Pitch Perfect: Until He Shifted

The next morning, I dragged myself to Sky Diamond. I sat in the bleachers, sipped my lukewarm coffee, and watched the players warm up.

Then I saw him: Lucas Newman.

As soon as he stepped onto the field, I felt something. I don't know how to explain it, but there was something about him. Intense power. Raw. Magnetic.

Lucas had wavy brown hair that brushed his neck and broad shoulders. He was lean but powerful. He looked like he belonged in a movie, not on a baseball field.

I couldn't look away. My eyes locked on him, and then his eyes found me.

He stared. I stared back. The world fell silent.

And then... I smelled it: Pine. Citrus. There was a hint of something spicy, like cloves or cinnamon. The scent hit me like a drug-it was intoxicating.

What the hell?

I tried to shake it off. He's just a kid. A rookie. Nothing special.

"Don't be stupid, Ophie," I muttered under my breath.

Then, one of his teammates threw him a ball.

Clap! Lucas caught it without breaking eye contact. My skin broke out in goosebumps. He nodded slightly, then turned back to the field.

I sat frozen and a bit shaken, my breath caught in my throat. "What's happening to me?"

After the players finished practicing and I had waited there for more than two hours, sitting in the bleachers, I stood up. I ran toward the players' room.

My body trembled slightly as I approached the players who had just finished the game.

How could I not tremble? It was the first time I had ever seen Lucas play.

His speed when running and throwing the ball didn't even make sense. He mastered fastballs, curveballs, and sliders as if the ball came alive in his hands.

Even more surprising was that he could also bat. Very few players could master both pitching and batting.

The smell of sweat made me a little nauseous, but I tried to hold it in. I didn't pay attention to the interested glances some of the other players threw my way. I was only focused on finding Lucas.

The moment our eyes met, he stopped, leaving me speechless once again. My knees nearly buckled; I wasn't sure if it was because of his looks or the powerful aura he radiated.

This time, Lucas walked toward me as if he knew I was waiting for him.

"You need something from me?" Lucas asked without small talk, his deep and sexy voice sending shivers down my spine.

I swallowed hard. "Yeah, something like that. You're Lucas Newman, right? I'm Ophelia Perkins."

I awkwardly held out my hand, and we shook. For the first time ever, I felt nervous about asking for an interview. That wasn't like me.

"Okay, what is it?" His cold attitude offended me, not to mention the almost cynical way his eyes looked at me up close.

"I'm from Big Flat Daily, and I'd like to interview you. If you have time-"

Before I could finish, the baseball player cut me off. "No, there's nothing special about me. You'd be better off interviewing someone else."

"But-"

"Nice to meet you, ma'am."

Lucas walked straight into the locker room, leaving me stunned. Then, reality snapped back, and I was furious.

Filled with rage, I knocked on the players' locker room door. The second it opened, my eyes widened, and I almost couldn't blink.

My retinas felt violated by the sight of half-naked men strutting around in nothing but their underwear. What the hell was this? Team The Barbarians?

"Yes?" one of them asked casually.

"I need to talk to Lucas."

He turned his head back. "Lucas!"

The others chorused, "Lucas!" as if it were a ritual.

Through the steam and wall of shirtless bodies, Lucas finally emerged and walked toward me. He had changed into a tight, navy T-shirt; his baseball uniform was already off. The second I saw him, my anger melted away.

But I needed to stay firm. I needed to remind myself that being a reporter was serious business.

Lucas narrowed his eyes at me. "Didn't I already tell you I don't want to be interviewed?" he said arrogantly.

Ugh! Yes, I know. But I'm only here because my boss sent me. Like I'd ever willingly interview someone like you. I grumbled internally.

"I just need a few minutes to talk to you," I said, trying to stay professional.

Lucas stepped out and closed the door behind him. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. He's such a cocky ass, but damn, those arms! Being wrapped in them must feel like the safest place on Earth.

Snap out of it, Ophie! I scolded myself, annoyed at where my mind was wandering.

"You have two minutes," Lucas said casually.

"Okay, look-this interview is essential. You're one of the most talented players right now, and media coverage could boost your popularity even more. We could see this as a mutually beneficial relationship. What do you think?"

I was practically gasping for breath, feeling like I was on a timed quiz show.

"I'll even cover your meals and transportation for the interview," I added.

"Anywhere? Even a fancy restaurant?"

God, what a little shit.

"Yes, even if you want to eat at a themed restaurant or one of those revolving rooftop restaurants-I'll pay."

That'd go on Isaac's tab anyway. He was the one who wanted me to interview Lucas.

Lucas tapped his chin with his finger. "Interesting."

"Right? I can also offer you other perks and benefits if you agree."

"Hmmm..."

"Would you at least consider it?"

"No."

WHAT THE HELL?!

He shook his head. "No, thank you. Your time's up, ma'am."

He gave me a sarcastic little wave as if to mock me, then walked back inside.

There was no way I was knocking on that door again. I wasn't going to grovel like a desperate beggar, acting like he was my only source of news.

I stormed out of the stadium, grumbling the entire way.

"Damn it! He called me ma'am! Twice! That little shit!" I cursed.

Frustrated, I pulled my phone out of my bag and called Isaac. As I walked toward the street, I practically vibrated with anger, waiting for him to pick up.

"Hello?" Isaac answered.

I stopped on the sidewalk. "That player refused the interview. Just assign me to someone else! He's arrogant and annoying. Who does he think he is? Lucas Newman my ass! I'm not going near him again, Isaac!"

'But you want to.'

My entire body froze. I looked left and right because I'd heard a woman's voice whispering around me. But there was no one there.

"What the hell was that?" I murmured.

"What? What is it?"

"Nothing! Just stop. I don't want to interview Lucas Newman, period!"

"Ophie, we need a story on Lucas," Isaac said from the other end.

"Send another reporter. I'd rather interview farmers, even if we only talk about chickens and wheat!"

"This is your last chance. If you can't get a story on Lucas, I'll have no choice but to fire you."

After all these years and all the crap I'd pulled, Isaac said this so casually. What was so special about Lucas that Isaac would rather let me go than have me cover someone else?

"Are you threatening me?" My voice caught in my throat.

"Yes."

"Listen, Isaac. About Lucas's drug test? He's clean. No criminal record. He just plays really well, and that's made him cocky. What the hell are we supposed to write about him? 'A baseball player who hold his balls?'"

Isaac clears his throat. "I'm not going to argue about balls over the phone, Ophie."

"Do you even have any?"

"Just find something on Lucas. Anything. The truth. His dark side."

"Don't speak in riddles."

"Don't ignore my orders."

Click.

Isaac ended the call, making my blood boil. A message from him appeared: It was an RSVP invitation to a gala dinner scheduled for 7 p.m. tonight.

Attached was a note from Isaac that read, "Lucas will be there. I'm giving you a golden opportunity. Don't waste it."

My teeth clenched in rage. "Damn it!" I cursed.