Chapter Three

“Cameron Cole. How is a catch like you still single?”

Because I told a woman I loved her and she broke up with me via text message. Cam smothered the thought, not allowing a trace of it to show on his face. Luckily, he was an expert at catching curve balls and making it look easy. He’d worked with world-class pitchers with ungodly movement who didn’t always know where their pitches were going to end up, and he had to be ready for whatever was coming at him because if he didn’t get his glove on the ball the ump wasn’t going to call it a strike, no matter how nasty it was.

He had a reputation for being unflappable. Superman with nerves of freaking steel. No one saw the effort. He made sure of it.

So he didn’t even blink when the little blonde reporter fluttering her lashes at him lobbed that curveball at him. Years of media training kicked in and he smiled enigmatically. “It’s a mystery,” he said, perpetuating the myth of his charmed life—when what he wanted to do was tell her to check her damn facts.

Because he wasn’t still single. He was currently single because his wife had left him three years ago, immediately after being diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Erika had called it a wake-up call and packed her bags—though the divorce had taken much longer, delayed by her treatment. She’d moved out, but they’d continued to play the part in public—divorced-but-not-really-divorced so she could stay on his insurance.

They really were better as friends. Once his ego had gotten over the blow, he’d had to admit she had a point with the whole I-think-I-loved-you-because-I-told-myself-I-should thing, though he’d still been in no position to think about relationships or the future.

So of course he’d fallen ass-over-ears in love.

Fallen so freaking hard and fast it was like something out of a sappy movie. Fast, and hard, and reckless as hell.

Unfortunately it hadn’t turned out to be the kind of movie with a happy ending, as he’d discovered when the one woman he’d let himself get close to during the entire messy chemo/separation process had broken up with him via text message with no freaking explanation. Only to pop up two years later, waltzing into the TD Events office this morning and smiling at him as if nothing had happened. As if that crazy September had meant nothing to her.

And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe he was the only one who had been hit by the love stick so freaking hard it had been like taking a fastball to the face.

But still, it would have been nice if she’d seemed even a little flustered. Even if that wasn’t Rachel. Rachel was composed. Calm. Friggin’ gorgeous.

How could he have forgotten how beautiful she was? It wasn’t just her features—which were, yes, very symmetric and all that stuff science said was supposed to be objectively attractive. But it was the way she smiled. The way she blushed. The way she looked at him. The way she’d always looked at him. Like she couldn’t look away. The two of them caught in the same gravitational pull.

Though maybe that had just been wishful thinking.

She certainly seemed capable of looking away now. Without moving his head, so he didn’t upset the work being done by the make-up artist, he glanced over toward where Rachel was speaking to the other bachelors, her back to him and her phone in her hand. She’d been supposed to brief him on the details of the fundraiser before the little blonde piranha arrived, but Blondie had been early and she’d latched onto him before he’d had a chance to do more than sit in the make-up chair for the photo spread.

He’d done a few print ads over the years, so he knew the drill. Let people fuss over him for an hour or so, then clench his jaw for the cameras. Easy.

What wasn’t so easy was keeping his mind on the questions the little piranha was asking when he couldn’t seem to stop stealing glances at Rachel.

“C’mon, Cam,” the reporter cooed. “Our readers want to know. Commitment issues? Or did someone break your heart?”

Cam’s gaze flicked over to Rachel again.

He didn’t see what any of this had to do with Russell House or their cancer research efforts—wasn’t this supposed to be for a lifestyle magazine, not a tabloid? But since Rachel didn’t look like she was going to save him anytime soon, he played nice with the little reporter. “I guess I’m still looking for the One,” he said with an easy smile.

Always easy. The perfect illusion of his charmed life. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

The make-up artist tsked softly and he relaxed his face so she could work on it.

“And you’re going to find that One at a bachelor auction?”

“Hey, you never know when you’re going to meet Ms. Right.” He’d met Rachel at a cystic fibrosis fundraiser. “Really, I’m just trying to support an organization I believe in—and if I meet some new friends in the process, all the better.”

