The Perfect Play by Cookie O’Gorman

CHAPTER 12: Charlie

My plan had backfired.

I freely admitted that.

Suggesting that Chase 'practice' had been a stroke of genius—or so I'd thought. It was a win-win situation. I save Chase from his brothers and the party he obviously wanted to escape, help him out a bit with his romance skills and win the bet with Emmy all in one go.

It was supposed to be easy.

I didn't count on him ignoring my cues or the looks I was throwing him. Though I knew Chase had done that in the past (with me and several other girls), we'd been in his room, and I was practically reclining on the bed for goodness sakes. I hadn't anticipated his willpower being so strong. That was my first mistake.

My second was letting him get past my defenses.

Nice Guy Chase wasn't supposed to have moved me in any way.

His cuteness would've made an innocent, happy-go-lucky girl blush. But I was tough, battle-weary. I'd been on the dating scene too long. His inexperience shouldn't have worked for me.

But seriously. Who knew nice guys could flip from cute to sexy at the drop of a hat? It shouldn't be allowed. Wasn't it enough that Chase was so amazing looking? Did he have to be charming, too? Was there no justice in the world?

As I sat outside, baking in the midday heat, watching Chase's muscles flex as he wound up to pitch, I couldn't deny it. The lord had definitely blessed the O'Brien gene pool. I sighed—but snapped out of it as the crowd around me groaned.

Emmy and June were the loudest.

"What?" I asked, looking around. "What just happened?"

Honor gestured to the field. "Chase walked that guy."

"Is that bad?"

She nodded. "It's his second game back, but there's only so much leeway people will give him before..."

"Before?" I prompted.

Emmy sighed. "If he doesn't start performing, people will talk. Doubt will set in. Word travels fast in baseball. If they think he's unreliable, it could devastate his chances of playing professional."

"Oh come on," I said. "It can't be that serious. It's not as if that guy got a hit."

"He didn't have to," Emmy said. "Walks are almost worse. It's like handing the other team a free pass without the batter doing anything. And it reflects badly on the pitcher."

June grimaced. "Plus, he's fading every time he goes out."

Emmy shook her head. "I noticed that, too. Poor Chase."

I couldn't help but frown. "What are you talking about? He looks great to me. It's only been a couple days since the last game. Give the guy a break."

"There's no time for breaks," Emmy said. "This is college ball, Charlie. The games are constant, and the other teams aren't messing around."

"And," June added, "everyone loves beating the Wolves."

If I needed any proof of that, I got it a few minutes later.

"Chase just struck that guy out," I said. "That's what you call it, right?"

"Yeah," June said. "It wasn't pretty, but he got him."

"Awesome."

Honor bit her lip. "I think they should take him out now. He looks tired."

"What are you saying? He just got that guy out!"

"Yeah, but it's nearing the end of the third. That's where he faltered last time."

"Just give him a chance," I said.

"Archer says Chase isn't as sure of himself anymore," she said. "He's holding back during practice, and he can't figure out why."

I shrugged. "Saving it for the game?"

Emmy spoke up. "Chase never used to do that. He gave his all at all times."

"He needs to be careful," June said.

"I told you his arm's fine," I said. "I examined him myself."

"It's not that. If he isn't sure, if he doesn't go one-hundred percent, bad things can happen."

"Like what?" I asked.

A loud crack sounded, and the other team's fans went wild.

"Like that," June groaned.

Emmy's mouth was gaping when I looked to her.

"Triple," she mumbled. "That's called a triple. The guy who was on first will score, and the batter who just hit ends up on third in perfect scoring position. Damn. With Chase pitching, that never happens."

But it just did, I thought.

"Wasn't that the other team's pitcher?" Honor asked. "I thought they weren't usually so good at bat."

Emmy nodded. "They're not. But I guess that guy is. God, this is going to kill Chase."

