Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“How much is this going to run me?” I asked right before we pulled open the shop door.
He just laughed. “You don’t want to know. Close your eyes when you sign the bill.”
At the time, I wanted to deck him for forcing me to shell out so much money for something I’m going to wear once, maybe twice a year.
Now, as I walk up the steps of the New York Public Library to attend this gala, I’ve changed my tune. Not to toot my own horn, but I look sharp as hell, like James Bond but with a Latin flair.
Dustin nods in my direction. “If I were a chick, I’d take you home.”
I laugh. “I like your tux too.”
I opted for traditional black, which is lucky for me because the tailor wouldn’t have it any other way. Something about my complexion. Dustin switched it up with a white tuxedo jacket paired with black pants and a black pocket square.
We get stopped by photographers on the red carpet on our way into the fundraiser. It’s new for me. In Miami, I kept my head down and focused on my game. Part of that had to do with being a rookie still finding my footing in the majors, young and truly on my own for the first time. Also though, the limelight isn’t really for me.
“You think Lizzy’s mad you didn’t bring her tonight?”
His question surprises me. “Why would she care?”
“She seemed pretty into you at the bar the other night.”
He’s talking about the night we left Tate’s apartment together. The night I had to watch Tate sit next to Michael and, instead of doing anything about it, just had to eat my dinner like a good little boy. I was dying inside. Leaving with Dustin was the smartest thing I could have done. The evening wasn’t going to end well if I stayed.
“She’s nice.”
“And?”
I smooth down my jacket. “I don’t usually bring dates with me to things like this. You know how it gets when you bring someone into the public eye like that.”
“Yeah, speaking of…they got pictures of us leaving the bar the other night. My publicist sent them to me.”
I saw them too. So did my dad.
I can still hear his annoyance when he brought it up. “You better keep focused. Don’t let New York distract you from your game.” New York was a euphemism for women, drugs, drinking, partying—his worst fear is that I’ll lose sight of what’s important.
The pictures were innocent enough, just a group of friends leaving a bar together. I wasn’t even standing by Lizzy. Dustin and I were in the middle laughing about something, though Dustin was smart enough to keep his head down. I just looked like a wide-eyed Bambi. No one really ran with the story though, just a few online gossip blogs that cover professional athletes.
We reach the top of the stairs and get swept into the ensuing madness of the event. I might not know many people here, but they certainly know me. Last year, the Pinstripes narrowly missed their opportunity to make it to the World Series. I’m the only new addition to the team, and we’ve gone uncontested so far this season. The city has definitely taken notice. I’ve seen some of the headlines about me, but I try not to think about it too much. It can get too overwhelming if I’m not careful.
Eager attendees come up to shake hands with Dustin and me, congratulating us on the start of the season, on my introduction with the Pinstripes, anything to keep the conversation going. A few of them ask for photos, and we oblige.
Eventually, we all gather in the foyer of the library where the overhead lights have been replaced with huge candelabras. A man steps forward on the second-floor landing with a microphone to welcome us to the Hope Gala, an annual fundraiser held in conjunction with the New York Public Library and New York City Public Schools to raise critical funds to support the city’s mission to inspire lifelong learning, advance knowledge, and strengthen communities.
Musicians start to play on the periphery of the room, and Tony encourages us to follow the orchestra upstairs to gather in the Rose Main Reading Room for the dinner and program.
“There’s Luke,” Dustin says, pointing ahead of us. “Oh, cool. I didn’t realize Tate would be here too.”
Her name is spellbinding. It stiffens my shoulders and stops me dead in my tracks. I look for her in the crowd with the intensity of a dying man searching for water in the desert. There, she’s walking ahead of us, alongside her brother and another man. For a second, I suspect it’s Michael, but then he turns to address someone else and I’m proven wrong. Thank god.
“Luke!” Dustin calls out to our teammate.