The piranha sighed, reluctantly letting him steer the conversation toward the fundraiser she was supposedly there to write a story about. “Have you been a supporter of—” She glanced down at her notes. “—the Russell House long?”

“For several years now.” He stopped himself from saying his ex-wife had been treated there after she left him—somehow he didn’t think that was the soundbite they wanted. “The teams I’ve played for have always been very involved in the local communities and Russell House is an incredible organization.”

“Uh-huh.” The piranha made an absent note on her pad. “Speaking of your new team, rumor has it you’ve been seen with a number of Hollywood actresses since your move to Los Angeles. Any comment?”

A new voice spoke behind him. “Let’s stick to the fundraiser, shall we?” Rachel suggested lightly as she appeared at his side.

Cam’s relief at her intervention was matched only by his irritation over the question she’d heard. As far as he knew there were no rumors outside of Miss Smith’s overactive imagination, but he didn’t want Rachel thinking he’d been bragging about his LA exploits.

Not that it mattered what she thought. She’d broken things off with a freaking text. It would serve her right if he’d been seeing half of the members of the Screen Actors Guild in his spare time—but he was still, stupidly, trying to prove to her that he was one of the good ones. Always trying to prove himself.

“Has Mr. Cole told you about the experience he’s auctioning off?” Rachel prompted.

“You’re calling it an experience? Not a date?” the reporter asked, her eyebrows arching.

“It’s so much more than a date,” Rachel said without missing a beat. “Just like the event is so much more than a bachelor auction. Naturally, that’s a large part of the evening and it will be a lot of fun for the bidders and spectators alike, but we also have a silent auction and a number of raffles throughout the evening—including the Express Pass. That’s a new feature for this year’s fundraiser—making the event more exciting for the patrons who want to support Russell House, but may not be able to afford to bid thousands for our bachelors. For the low price of a raffle ticket, attendees can be entered to win the Express Pass, which will be drawn immediately before the live auction begins. The Express Pass winner then gets their choice of any of the Bachelor experiences—so if you’d like to go hiking and paragliding with a famous rock-climber or fly an F-15 with our fighter pilot, you could win the experience of a lifetime for just the cost of a raffle ticket.”

“Or you could win a day taking batting practice with me, a private coaching session with dinner afterwards, and two seats in the owner’s box on Opening Day, with a signed jersey to wear to the game.”

“That does sound like quite a prize,” the reporter cooed, fluttering her lashes at him again. “So are there still tickets available?”

“Absolutely.” Rachel stepped forward, as if Miss Smith had asked her the question. “I’ll give you all the information on how your readers can register for the event, but right now I’m afraid Mr. Cole is needed for the photo shoot. Shall we watch from over here?”

Rachel steered the reporter away from him, smiling calmly and making it sound like she was helping the woman out, giving her the best possible view. She’d always been good at this stuff. It was what had first caught his eye.

The team had bought a table at a cystic fibrosis event and he’d been there with some of the guys—his first event without Erika on his arm. Their marriage had been functionally over for a year by then, but it had still felt odd, being there that night without her. Even when they rarely saw one another during the season, they’d always gone to those kinds of things together, presenting the perfect united front. Even if it was just an illusion. And a habit. His life had been a series of habits and rituals.

And then he’d seen Rachel, calmly ruling the world…

“Mr. Cole? We’re ready for you.”

Jerked out of his musings, Cam followed the production assistant to the set where he shook hands with the other bachelors. The photographer handed out Santa hats and began arranging them on a series of blocks around a giant Russell House logo and for the next several minutes Cam turned off his brain and followed directions. Sit here, crouch there, smile, don’t smile, brood, smirk, fold your arms, flex your arms.

He hesitated when the photographer asked him to take his shirt off—but Rachel proved she’d been paying attention from her perch to one side, stepping forward to speak quietly to the photographer who apparently let himself be convinced they didn’t need the rippling pecs photos after all.