My eyes went in search of her brother, but instead of finding him on the mound, Chase was walking to the dugout. Looked like Coach O'Brien felt the same way as Honor. He was being taken out of the game. After allowing that hit, it seemed like adding insult to injury. Chase's face looked as if it had been carved from granite. Hard. Emotionless. But even from here I could see the tension in his shoulders.

The game only got worse.

Pulling Chase out didn't seem to matter in the end. The other team just played better. They looked more confident. They got ahead and stayed there, delivering a crushing loss to Southern U. This time when I went to find Chase after the fans had exited the stands and the visiting team was well on their way home, his face looked exactly as it had out there on the field.

I was right about him being tense.

His shoulders were like rocks, and it took some time to get him to relax.

He didn't seem like he wanted to talk.

But after his phone rang for the fourth time, I couldn't keep quiet.

"Who keeps calling you?" I asked.

Chase pressed ignore. "Agents, scouts, reporters. Take your pick."

"Sounds like you're really popular."

He gave a harsh sigh. "Yeah, for all the wrong reasons."

"I hear you," I said, trying to distract him. "Back in high school, I once dated a guy named Vince Caputo. He told all his friends that he banged me in the back of his van. Gross, right? I was a freshman, and he was a junior. We only kissed, and it wasn't even memorable."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I denied it, of course, but his football buddies believed him. Vince was so hot and charismatic, who wouldn't? I became the girl everyone liked to say they got with—even if they hadn't. Vince's van, though, mysteriously ended up with four slashed tires and a cracked windshield."

"Good for you," he said.

"After that, I was the crazy girl everyone wanted to say they hooked up with."

"Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we stop talking about this?" he said. "It's making me angry. The more you say the more I want to go find this Vince and kick his ass."

My brows lifted in surprise. "But you're so nice and cool-headed. Have you ever actually kicked anyone's ass?"

"No," he said, "but I would for you."

It was quiet for a few moments as I continued to work on him, checking things out, making sure there wasn't any swelling. Inside, I was battling the urge to hug him for the sweet things he'd just said. Even if it was BS, I appreciated the thought. The Wolves had a room dedicated to therapy and recovery that was between the main locker room and exit door. Anyone leaving would have to go by us. I could hear voices coming our way before I saw who they belonged to—but I kind of wished Chase couldn't.

"It's sad," one of them said. "The guy used to pitch near-perfect games. Now, he can't hack three measly innings."

"Sad as hell," a second voice said.

Chase's body went tight all over, but he made no move to get up.

"Coach left him in too long." The third guy sniffed. "Not a surprise since she's always played favorites with her kids."

"Chill, Snider. Don't badmouth Coach like that."

"But it's true."

This Snider guy grated on my nerves with his know-it-all attitude.

"The O'Briens are way overrated," he went on. "I've said so for years. Now with Chase, everyone can see it."

"What sucks is Chase used to be my idol," guy #1 spoke again. "I really looked up to him."

"It's only been a couple games." Guy #2 was my favorite because he was giving my patient the benefit of the doubt. "He'll find his way again. Then everyone's going to have to eat their words."

A scoff came from Snider. "He's already got two strikes against him. One more bad game, and he's out. Chase O'Brien better play amazing next time, or he might as well say goodbye to the majors."

"Harsh, Snider."

"Ah quit being so sensitive, Graves. Nobody asked you."

"You've always hated Chase for being better than you. But don't you get it? He's better than basically everyone out there. He's destined for greatness."

A scoff. "Yeah, maybe pre-injury. Now? Not so much. His arm is obviously still jacked. Chase isn't the same player he used to be."

The three kept talking, and I could see them through the clear glass window. Chase and I were set up at a table that couldn't be easily spotted from the outside. They walked right on by and out the door without knowing Chase had heard every word.

Trying to lighten the mood, I said, "So, that Snider guy sounds like a total asshat."

Chase tossed me a look. "You think so?"

"Oh yeah. His voice was entitled, whiny, and a hundred percent douchey."

He didn't crack a smile.

Considering the outcome of the game and his teammate's comments, it was understandable.

"Even douches are right sometimes," Chase said.

