That was a safe bet.
“You know, I did a Google search about how to date an athlete. There were ten things on the list, like always be supportive, come to as many games as possible, offer back rubs. Give them space if they have a bad game. I can’t remember the other things, but I think the ‘giving space’ is the only one I can do long-distance. Well, and be supportive.”
He put down his pizza and shoved it aside. “You looked that up on Google?”
“Yes.” Pink flooded her cheeks. “Is that weird? Are we not—that’s what we’re doing, right?”
“I hope so,” he said seriously. “You’re the only one I want to date. The only one I want to kiss. Or anything else,” he added.
She licked sauce off her lips and his pants tightened. He wouldn’t mind doing “anything else” with her right now, in the half hour left before his departure.
“That’s good.” Nina put the rest of her pizza down. “There’s something I want to tell you before you go.”
Her serious tone made his stomach crater. This had to be something disastrous and momentous, big news that must be delivered before he left.
“I’m a virgin.”
He stared at her. Her big blue eyes held his. “Okay,” he said, since nothing else really came to mind.
“I’ve never been in bed with a man. I’ve never done anything beyond second base.”
“Well, now you can do the shortstop,” he quipped, then immediately dropped his smile because the joke sounded sleazier than it had in his head.
“Ha ha. I’m being serious. The reason is, I only want to have sex with the man I’m going to marry.” She sat back in her chair, as if relieved she’d gotten that off her chest. “I decided that early on, when I knew I wanted a family more than anything else.”
He nodded like a bobble-head. It all made sense. And yet, it didn’t. She wanted a family, she wanted to save herself for marriage. Fair enough. But she also wanted to date him. Did that mean she saw him as a potential husband?
Wow. That bombshell was even bigger than getting called up. He needed to think about this. No, he needed to hit the road. No, he needed— God, he didn’t know what he needed!
“I understand.” He pushed his chair back. “I completely respect that.”
She stood up too, giving him an uncertain look. “You do?”
“Of course. I’d never push you into something too soon. I can wait. As long as you want, I’ll wait.”
A beautiful smile bloomed on her face. “Then I will too.”
They stood beaming at each other, as if they’d taken a step over some important line. They were in new territory now, Jim realized. And they were walking through it together.
“You can kiss me now,” Nina reminded him.
“Thank God,” he said fervently. He stepped toward her just as she did the same thing. He picked up her right hand, which curled trustingly in his. With his other hand, he touched the silky blond wisps of her hair and cupped his hand around the back of her neck. Every part of her was so fresh and downy, like morning dew on the petals of a sunflower. “I’ve had an enormous crush on you for a really long time, Nina.”
In answer, she tilted her head and parted her lips for his kiss. The first touch of their lips made his head swim. She kissed the way she teased him, sweet and hot and sassy. Her hands went around his neck and she pulled him closer. The way she pressed against his body made him groan against her mouth.
“God, Nina,” he murmured. He couldn’t stop running his hands all over her body, exploring all the temptations that had been driving him mad for months. The flare of her hips, the arch of her back, the dip of her waist.
In a few seconds, they were both panting and hungry for more. But she wanted to wait, and he wanted to respect that, and he had to leave, and…
“Touch me more,” she whispered against his lips. “I don’t want you to forget about me.”
Oh God, if he went much further he might lose it. “I could never forget about you. Never.”
She lifted her top and placed his hand against the warm skin of her belly. “Touch my nipples. Please, I want you to. Your hands feel so good.”
His cock was so hard he could split rocks with it and she wanted him to go further? He marshaled all his willpower and slid his palm up around the curve of her ribs to her plump little breast. It settled into his hand perfectly, a soft pillow of flesh. She gave a little gasp as he brushed her nipple, which pebbled under the friction of his thumb. As she moved against him, he felt every bit of her sexy body, the heat between her legs, her mound rubbing against his cock, and…oh God.
