Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(3)

She wasn’t wrong. But now I feel self-conscious.

“It’s a good look,” Eric says. “And congratulations on making it ten days away from the office. Are you sure you don’t want to go for eleven? Except for that little slip-up just now, you’ve turned yourself into a woman of leisure.”

“There was no slip-up! That was just you being a weenie. Now hurry up and give me my phone back. And fill me in on what I missed. Is it possible that none of my players got traded, injured, or arrested while I was gone?”

He laughs. “You think I’d hide something like that from you?”

“No. But it’s kind of wild how quiet everything was.” On any given week, someone has a major upset or a nervous breakdown. It’s as if I have thirty-five high-strung children in my care. Somebody is always breaking something.

“Nobody got arrested. But Nifty Silva had a tiny run-in with the town of Buckhead, Georgia.”

I stop in my tracks. “Omigod. What did he do? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I handled it.” Eric laughs. “And I enjoyed every minute of it. Nifty had outstanding library fines of eighteen hundred bucks. Ask me why.”

“Why?” I gasp. “That man makes five million dollars a year.”

Eric chuckles. “Five years ago he took a copy of Field of Dreams out of the library. Apparently the nice librarians of Buckhead fine you a dollar a day on DVDs.”

“And he was too busy setting records to return a fucking movie?” I swear to God this job is like teaching kindergarten but with a better paycheck.

“Not exactly. Right after watching the film, he threw his first no-hitter. So he didn’t—”

“—return it. I get it. He’s a superstitious crazy man. So how do we smooth this over? Did it hit the press?”

“It was going to. He called the office in a panic. But I handled it, Bess. I had a nice chat with the librarians. I told them that Nifty would donate ten bucks for every dollar he owed, but I suggested she let the fines keep running.”

“Oh, Eric!” I burst out laughing. “That’s perfect. That’s exactly what I would have done.”

He hip-checks me on the sidewalk. “I know, boss. And I had a blast talking to that librarian with her adorable southern accent. It’s all good.”

“Thank you,” I say as we walk around to the side of Nate and Becca’s mansion. They’re the only people I know in New York who can throw a big backyard party. Because they’re the only ones with a big backyard. “Thank you for letting me have all that time off.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he says. “People take vacations all the time. Get used to it.”

I wonder if I ever will. My childhood was perilous. Dave and I were too busy avoiding my father’s fists to notice that nobody ever took us to Disneyland. Or camping. Or any of the things that families do. Summer break had only meant too much time with our angry father.

College was better. But I’d been too busy working my butt off to relax. And after graduation, my dream job kept me busy. And it still does.

“What else?” I demand of Eric. “What other weird calls did you get?”

“There’s that rookie who just showed up for training camp in Ottawa. Rollins?”

“Yeah?” My blood pressure jumps. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Eric says quickly. “But he panicked his first night there. He locked himself out of his new apartment, and he didn’t know what to do.”

“Aw.” Rollins is only nineteen. He comes from a town in Canada with more cows than people. “Did you help him find a locksmith?”

“Of course I did. I was home with the baby that night, just flipping channels before he called. So I put my earpods in and sat down in the rocking chair with the baby. And I talked to the rookie for ninety minutes while he waited for the locksmith. The kid just needed someone to tell him that it was all going to be okay.”

“Wow. Thank you. Bonus points for sure.”

“It was great, Bess. It made me understand what this job is for, you know? Negotiating contracts is only half the story. He’s just a kid in a strange city. I’d forgotten what that part was like. The only two things he knows how to cook are fried eggs and spaghetti.”

“Jeez. Next time I see him, I’ll make sure he eats a salad. Anything else? Any gossip? If not, I think I hear a glass of sangria calling my name.” Rebecca Rowley-Kattenberger—the new owner of the Brooklyn Bruisers—makes a great pitcher of sangria.

“Oh, there’s gossip.” Eric chuckles as he finally hands me my phone.

“What kind?” I ask, fondling the phone like a lost lover.

“I think I’ll let you see for yourself.” He opens Nate and Rebecca’s garden gate and then gestures for me to go in first.





Two





In the Backyard of a Billionaire





The Puckrakers Blog: Preseason Trade Update


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Bruisers fans are scratching their heads this week at the news that Mark “Tank” Tankiewicz was traded from Dallas to DUMBO. While the team could use some more experience on the blue line, Tankiewicz is an expensive choice.