Rachel retreated back to the director chairs where she had been sitting with the Boulder Life lady—and Cam’s gaze followed her.

She looked good in her tight skirt and the silky blouse that made him want to reach out and touch—though the fine fabric would probably snag on his calloused hands. But then she’d looked good in one of his old jerseys and a pair of boxers too. Her hair had been down then—he didn’t think he’d ever seen it up before today. Though it looked good like this. Businesslike. She radiated competence—which was sexy as hell.

“Eyes to the left, please, Mr. Cole.”

He snapped his gaze back toward the camera, his face heating beneath the make-up.

He needed to keep his head in the game. He was here for Russell House—not to ogle the one who got away. Cam forced himself to focus on what he was doing, putting his all into smoldering for the camera as the photographer finished the group shots and pulled him aside for some close-ups.

The Boulder Life piranha swooped in on the other bachelors, her lashes fluttering at Mach two. Rachel apparently didn’t think those guys needed babysitting, because she wandered over to a bank of computer screens with one of the photographer’s assistants and bent to peer at one of the monitors, her skirt pulling tight across her—

“Mr. Cole? Look right here.”

Cam snapped his gaze back to the camera, silently cursing his distraction. What was he doing? She was just a woman. Yes, she was gorgeous—but after eight years in the majors he’d gotten used to women who would normally be out of his league giving him the time of day. Even though he’d been married most of that time and hadn’t taken advantage of it. What was so special about Rachel?

His brain immediately provided flashes of memory to answer the question. Three weeks. That’s all they’d had. But each day had been better than the last. They’d talked for hours that first night, so caught up in one another that neither of them had noticed how late it got, or that the hotel staff had cleared the ballroom while they were out on the balcony, enjoying the warm September night.

Everything had been perfect. They’d just fit. He’d never clicked with anyone like that, like they’d known one another for decades rather than days.

He’d never been a believer in love at first sight, but he had started to believe with Rachel—

And then she’d been gone. Just like that. She’d come with him on the last road trip of the season and when they got back he’d been thinking forever, but she’d obviously had other plans.

She’d been supposed to meet him after the game that day. They were in the hunt for the playoffs, so close he could taste it. He’d played well, going three-for-four with two RBIs, but they’d still lost—and then he’d gotten the text. Leaving him wondering what the hell had happened.

It would have been one thing if they’d fought. Or even disagreed about anything. But things had been pretty damn perfect.

He’d wondered if she’d found out about his ex and jumped to conclusions, but he couldn’t stop thinking of how she’d reacted when he’d told her he loved her that morning. When she’d said she was somewhat fond of him. Was that why she’d bailed? Because she didn’t feel the same?

He’d never known—and maybe that was why he couldn’t stop obsessing about her now. The not knowing. He needed a freaking reason. Closure, right? That was what therapists were always going on about, wasn’t it?

She hadn’t taken his calls or responded to his texts. She’d always met him or come to his place so he hadn’t even known where she lived—which had just reminded him how little he really knew about her. Had she been hiding something? Had something happened to change her mind about him?

His teammates would have told him he was lucky he hadn’t wound up married to the rebound chick. That dating while you were getting divorced was a great way to end up with two expensive ex-wives on the payroll. But it hadn’t felt like a rebound. It had felt like his freaking soulmate. He hadn’t even believed in soulmates until then.

He’d finalized his divorce and signed a free agent deal with LA, leaving Colorado behind, but he’d never gotten closure from Rachel. Didn’t she owe him that at least?

Now he was back for the off-season, spending time with his family over the holidays and doing the Russell House fundraiser. What better time to hash out unfinished business and move on?

“Perfect,” the photographer declared—and he realized he’d been glowering into the camera. Apparently brooding was a good look for these things. “I think we’re all set.”

Thanking the photographer, Cam handed over the Santa hat and accepted a wipe from the make-up artists, scrubbing gunk off his face—but never taking his eyes off Rachel. She’d avoided meeting his eyes all afternoon, but she couldn’t avoid him forever.

They needed to talk.