Chapter 12

Carter is back on the ball

Milla threw the latest issue of US Weekly on the table in front of Emma. "Is that you?"

"Hello to you, too," Emma said cheerfully and hugged her sister. They had a lunch date, but she was expecting food, not an interrogation.

"Out with it already, is that you?" Milla demanded, tapping her finger on the magazine, which was opened on a full-page picture.

Emma took her time sitting back down, before she pulled the gossip mag closer. The image was grainy and blurry.

Thank God for Luke's broad shoulders. She was barely visible behind his large body – though the pose was rather unambiguous.

"Say something!" Milla fidgeted and shuffled her feet impatiently.

"Would you believe me if I told you that it isn't me?"

"No."

"Then I guess it's me," Emma sighed and waved the waiter over so they could order.

"Ha!" Milla said, before grabbing the magazine back. "I knew I was right. Steve wouldn't believe it, but I told him that I've caught you smooching often enough to recognize you!"

Emma rolled her eyes and ordered water, while the waiter placed the menus in front of them. "Congratulations. Do you want me to make you a button that says, ‘Milla knows how I look smooching'?"

"Yes, in hot pink please. So what is this? I thought Carter and you had been a one-time thing?"

"Don't get upset, Milla. And don't yell his name like that," Emma hissed and threw a glance over her shoulder. She half-expected to see a reporter appear from behind the closest bush. Thankfully there were no bushes or reporters anywhere in sight.

Milla heaved a sigh and put the magazine away. "Emma, he's a womanizer. You can't be serious about going out with him. He changes women like other men change their shirts."

Emma groaned loudly and leaned on her elbow, putting a hand over her eyes. She loved her sister, but how could she have forgotten to factor in Milla's strong protective instinct?

"No need to worry about me, it's not the real thing."

"That's what you say now, that it's not serious and everything, but–"

"Milla. I said it's not real. Not that it's not serious."

Milla looked at her as if Emma had just told her that Santa Claus was real after all.

"What do you mean, not real?"

Emma pulled her hand away from her eyes and looked at Milla with a sober expression. She knew what her sister would say once she knew the truth, but she would have to live with that.

"It's really simple: Luke needs a boring girlfriend, so the press will cease writing that he is the guy who sleeps with anything with a pulse. As soon as that happens, I'm supposed to break up with him in a soap-opera-worthy scene, and then people will pity him and see him as a normal human being."

Milla's jaw dropped. "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Stupid enough to work?" Emma wanted to know.

Milla's expression changed from shocked to concerned. "Emma, you hate the spotlight! Don't you remember the nativity play in elementary school? You puked right on the stage, even though you were only playing the ass in the background."

A memory Emma could have done without.

"That was different," she protested promptly. "Here nobody knows me. The press has no idea who the hell I am."

"But they're going to find out, and then they will rehash your whole life in these rags!"

So let them. Emma's life was so boring that nobody would want to read that.

Milla put her hand on Emma's and squeezed it. "Do you really think it's a good idea?"

No, of course she did not. It was a silly idea. But it was also an opportunity. It could turn out to be her springboard – and if there was even the slightest chance that Luke could help her get closer to her goal of her own company, she would seize this chance. Period.

Milla put her other hand on Emma's, too, and cleared her throat. "What if you fall–"

"I'm not going to fall in love with him," Emma shot back immediately, rolling her eyes in irritation.

"You can't know that …"

"Yes, I can. Luke is no Prince Charming, no forever guy. How stupid would I have to be to fall in love with him?"

Milla nodded and sat up straight. "Alright then."

She had realized that she wouldn't convince Emma of anything. She opened the menu and peeked over the rim. "I'll leave you alone, but only on one condition."

"And what would that be?"

Her sister grinned behind the menu. "I want every sordid detail."

***

You could always rely on the press. The first thing Luke saw when he entered the busy changing room was the article, which one of his teammates had kindly taped to his locker.

The tone of the article wasn't very nice, but Luke had expected as much. It lamented how he had found someone new yet again, and speculated how long it would take before this girl would be history, like so many others before her.

That was okay. It would take the hacks and hawks awhile, before they'd notice that he went out with the same woman over a longer period of time. He would have to mention the word ‘girlfriend' a few times before they caught on.

Girlfriend.The word was like a blast of cold air in the back of his neck.

Token girlfriend.Much better.

"Got yourself a new STD over the weekend?" Jake flipped his fingers against the back of Luke's head, and Luke pulled his jersey over his head, annoyed.

"Why don't you wait till you grow some hair down there, Braker?" he replied archly as he opened his locker. "Then you can come back to argue with the grown men."

"A little sensitive today, are we?" the third base man chuckled and put his foot up on the bench. "Who's the cutie this time? I can't recognize her from the picture. Is she a playmate? A tennis player maybe? I've always wanted to screw a tennis player."

"Stop pushing your fantasies on him," Ray grumbled as he shoved the younger player aside. "Who he screws is his business alone."

The older player had always been one of Luke's favorites. Mainly because he had a serenity about him that helped calm down the people around him, get them into an almost Zen-like state.

