Aaron rolled his eyes. “Seriously, man, I’m here to keep you out of trouble. The GM doesn’t want to hear your name until roll call next week.”

He can go fuck himself, Duke thought, though he didn’t really have a beef with the general manager. When Duke was in trouble last year, the GM had his back, promising him his spot on the roster this spring—if his ankle was healed and there were no more scandals.

While logically he knew he had to lay low and stay out of the public eye, he was getting frustrated with hiding away. It had felt good earlier that day, standing on the mound at the charity game, getting to do what he loved, out in the light of day. He hoped the doc was right, that the ankle was okay, just needed time to toughen up. My God, what if I’m not ready next week? His heart was in his stomach.

He caught a server’s eye. I can’t do anything about it right now. He stretched out, putting his feet on the low table. The ankle twinged, but only for a second.

“What’ll you have?” a stick-thin blonde asked, bending low so her tank top exposed a lacy Victoria’s Secret bra.

Ain’t nothing to see on your skinny ass, girl, thought Duke.

Aaron felt differently, obviously, grilling her breasts. “I want a Manhattan. With those good cherries, none of that maraschino shit.”

“And your best bottle of tequila, ASAP,” a deep voice rolled out behind them. A tall, dark, black man layered in Armani stepped into their circle of low, overstuffed couches.

“Roland! What up?”

“Came to celebrate my retirement with you douche bags. And the Duke’s new season. Let’s go, girl. Get us some shots up in here.” The towering, ebony-skinned man slapped the woman’s ass, but she didn’t seem to mind. It was Roland Smith. The people of New York loved him. He had been the flashy first baseman of the Bronx Bolts for years, batting as a lefty and coming close to Ty Cobb’s record. Then, last year, the thirty-six-year-old hit a grand slam, ran through home, with the crowd going crazy, and tore the ligaments in his wrist. The nerve damage was irreparable. Time to hang up the baseball hat.

“Good to see you, brother. How’d you know we were here?”

“Talked to your pops. He said to say he sorry he missed you but he’ll catch you later.”

Duke snorted. “He been dodging me all week. I thought maybe he moved out but forgot to tell me.” He peered around. “Where’s Kinley? You leave the ol’ lady at home?”

“Kinley at the movies with her girlfriends.”

“Complaining about what a dick you are?”