Earning A Ring. Kristina Mathews

she do it if it were her only option? If it was the only way she could support herself and her unborn child? It would be a lot easier if the studio wasn’t located in New Jersey.

      “I only interview the players who help the team.” She held her voice steady. She wasn’t going to give him any reason to doubt her. “If a guy contributes on the field, the fans will want to hear from him after the game.”

      “Right now Baxter looks about as lost as he can get.” He continued to shake his head. Almost as though he was disappointed in Baxter, too. “When he’s hot, he’s golden. He’s got that Midas touch.”

      He had no idea.

      “Let’s hope he gets it back. We need him.” He placed his hand on her shoulder, a touch of familiarity she wasn’t entirely comfortable with. “And the on-screen chemistry between you two is something else. The fans love it.”

      Breathe in. Breathe out. The last thing she needed was to faint. Or throw up.

      “It’s all on him.” She willed her stomach to stay calm, for five more minutes. “He’s one of the players who gets it. He understands that his job isn’t just between the foul lines. He knows how to play to the crowd.”

      And she was only making things worse. She should stop talking, before Steve realized that Bryce had also been playing her.

      “Everybody loves Bryce Baxter.” He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. “But they love him even more when the Goliaths are winning.”

      “We all look better when the Goliaths are winning.”

      Rachel watched her boss walk away, leaving her feeling like a pitcher who’d somehow gotten out of a bases-loaded jam. Her stomach was starting to settle, but she felt as though she could go lie down in the clubhouse and sleep for three days.

      Still, she’d have to be very careful around Bryce. She couldn’t let their relationship, or lack of one, get in the way of her job. She wondered how her boss would react when he found out the chemistry between her and Bryce had developed into biology. She’d have to explain that although they were having a baby together, they weren’t a couple. And sure, she would be able to maintain a professional relationship with the player who’d knocked her up.

      She couldn’t think about all of this right now. Not when she had a job to do. Nathan Cooper was expecting an interview.

      Carl stood with his camera ready as Rachel seated herself next to Cooper in the dugout.

      “In twelve appearances, you’ve given up only two hits and no walks, with seven strikeouts. I guess it’s safe to say your shoulder’s feeling pretty good.” She kept her tone upbeat, her expression friendly.

      “Yeah, the shoulder feels great. The surgery was a success, and I spent the offseason building strength and flexibility.” He offered a warm smile for the camera. “I’m healthy and ready to go the distance.”

      “Keep pitching like you have been, and you’ll have a chance at going all the way.” No, that didn’t sound cheesy at all. But her job was to stay positive, upbeat, like the t-baller’s mom who smiles and praises effort, and win or lose, takes them all out for ice cream.

      “Thank you. I really hope I can contribute down the stretch. The Goliaths organization has faith in me, and I don’t want to let them down ever again.” Cooper nodded and headed out to the field of play to join his teammates.

      She signed off, relieved that the subject of Cooper’s suspension last year did not come up.

      “Hard to believe that’s the same guy,” Carl said after the camera stopped rolling. “He used to think he was hot shit. He was hot shit. But was it because he was juiced or because he was that talented?”

      “He’s got talent. Always has. But you’re right. He’s definitely humbled.” She’d been doing this job for four years. She’d dealt with some pretty big egos, and Nathan Cooper had been one of the biggest. Had he really changed? Or had he been hiding behind a cocky façade, like another ballplayer she knew only too well?

      She watched the game, hoping tonight would be a reversal of the team’s bad luck. Because that’s all it was. Luck. Some balls were hit hard, but right at someone. Others were weakly hit but they dropped in between the defenders. Baseball was like that. Teams ran into stretches where they couldn’t buy a hit with a platinum card. Or the diamonds studding their World Series rings.

      That was part of the problem. Once they’d reached the mountaintop, the view from the foothills wasn’t enough anymore. It was like staying in a cheap motel after living the high life at a five-star resort. Or like being with another man after having been with… She really needed to get over Bryce Baxter. Maybe she should invest in a vibrator. As if that could help her keep her head in the game.

      It wasn’t even May and the fans, the talk show hosts, and bloggers were all ready to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge. Who did they blame the most? Bryce Baxter. World Series Most Valuable Player. He’d been the savior. The man who’d brought them to salvation. Six months ago, he’d practically walked on water. Now he was being ripped apart on the Internet and talk radio.

      And every single jab struck her straight in the heart. Bryce Baxter was a friend. A lover. The father of her child. But more than that, he was someone she’d grown to care about. Maybe even love if it wasn’t such a ridiculously bad idea.

      There was a reason she had a rule against getting involved with players. Besides being unprofessional, it was just asking for trouble.

      At least his game had improved tonight. He drew a walk his first at bat. Later, he moved the runner from second to third on a sacrifice fly. And his defense was back on track. He’d made a spectacular dive in the fourth inning, saving what would have been two runs had it gotten through the infield.

      She was able to breathe. And to continue to do her job. She interviewed fans around the ballpark. The eighty-seven-year-old fan who was celebrating her birthday as she’d done every year since the Goliaths had come to San Francisco. The bride-to-be who had converted her betrothed from a die-hard L.A. fan into seeing the light and pledging his eternal allegiance to the Goliaths for as long as they both shall live.

      And she’d met a half dozen babies attending their very first Goliaths game. They wouldn’t remember the day, but the certificate would be proudly displayed in the nursery or placed in their baby books. Her heart warmed at the pride that the parents of these sweet little babies held at sharing their passion with the next generation. But some of them were so tiny. She marveled at the itty-bitty Goliaths headbands, onesies, and miniature jerseys. It was all she could do not to burst into tears when she was handed a tiny infant wearing a pint-sized Bryce Baxter jersey.

      He came up to bat with the bases loaded and two outs in the bottom of the seventh. The score was tied. She watched with a flutter in her stomach that had nothing to do with morning sickness. A hit or walk would score the possible winning run. She and forty thousand others silently willed Bryce to get a hit.

      The first two pitches caught the outside part of the plate. Bryce took the first for a ball, then swung and missed the second. With the count 1-1, the pitcher came inside. Bryce flinched as the ball hit him square on the arm. He dropped the bat and grimaced as he hustled down to first base.

      A run scored, giving the Goliaths the lead. The way things had been going lately, they’d take a run any way they could get it. The next batter, Marco Santiago, flied out to deep right and the inning was over. The score held up, and the losing streak ended.

      Rachel interviewed the closer, Diego Garcia, after the game. He was usually a good interview: confident, cocky, and always entertaining. He gave the sound bite, offered Rachel a fist bump, and retreated to the clubhouse.

      She was just about to wrap it up when Bryce approached her. He flashed his million-dollar grin and she hated the fact that her heart did a little flutter. Damn that man. He was too sexy for his own good. And entirely too sexy for her own good.