"What do you mean?"

"Snider has a point. Ever since coming back something's felt off. Maybe my arm is jacked."

I shook my head. "But your doctor, therapist, and I agree that it's fine."

"Clearly you all missed something."

"You're going to take Snider's word over ours? Oh, well that makes sense, considering he has your best interests at heart."

Chase just shook his head.

"Maybe I'll never play like I used to," he muttered.

Okay, I'd had about enough of this, but Chase needed me to be reassuring.

I laid my hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye. "One, I think you should forget that conversation we just heard because they know nothing. Except for Graves, he seemed okay."

Chase didn't respond.

"Two, concentrate on the massage I'm about to give you because I just remembered I brought my oils today, and it's going to rock your world. I just have to go and get my bag from the other room."

Still no answer.

"And three, buck up buttercup. You're with your hot physical therapist in an abandoned locker room. Things could definitely be worse."

Chase's lips lifted slightly. "There you go doing it again."

"Doing what?" I asked.

"Cheering me up when it seems impossible."

I gave him a nod. "And it's about to get even better, O'Brien. Stay here. I'll be right back with the oils."

"Will do."

It only took a couple of minutes to retrieve my bag from the adjacent room, but during that time, Chase must've gotten another call. He was talking on the phone as I approached. I didn't want to disturb him, so I stopped a good ways away.

Eavesdropping wasn't typically my thing, and I tried not to listen. I did. But something about the way Chase held himself told me this wasn't a pleasant conversation.

"Yes, sir," he said. "It's good to hear from you."

He nodded at something the person was saying.

"My arm is better. Thank you for asking. It's just taking me a second to get back into the swing of things."

More talk from the other end that seemed to make Chase's shoulders tighten, undoing all of my previous work.

"Yes, sir. I know your interest was based on the player I was—and I'm very much hoping to find that magic again." Another beat then, "Oh no, I understand. You can't hold a spot at tryouts for me if I'm not ready.

A few moments ticked by.

"Of course, I get that it's nothing personal. I know you're looking at a lot of talented pitchers, and I'm honored to be one of them."

Another silence.

"I'll try my best. Thank you, sir. Goodnight."

I was pretty sure he'd hung up, but at first, Chase didn't lower the phone. He kept it pressed to his ear as if frozen. Then all of a sudden, his whole body slumped, the hand holding his phone coming down in a fist to bang on the table. I heard him curse under his breath. None of that jolted me. It wasn't until a moment later when he slowly shook his head, and I noticed a tear falling down his cheek that I felt the full impact. That tear felt like a sucker punch to the stomach.

Backing up a bit, I cleared my throat to make my presence known, giving Chase enough time to swipe away the evidence before I re-entered the room.

"Got 'em," I said, acting as if nothing was amiss. "Sorry it took so long."

"No problem," he said in a gruff voice. "I'm excited about those oils, Charlie. At this point, I'll try anything."

"They're amazing," I said. "A little peppermint for cooling, some wintergreen, eucalyptus, and lavender to help you relax. And I swear by Frankincense. All you need is a few drops and a little prayer."

"Considering this may be the end of my baseball career, I think I'll need a big one."

"Chase, come on."

"I wasn't kidding."

"Give me twenty-four hours," I said. "I can figure out what's wrong with you in a day."

Chase's eyes flashed. "You sound sure of yourself."

"That's because I am. Do you know what my professors call me? The Magic Muscle Whisperer."

"Interesting choice."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, waving him off. "It sounds kind of like the stage name of a male stripper. But I'm serious. If it's your arm, I'll be able to tell. If it's something else, well, I'll sense that, too. You just have to trust me."

Chase nodded. "I can do that."

Something in my chest warmed, but I did my best to ignore it.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early. But not before eight," I added. "I need my beauty rest and a full eight hours away from anything sports related."

"Sounds good."

"Alright, enough talking. Lay down and let me oil you up."

Chase's face went red, but he complied, saying, "Yes, ma'am."

