More than the Game by Jenni Bara
2
@NYStarPost:We couldn’t have been the only ones who saw the pictures of @HotShotDemoda being ‘helped out’ of the club last night, too drunk to walk, right?
The music from the stage drifted across to Poison’s back booth, where Marc sat across from his friend and agent, Austin Jensen. He swirled his beer in his bottle before bringing it to his lips and taking a deep pull. With the afternoon he’d had, Marc needed it. The whole thing was either a record for inappropriate behavior or the repair call from hell. Maybe both. He shook his head and chuckled.
“Are you laughing?” Austin asked, shocked.
Marc shrugged.
He shouldn’t be laughing, he knew, since the call had ended with him cursing to high hell and storming out the door. He didn’t clean up or say anything about what was wrong with the machine; he just left. At this point, the company owed her a free motor, as his sister had explained once she stopped laughing after he recounted the mess to her, but Glory assured him Beth was a regular client and wouldn’t bad mouth the business.
That should have been the end, but for some inexplicable reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about the day. And Beth.
He looked across the room at a table of women; one of them, a hot blonde, took a selfie with her friend. He’d always liked blondes. At any moment this woman would post the picture she’d just taken and tag the bar. If he searched for #Poison, he could find the photo in seconds, like it, and she’d be at his table before he ordered his next beer. He knew how it worked. Twitter, Instagram—media in general had been his best friend through the years.
His eyes moved from the stiletto she balanced on her toe, and up her crossed legs to her black skirt, but Beth’s short denim-clad legs popped into his mind. The way she’d felt lying on top of him was something he couldn’t get out of his head. He’d met lots of gorgeous women in his life, and he couldn’t think of another one that had stuck in his head like this. Like a bad pop song. It was ridiculous—
“Are you hearing a word I’m saying?” Austin asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“What?” Marc stared blankly. He hadn’t realized his friend was talking.
“While you were glaring at the woman across the room, I told you your image is making you unhirable. So, let’s try not to look like more of an ass. Those pictures last night hit a record for likes, yes, but that’s not helping your career.”
“Anyone who was there knows I wasn’t drunk.” Marc shrugged, not seeing the big deal.
“I get that, but nobody’s tweeting about ‘Security slips MD to safety when Boston fans start brawling’. The New York media’s painted you as the favorite bad-boy turned irresponsible drunken playboy. None of the teams, not even the desperate ones, want to hire you and run the risk of corrupting their young talent.”
Marc’s grip on his beer tightened. “I need something. Especially since I doubt I’ll be keeping my current job after today,” Marc said. He chuckled again.
It wasn’t a permanent job anyway. Two months ago, his father had a heart attack, and Marc had been forced into helping his sister run the business while their dad recovered. His mother thought it would teach Marc about life outside of baseball, but all Marc had learned was what he already knew. Any existence away from the mound sucked. Ten more days and his father would be back. With that obligation over, Marc could focus on baseball again.
“Why? What happened?” Austin demanded.
“This is a drink with a friend, not a lecture.” Austin had lectured him plenty in the last few weeks. Marc thought he’d been behaving better, but seeing how he was trending on Twitter, that didn’t matter.
“If you don’t want lectures, don’t mix business and friendship. You need to change your image. It’s a fact, not an opinion. Why not play the ‘helping your father in his time of need’ card?”
“No,” Marc snapped. His asshole father wasn’t setting foot in the media.
Austin sighed. “How about some charity work?”
“Write a check. For your charity, the one I always donate to. Uh, Holding Hearts?”
“You get closer with every try. Helping Hands.” The annoyance in Austin’s voice said Marc should know that by now. Unlike Marc, Austin had interests outside of work, which was why he’d founded the charity several years ago with some other donors and clients. “But I meant hands-on work, the kind that comes with photo ops. Helping Hands’ carnival is coming up in a few weeks. I’d love it if you showed up.”
“Not really my thing.” Marc spun his beer on the table again. What was he going to do there? Walk around and spend money? He didn’t even have anyone to take with him.
“Then you need to cut out the clubbing, drinking, and random women. Or at least find one you can keep around for a while—preferably one we can claim changed you.”
Marc sighed. “I’m not interested in that.”
“But it’s what you need, babe.” Sydney, Poison’s owner and Marc’s only female friend, plopped down in the booth next to him with another round of drinks.
It wasn’t his choice that he and Sydney were friends, he avoided unnecessary attachments, but he’d hung out here since he was a teenager when her parents still ran the bar. Over the years, Sid had wormed her way into Marc’s life. She had hooked him up with her now-husband, Austin, and his all-in-one management firm. He’d handled Marc’s contracts, his publicity, and his money for the last eight years.
“Anytime you’re ready to leave your husband, I’m ready for commitment.” Marc smiled at Sid who rolled her eyes.
Austin shook his head as Marc put his arm around his wife. “The last thing you need right now is an affair with a married woman, Marc. Talk about the final nail in your coffin. Even if we both know she’s the most amazing woman on the planet,” Austin added, winking at Sydney. She took his hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze.
Really, for all his joking, Marc knew she would never leave Austin. They enjoyed one of the best marriages he’d ever seen. There was none of the bitterness he was used to, and they both genuinely seemed happier when the other was around. Sid and Austin were lucky—and rare.
“Marc, there has to be someone who could hold your interest. All he’s asking you to do is to stick with someone for a month or two,” Sid said, looking annoyed.
“What’s going on? You’ve been distracted by something all night.” Austin’s bright blue eyes skewered him, waiting for an explanation.
“I’m not interested in having another discussion about my life.” Marc looked around the bar again for a way out of this conversation.
He loved Poison because although it had become a New York hot spot—mostly since he and his teammates were always here—it wasn’t trendy. The bar had been in Sid’s family for generations, and it still had the old New York feel. Mahogany wood, exposed brick, and sofas, along with booths, made you feel you were in a bar version of the coffee shop from Friends. His eyes scanned to the message on the mirror behind the bar. Sid always put up a quote of the day and then let everyone add to it. Today it said, Tell me something unforgettable.
He automatically thought of Beth’s orange t-shirt which, once wet, had clung in places that made his mouth dry. He scowled.
Damn it, what was the matter with him?
“Seems like more than you not wanting to talk about your life choices,” Austin said. “It’s rare that beautiful women piss you off.”
“They don’t,” Marc argued.
“So why are you glaring at all of them?” Austin asked, his black eyebrows raised.
“Maybe he’s irritated because he’s thinking of one he can’t have,” Sid said smugly. “Who is she, Marc? Anyone we know?”
And because Sid had hit the nail on the head, Marc said, “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”
She frowned; even working in a bar she still wasn’t a big fan of the ‘f’ bomb when said directly to her. That made him think about the soap. And that cute little girl. And—
“Look, Marc, don’t get testy. Whoever she is, she could be just what you need.”
Although he was right about Beth’s potential help in fixing his image problems, it made him feel like an asshole.
“So ask her out,” Austin continued. “Most of your baseball groupies would kill for some of your time—and the media’s attention.” Austin shrugged.
“She’s not that type of girl,” he snapped without thinking. Then he realized he had just admitted that Sid was right. She and Austin were looking at him expectantly. “Fuck this; I’m going home.”
He wasn’t in the mood to stay and talk about how to use Beth for his own benefit. Hell, he shouldn’t be thinking about her at all. Now, not only was he thinking about her, but they were suggesting dating her—and that was something he’d never do.