Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
He chuckled as he waved me on, and I started for the stairs.
I looked down at the new Fitbit on my hand, the one Hancock had given to me the night before.
He’d received it as part of a promotional campaign, and he was supposed to wear it and then let them know what he thought of the product.
Except Hancock didn’t wear anything on his wrists during games or practices—which happened to be what he was doing much of the time during the season—so he’d given it to me.
It was cool, I’d give them that.
It was also motivating.
I hadn’t realized how little I moved until this thing on my wrist told me.
Which, I suppose, was the whole purpose of this product in the first place.
Normally, I would’ve taken the elevator to where I needed to go, but today I chose the stairs to boost today’s step count hit since yesterdays had been so pitifully lame.
I’d just crested the first flight of stairs when I saw Sinclair coming down from the flight above me, a box in his hands and a scowl on his face.
“Fuckin’ bitch,” Sinclair growled. “This is all your fault.”
At first, I thought he was talking to me, but it soon became apparent that he wasn’t when he looked over his shoulder.
“Not sure why you think it’s my fault,” Croft grumbled. “I paid you kindly for what you did.”
“Not kindly enough to lose this job. Do you realize how much I make a year?” he asked. “Two hundred K. That’s twice the amount that you offered to pay me for doing your dirty work.”
“You did this to yourself. I paid you. I never told you to make friends with that bitch’s ex-boyfriend or try to get her fired,” Croft shot back. “That’s all on you.”
“Well you better find a way to get me another decent-paying job, or I’ll let everyone know that you were the one stealing everybody’s stuff,” Sinclair snapped.
“It wasn’t stealing. I borrowed,” Croft replied.
“You stole the glove. You made a copy of the glove, but you still have the original,” Sinclair stopped and dropped his box to the stairs. “You took Manny’s bubble gum and Jessup’s batting gloves.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Croft narrowed his eyes.
“I do know what I’m talking about.” Sinclair crossed his arms over his chest. “And that’ll get you kicked out of this place just as surely as calling that bitch a fat ass will.”
I went to the landing and tried the door handle, thankful that it wasn’t locked.
It led to the locker room level, which usually was locked.
Luckily, not today, because without waiting for a reply, Sinclair picked his box up and tucked it under his arm.
“I suggest you figure out whether having a professional baseball career is worth…you fucking bitch!”
This time I knew he was talking to me. I knew it, mostly because the moment I tried to go into the door, someone was coming out of it, forcing me to back up whether I wanted to or not.
“Language,” the big man, Furious George, replied. “Sorry, little lady. Did you need something in here?”
I nodded my head and then blushed.
I didn’t normally go into the locker room if there was a possibility that they were getting dressed, if I could help it. Most of them walked around naked half the time, and if I could save myself the embarrassment of seeing men who weren’t Hancock naked, I’d do it.
“I was trying to see Hancock,” I lied. “Is he in there?”
Furious George’s face went from me, to the stairs above me where I suspected Sinclair and Croft were standing, glaring most likely.
“How about you and me walk up there together?” he asked. “I wanted to get you to look at my wrist anyway. I had to play with a different bat yesterday because mine went missing, and now it’s killing me.”
I wanted to scream at Croft, asking him if he’d stolen George’s bat, too, but I managed to control that reaction.
But just barely.
I could tell when we passed Croft that he knew I was about to blab everything.
Which was why, in the next moment, he grabbed me by the hair as I moved by him and tried to throw me down the stairs.
But suddenly we weren’t alone.
George took Croft by the throat as I started to fall.
Or would have fallen had my man not caught me before I could go tumbling down the stairs.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Hancock hissed, pulling me protectively into his arms and burying his face into my neck. “What the hell is wrong with that fucking kid?”
George’s hand tightened on the kid’s throat, and Sinclair took in the look on both George and Hancock’s faces and decided to cut his losses.
Without another word, he left, leaving us alone with a purple-faced Croft who had a whole lot of questions to answer.