He pulled away before he totally embarrassed himself. “I can’t. Have to stop. Gotta go.”
Her eyes wide with dismay, she tried to step close again, but he firmly held her off. “Seriously. Have mercy, Nina.”
“Okay, you’re right.” She hugged herself, and he noticed that her body was trembling as well. Maybe she was just as turned-on as he was. “I’m sorry.”
“God. No. Please, please, don’t be sorry. I’ll be reliving this over and over until I see you again.” He took a step back, hit a chair, then righted it. Moving around like a maniac, he swept all the paper plates and pizza crusts into the trash, washed his hands, then grabbed his suitcase. “Ready?”
“Are you okay?” She skipped to his side and took his hand.
“Yes. I’m great. Walking funny, but great.” He dared to kiss her one more time, a light brush of his lips against hers. “I guess we know one thing for sure.”
“What?” All innocence, she blinked her big blue eyes at him.
“It’ll be worth the wait.”
9
Dwight didn’t usually mind TV interviews. But when the topic was his catastrophic performance as a Friar, a root canal would be more enjoyable.
“Dwight, how are you feeling after today’s game?” The brunette reporter from the local station wore a sympathetic look—he had no idea how genuine it was.
“About like you’d expect. I’m embarrassed. I know I can do better, but I didn’t this time.”
“Now that you’re getting sent back down to Kilby, do you have anything to say to the team?”
“I want to thank the Friars for giving me a chance, and I want everyone to know I’m going to be working hard back in Kilby and hoping I get another shot at this. It’s a dream come true to play in this beautiful city. I’m sorry I didn’t measure up this time. All I can say is I’m going back to basics. Work hard, train hard, up my game. The Friars fans are the best and they deserve the best, and that’s what I want to give them if I ever get another chance. Thank you and God bless.”
He walked away, hearing her wrap up the interview with, “That was Dwight Conner, who just experienced one of the worst Major League debuts in Friars history.”
Dwight ground his teeth and steeled himself to keep it together until he got somewhere private. Even though he was known as an “emotional” player—one who showed his excitement and frustration on the field—tears of shame took expression a little too far.
He saved those for his hotel room.
Early the next morning, Trevor Stark took him to the airport and gave him a pep talk. “You’re better than that. I know it, you know it, everyone knows it. Keep your head high. Shit happens in baseball. I’ll see you back here before you know it, DC.”
He also got a few texts from his fellow Catfish, but they knew better than to ride him too hard. What happened to him was just about the worst thing a player could experience. They knew to give him some distance.
Lieberman, who’d gotten called up in his place, texted him a quick “welcome back, man.”
“Make me proud,” he texted back after some thought. “Do better than I did. Shouldn’t be hard.”
Fucking Lieberman. Who would ever think that the boyish shortstop would get The Call after Dwight had crapped out?
Every step of the trip to Kilby—from the economy seat with no room for his legs, to the long drive fro
m Houston to Kilby—he relived each humiliating moment of the three games he’d played in San Diego. Baseball experts were still busy ranking it against other similar crappy starts.
But the truth was, Dwight didn’t care about any of that. What bothered him was thinking about all the kids who looked up to him. He’d let them down. He was always talking about keeping a positive attitude and laughing through adversity. How did you laugh through something like this?
After crossing the city limits of Kilby, he steered his car toward the only place he wanted to be at that moment.
The damn Roadhouse. He needed a drink. He needed to unwind. He needed some female company.
An image of Maggie came to mind. He’d thought about her a lot during his stint in San Diego. The memory of that kiss got stronger the more time went on—which was the opposite of what usually happened. But his attraction to her was hugely overshadowed by something else. If her program was so damn good, why had it led to such a disaster? Her model had singled him out as a player ready for a call-up and instead he’d crashed and burned like a satellite hitting the atmosphere.
Not that it was her fault. His failure was on him. He wasn’t about to blame anyone else.
