Big Leagues by Jen Estes Read Free Book Online

too. Take care. No
cheating!”
    She hung up before her grandmother could
protest and peeked out the window. An orange moving truck rounded
the corner.
     
    Cat had arrived. Not just in the figurative
dream-job sense, but literally in the
five-hours-around-Death-Valley sense. Her clanging Jeep rolled off
the I-15 exit and rattled in the final stretch toward her new home.
The picturesque complex looked exactly the way it had online. Its
six buildings sat a hundred feet off the road, shaded by palm
trees, adorned with perfect landscaping and encased by a sandstone
privacy fence. She slowed to snag a better look from the road.
Although it translated to Seaside Estates, making it a ridiculous
name in the desert, her one bedroom apartment— villa, the
condescending leasing agent had reminded her twice during their
telephone call—at Villa La Playa came with a reserved parking spot,
walk-in closet, fitness room and heated pool. Besides, the complex
was within walking distance of Hohenschwangau Stadium. For that
short of a commute, they could call the place Villa La Cucaracha
and Cat would sign the lease in blood.
    They wanted something a lot harder to make than
blood—money. The security deposit alone had wiped what little she
had to her name. Because the new gig was year-round, Cat’s new
salary was triple what she’d made in Porterville, but she would not
receive a paycheck for two weeks. This money would be gobbled up by
the student loan payments and credit card bills that had subsidized
her dream-chasing. The suffering had all been worthwhile, but
that’s the thing they didn’t tell you about being a martyr. The pay
sucks.
    She hesitated as the Jeep’s turn signal
click-clacked through her thoughts. The movers had still been
packing her other belongings when she’d exited Porterville, and she
didn’t expect them to arrive for another hour. It turned out her
perception of moving men as hunky stevedores with rippling biceps
had been inspired by late night cable and proved about as accurate
as her grandmother’s assessment of Sin City. Cat had expected at
least one of the overweight men to keel over while moving her sofa,
leaving her possessions in limbo while the ambulances or the morgue
came to haul him away.
    She drummed her fingernails on the steering
wheel. Since the Jeep was packed with nothing but forty-seven
bobbleheads to unwrap in her new home, Cat took one more look at
the luxurious apartments and hit the gas pedal. The roar of the
rusty Wrangler spoke for her.
    Home sweet home can wait.
     
     
10
    Hohenschwangau Stadium was home to more than
just the Las Vegas Chips. The ballpark also housed the biggest
JumboTron in Las Vegas, the longest concessions concourse in
professional sports and more memorabilia shops than the Mall of
America. Erich König had spared no expense in making the arena a
showplace of glitz and glamour—the perfect embodiment of “Las
Vegas.” The seats circled the playing field in alternating shades
of red and black, so that from the sky the park looked like a
roulette wheel. In the outfield, the scoreboard masqueraded as a
giant slot machine. After a Chips’ player hit a home run, the
screen flashed three cherries, and a whooping siren alerted every
man, woman and dog within the stadium’s three block radius.
Jackpots were common at Hohenschwangau Stadium; the team had led
the league in the long ball for two years straight.
    The Chips didn’t have a mascot, unless you
counted the Hohenschwangau Palace und Kasino’s showgirls. Each home
game had four women on hand, and in between innings, they danced on
the dugouts and tossed the crowd a variety of souvenirs, ranging
from t-shirts to casino chips. The showgirls came clad in feathers,
big smiles and little else.
    Today was an away game for the Las Vegas Chips.
The team would fly back from San Francisco tonight. Cat had learned
in Porterville that without spectators and players, baseball parks
were as boring as any other office in