, hot, perfect mouth. Fuck, I thought, desire surging through me. This was the wrong time to be turned on. I mentally poured a bucket of ice water over myself, but it did as much good as one would expect a mental bucket of ice water would do.
“So where is this guy?” Tim asked, grabbing his leather jacket from the backseat. Yep. Tim was the kind of guy who wore a leather jacket in the summer in Texas. He had some serious (and delusional) James Dean fantasies.
I pointed in the direction of the stands, half expecting Nathan and Chris to scatter the moment they saw us. But then again, neither of them seemed to be the kind of guys who ran away from trouble. And I appreciated that they weren’t leaving Mandy to fend for herself against Tim. Not that I would let him do anything to her. Being an inappropriate shithead to me was one thing; if he said anything to Mandy, I’d slash his fucking tires. Maybe cut off his balls, too. But that would be more for me than anything.
“Let’s go, Saucy,” Tim ordered, as if I was his personal secretary. Behind his back, I rolled my eyes, but followed him over to the field. I saw all three pairs of eyes widen as we approached, but I wasn’t sure which surprised Mandy, Nathan, and Chris more, my unusually professional duds or Tim’s ridiculous ones.
Most men Tim’s age weren’t especially known for their fashion savvy, especially if they worked in journalism, and especially if they worked in journalism in Texas. It just wasn’t that important to them. What mattered, of course, was the article, or so they said. The women in my office, of course, had to care about both, or risk getting called a slut or a slob. I had gotten both descriptors tossed my way, though it was mostly the former. Most of the guys at my office lived in wrinkled shirts, often flapping untucked from their ill-fitting jeans. Tim, however, was a special kind of unfashionable.
There was the leather jacket, of course, paired with a self-cut version of a 50s pompadour, which lay limp and overlong on half of his forehead. He also dyed it black so it looked like someone had spilled ink onto his head. Beneath the jacket, already beginning to show sweat stains under the arms, was a garish Hawaiian shirt combined with a ridiculously bright pair of yellow khaki shorts that were about two inches too short to be appropriate.
I was used to his attire by now, but I could imagine how shocking it would be to people seeing him for the first time.
“Morning,” Tim shouted, even though we were practically standing in front of Nathan. He thrust out his hand. Nathan shook it cautiously, making a point not to look at me. Behind him, Chris and Mandy seemed to be doing their best not to burst out laughing, their lips tightly pursed. As for me, I wished I were anywhere but there. The hotel, maybe. Or Houston. Or Mars.
“I’m Tim Malis.”
“Nathan Ryder.” Nathan pulled his cap down low.
“Oh, I know.” Tim had a big, fake smile. “But I’m here to learn a whole lot more than just your name.”
“I’ve already been talking to Soph—, to Ms. Hall,” Nathan said, still not looking at me.
“Yeah, well.” Tim slung his arm over my shoulder, smelling of cheap cologne and BO. I wrinkled my nose at the stench. “There’s a reason you should never send a woman to do a man’s job.”
“I’m sorry?” Surprise bloomed on Nathan’s face. Maybe he’d see that I had been telling the truth. That I wanted Tim here just as much as he did, which was to say, not at all.
“You know what I mean.” Tim pointed a thumb in my direction. “When it comes to sports, you need someone who understands it. Not some pretty girl who wants to make goo-goo eyes at players in tight pants.” Tim elbowed me. “No offense, Saucy.”
Nathan’s eyes went round and I saw him take a step forward, his fingers curved in a fist. Before he could do something that Tim would most certainly be thrilled to put in his article, I plastered a big fake smile across my face and unwound myself from Tim’s sweaty grasp, stepping between the two of them. I noticed that both Chris and Mandy had stepped forward to intervene as well. Luckily Nathan didn’t move, just stood his ground, his entire body tense. It wasn’t the time to admire the way his uniform stretched across his wide, wonderful shoulders, but my hormones had been unconcerned with what was appropriate since I had arrived in Austin.