"Jake, get out of here, jealousy doesn't become you," Dexter chimed in, singing from the same hymn sheet. "Just because all the women run screaming when they see you coming, the same doesn't apply to the rest of us."

Jake mumbled something under his breath, scowled at everyone, and headed out to warm up for training.

As soon as he was out of sight, Dexter leaned closer to Luke.

"Hey," he said, his voice lowered, "I know it's none of my business either, but isn't that Emma in the picture? The cute one from the bowling gala?"

Luke looked around the room. They were among the last in here, and Dexter was one of his best buddies. Why not tell him the truth?

"Yep. It's her," Luke admitted.

His friend seemed taken aback, but Luke couldn't tell whether it was because of that particular piece of information, or because he had freely admitted the truth.

"And she's open to something casual?" Dexter asked skeptically.

Luke shook his head and sighed. He should be offended that nobody ever assumed he might actually be serious this time – but on the other hand, it was the ugly truth.

"Listen, don't tell anyone, but she and I have a deal. We're going to act as a couple, show our faces together in public, so the press will finally take their guns away from my head."

Dexter raised an eyebrow, still looking deeply skeptical, while he tugged at his jersey. "Did you threaten her with anything to make her agree to that?"

"Bullshit! She just likes me."

Dexter snorted. "If you gave her drugs, I swear I'm going to–"

"Jesus, Dex! Chill, will you? I sort of blackmailed her. She wants to start her own event company, and I'm going to help her with that."

Dexter nodded, grinned, and finally laughed up his sleeve. "You're an idiot. Good luck with your evil plan." He patted his friend's shoulder. "But I'm here to tell you she'll cause trouble. She's a woman. Any girlfriend – whether real or fake – is going to cause trouble sooner or later. Just you wait and see."

Luke could hardly argue that. Unfortunately he didn't have any precedent to call upon.

Emma couldn't remember a time when work had been this exhausting. She closed her eyes and dropped backwards on her couch, legs dangling over the backrest.

She had spent the last three hours organizing the table decorations for the engagement party of Luke's father, convincing the flower shop that eggshell was not the same color as cream, and hiring a bunch of Japanese ladies to fold five dozen origami swans.

Emma liked Nadia, but that didn't mean she also understood all of her outré wishes.

When had brides become this crazy? She was certain that fifty years ago nobody had asked for a life-sized ice sculpture of the couple.

Also: Who paid good money to have chocolate truffles topped with tiny, golden umbrellas for dessert – raining from the ceiling, mind you!

This was real life after all, not a Rocher commercial!

But be that as it may, Nadia Alberto was a woman with a vision, and with a corresponding plan, and Emma was her employee, who would fulfill her every wish, if humanly possible. Once the engagement party in three weeks was over, she could focus on the actual wedding, which – at least according to the groom – was supposed to be a simple and small affair.

Though she suspected that ‘simple and small' was merely high society code for ‘grandiose.' But that was a problem best saved for a later date. Right now all she wanted was take a shower and go to bed. Maybe with a bad Hollywood movie in between? One that ended with the men dropping to their knees before the women. A glass of wine couldn't be wrong either. Maybe she still had …

Her phone rang, catapulting Emma back into a sitting position. Unidentified number. Please, don't let it be more work, please …

"Hello? Emma Sander here."

"Hey," a cheerful female voice trilled on the other end. "This is Michelle. Do you remember me? The groupie!"

Emma managed a small smile, and pulled up her feet.

"Of course, you have a very memorable personality. What's up?"

"I'm about to go out for cocktails with a few girl friends; and since you don't know a lot of people here yet, I thought, hey, let's ask her if she wants to join us."

Emma closed her eyes and heaved an internal sigh.

She wanted to sleep, not do anything at all, but neither did she want to spend half a year in a foreign city without friends. Michelle was funny and reminded her a little of her friends back home.

"Alright. Let me take a shower first, and give me the address. I'll be there."

***

American girls weren't so different from German ones, Emma decided. Maybe they squealed and giggled a little more, and while girls in Germany only joked about grabbing a waiter's ass, here they simply did it.

As it turned out, Michelle's friends were open, welcoming, successful and beautiful women with a lot of joie de vivre – and Emma felt like a mouse once again. The saving grace was the fact that she was from a different country, they all thought her naturally blonde hair was enviable, and her accent was cute. Not as terrible as they'd thought, thanks to a former foreign minister of Germany.

All things considered, Emma enjoyed herself amongst her new acquaintances, and didn't feel too awkward, which might be due to the fact that she was on her third cocktail.

"So do you like it here?" Grace, a photographer, asked.

Emma nuzzled another sip through her straw, before licking her lips. Whoever had hit upon the idea of mixing sugar and alcohol deserved a medal. "In the United States or in Philadelphia?"

"Both of course."

Emma laughed and used the straw to fish for an ice cube in her glass, only to let it drop back into her drink with a splat.

"I like it here."

But she missed the bread. Real bread.

"The people are nice and welcoming, and the city is really beautiful."