I promised myself something right then and there. Healing him was a matter of personal and professional pride, so of course, I was going to do whatever it took to get him playing at full capacity. I would help him, but I'd guard my heart in the process. Chase was too nice for his own good. But I couldn't let that blind me to the facts. 1) He was a guy. 2) He was an attractive person, inside and out. And 3) The good ones never went for girls like me.

It was a simple fact.

That was fine since I tried to stay away from guys like him anyway. Arrogant and egotistical, I could handle. Most men only wanted women for the short-term, too afraid of commitment, only in it for the chase, convinced there was something better out there. I'd met them all.

It was the nice guys you had to look out for. They were capable of real damage.

I needed to remember that unless I wanted to get hurt.

After the massage, I drove home to Magnolia House, tired and looking forward to a nice long nap. But alas, that wasn't to be. My roommates accosted me right as I opened the door.

"How did it go?" Honor said from the couch. "Was Chase really down?"

I sighed. "Yeah, he was. It was a hard day, but I did my best to make him feel better."

Sitting next to her, Emmy tilted her head. "When you say 'make him feel better', you mean…?"

"I just tried to cheer him up." I shrugged. "Chase says I'm good at that."

"And when you say cheer up…"

"Oh my God," I said. "Alright, you caught me. We made out, and I gave him a lap dance right there in the locker room. Is that what you want to hear?"

Rose, our fourth roommate, raised her hand. Her eyes were wide as dinner plates.

"Uh, did that actually happen?"

I shot her a look. "What do you think?"

"Honestly, I think I missed something," Rose said. "But that would be totally hot. Charlie, what's up with you and Chase?"

Emmy's face had gone pale, and I rolled my eyes.

"Geez, of course, nothing happened," I said, and Emmy seemed to exhale. "Give me some credit. Do you seriously think I'd take advantage of him like that when he's down?"

She shook her head. "No…but guys seem to find you irresistible. So, I'll admit I was a little worried."

"Chill, Em. There's been no kissing—yet. Your brother may be sweet, but he's definitely a hard nut to crack."

Honor threw me a knowing smile. "Hmm, and you do love a challenge."

"Usually, yes," I said with a sniff. "But you know nice guys aren't my type."

My best friend lifted a brow. "You were gone a long time."

"Of course, I was. I had to give him a massage after the game."

"Hold up." Rose sat forward on the couch, giving me her full attention. "You gave Chase O'Brien a massage? Does that mean you actually got to touch him, sans shirt? God, I miss all the good stuff."

She was kind of right. Rose was hardly ever there during most of our activities because of her night classes and weird sleep schedule. Add in her work hours at the tattoo parlor her family owned, and yeah, she got a lot of the news second-hand. We hadn't talked for the last few days, kept missing each other. It was Saturday, though, and it looked like I'd caught her right as she was about to head out to her job.

I told her everything, about how I was assigned to help Chase, the deal I'd made with Dr. Meismer, and of course, the bet I had going with Emmy. Rose was grinning when I finished.

"This keeps getting better and better," she said.

"And he still hasn't kissed her," Honor put in.

Rose shook her head. "How many days are left in the bet?"

"Just three," Emmy replied then tossed me a smile. "Charlie, I've been meaning to ask. Do you ever work with hot stones? Your hands are awesome, but I was checking out different types of massages. I think it'll be good to add some variety since you'll be giving so many of them."

I actually did have hot stones, but I didn't tell Emmy that.

"Keep dreaming, O'Brien," I said. "There's no way I'm losing this bet."

"So, he's held out for a whole four days," Rose said. "That's longer than most guys."

I shrugged. "Yeah, but I haven't really been trying."

"Why not?" she said.

"Because when I win in the final hour, it'll be all the sweeter."

Emmy scoffed while Honor and Rose 'oohed' and 'ahhed', but I was totally serious.

I was going to win this bet. There was no doubt in my mind. Chase better be ready because I was going to turn on the Charlie charm tomorrow.

He wouldn't know what hit him.