But who had thought up the weird subway system?

"And the men …?" Kaylie wanted to know, a dark-haired physiotherapist who shared an apartment with Grace.

Emma had to suppress a giggle. Alcohol was friend and foe at the same time. "Also very nice."

"Oooh," they all cooed.

"Oh come on, leave her be!" Michelle chided her girls. "She'll tell us the details whenever she wants."

They nodded and it was obvious they were hungry for those details, or some other juicy tidbits. But then they were distracted by the large LCD TV screen, which was turned to a sports channel.

"Oh look, our favorite baseball players. I want to thank the designer of those uniforms."

"Amen," Kaylie agreed, her gaze following Grace's. "I genuinely detest baseball, but the local team has a few really cute players."

"And which of them is your secret crush?" Michelle asked with a grin.

Kaylie blushed a little, but shook her head hastily. "I'm cursed with a father who doesn't talk about anything but baseball – I'm sure I don't need a man in my bed who is the same!"

"Guys, look, it's Carter's turn," Grace sighed. "Oh my, isn't he sweet? And look at the way he beats that bat against the base – you just know that he must be great in the sack!"

Emma agreed to the latter part, though she still thought it looked silly when he hit the ground in front of his feet with the bat.

Her mock boyfriend cut a fine figure, even on the TV screen, no doubt about it, but the way he stood there, knees bent a little, the wooden bat held in both hands – no, that wasn't exactly a manly pose. Unfortunately it didn't make him any less attractive either.

She sighed and noticed Michelle giving her a sideways glance, as if she was about to say something. But when Emma turned her head, she merely grinned and looked at the screen instead.

A ball was pitched and Luke didn't move.

Emma had learned that sometimes you mustn't move at all, otherwise you were out. Or you had a strike? No, had a ball? Or maybe he was simply scared he would be hit in the crotch?

Oh, who cared anyway!

"Hey, did you read the article in US Weekly yesterday?" Kaylie asked, her eyes still glued to the screen.

"Of course." Grace drained her glass with a lot of air-through-straw noise. "Nobody knows who she is. Which is rather strange, considering he normally simply picks up some slut last seen on Sunset Boulevard."

Emma was feeling a little hot now. But she still had her cocktail glass to hide her face.

"Well," Michelle drawled, and Emma felt the back of her neck tingle. She couldn't shake the feeling that her friend was watching her. "The photograph is really very blurry. You would have to know this woman to recognize her in that."

Emma choked on her drink, coughing and spluttering.

"Are you okay?" Michelle asked cheerfully as she slapped her on the back to help.

"Sure," Emma rattled and put her glass down. On the screen, the ball was sailing through the air now, and the bar erupted in cheering. The girls were clapping, too.

"Maybe she's a dentist or something. That would be funny. His personal effort at diversification." Kaylie waved the waiter over and pointed at her glass. "He can't really be as bad as the press wants to paint him. What do you think, Michelle? You know him a little. Is he really such a bad womanizer?"

Michelle nodded her head uncertainly. "Yeah, he is. But that doesn't mean that the right woman couldn't set him straight, right? Don't you think, Emma?"

All three women looked at her, and Emma blinked several times. "I don't know. That would probably work only if he isn't completely depraved yet."

Grace and Kaylie exchanged a grin. "Screw that, depraved sounds totally intriguing."

"Let's drink to that," Michelle called out and raised her glass. "To depravity, and to the fact that Emma threw an amazing auction party for us! It was a real blast."

Emma blushed and took another sip. "But that wasn't me alone. I had a team working on that and–"

"Don't sell yourself short! You're really good at what you're doing."

"Okay, thank you," Emma nodded. "I'm good at it."

They all laughed. "You know, we'd need someone in our company, someone in charge of all the events … but a little cheaper than the company you work for."

"You're not going to find a cheaper one," Emma stated apologetically. "This business is expensive."

"Well, maybe not a cheaper company," Michelle thought out loud, "but maybe just one person? If you wanted to be self-employed, and then you'd get all of our business …"

Emma laughed. "Sure, it would cost you less if you hired me as a freelancer, but that would mean I'd have to stay in the States, and that's not my plan."

"Too bad, too bad …"

The game ended twenty minutes later, and the Delphies won with a sensational 16 to 5 victory. The girls agreed that that merited another celebratory cocktail, but only after they had all frequented the restrooms.

Emma was charged with watching their stuff.

She could get used to these ladies. Her phone rang as she stared absently into her empty cocktail glass.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," a male voice said. It was Luke. That was crazy. He'd been on TV just a few minutes ago!

"Have you had a Philadelphia Cheesesteak yet?"

"No, I haven't," Emma said slowly. He must be calling right from the changing room.

"Then it's high time you did. I'm picking you up at seven tomorrow. See you."

"Luke, wait. I …"

But he had already hung up. Damn. Emma put her phone down and looked up, only to find Michelle grinning at her, two fresh cocktails in her hands and a knowing expression on her face. "Don't worry," she whispered, "your secret is safe with me."