But it might be her fault that not a single woman had caught his eye during the week he’d been in San Diego. Not a single one. That was not normal. Curly black hair and green eyes kept blocking his view.
The next time he saw her, she was going to get a piece of his mind.
Three Bacardi and tonics later, there she was, waltzing into the Roadhouse with Nina. Wearing a short, body-hugging black dress that made his mouth water. Laughing with Nina—two gorgeous girls out on the town, not a care in the world. Drawing every male glance in a fifty-yard radius. The Roadhouse was the kind of place that had sawdust on the floor and occasional outbreaks of line dancing. Maggie, with her slim build and east coast look, really stood out.
He clenched his jaw tight, then tossed back the rest of his drink. What better time to bring up his complaint with Maggie?
Ah, fuck it. Truth was, it wasn’t even about that. He just wanted to talk to her. She drew him like a dumb moth to a flame.
He intercepted them halfway across the room. “Maggie, got a minute?”
Her dark eyes narrowed as she took in his unhappy expression. “Hey, Dwight. When did you get back?”
“Hi, Dwight,” Nina said, poking him in the ribs. “Rude, much?”
“Hi, Nina.” He scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “Sorry about that, don’t mean to be a dick. Can I talk to Maggie for a minute in private?”
“Sure, I’ll get us some drinks.” Nina headed for the crowd of blue jeans and cowboy boots. “See you in a sec, Maggie. Dwight, you’re welcome to join us if you promise not to be a grouch-monster.”
“Grrr,” he muttered in her direction. When he turned back to Maggie, he found her bristling with anger, hands on hips, fire in her eyes.
“Don’t you be mean to Nina. She’s the sweetest person in the world.”
“I know that,” he snapped. “She’s my best friend’s sister. Who says I was mean? That wasn’t mean. Only someone who spends their life talking to computers would say that was mean.”
“So now you’re going to insult me too? What’s up, Dwight? You wanted to talk to me. So talk.”
Since a boot-kicking line dance was starting up around them, he took her by the elbow and steered her toward the edge of the room, where it was quieter. Nestled between the jukebox and an empty table, he confronted Maggie.
“Have you been watching any sports news?”
“Of course. I work for a baseball team. It’s my job.”
“Your job might be in trouble, then. I don’t like being the messenger of doom, but your program doesn’t work.”
She didn’t flinch or say anything in her own defense.
“In case you missed it, I stank. I was like the fucking Titanic of call-ups. I was a one-man Southern California Massacre.”
“There is no such thing.”
“Now there is. Too bad there wasn’t…I don’t know…some way to predict something like that. To put all the information into some kind of data-processing unit and see it coming. Crazy thought, I know. Because something like that would never work.”
As he spoke, he kept leaning closer to her, until he was bracing one hand against the wall above her head. Between the smell of beer and peanut shells, the scent of Maggie filtered into his awareness. It both relaxed him and stimulated him, but mostly it captured him, so that all he knew was her.
Even in the low light of the chili pepper Christmas lights strung around the Roadhouse, he saw her pupils dilate. “My model works just fine,” she said in a voice that was almost too low for him to hear. “So far, it’s ninety percent accurate. I’m working on some improvements, and that success rate will go up.”
He stared at her in confusion. “So I’m part of the unlucky ten percent, is that it?”
She held his gaze. “No, Dwight. That’s not it.”
Finally, it clicked. “You didn’t suggest I get called up. That wasn’t you.”
“That wasn’t me,” she agreed. “They didn’t ask, and I didn’t say. However, I did run you through the model, as I have with every one of the Catfish. If they had consulted me, I would have recommended they hold off on calling you up.”
Even with his stomach cratering, he had to give her credit for her courage. To stand in front of an angry ballplayer and tell him you wouldn’t have endorsed his call-up—that took guts. “Why?”
“Because that’s what the numbers say. I don’t know ‘why.’ That’s just psychological speculation. All I know is the math.”
“Psychological…” He pulled back and let out a harsh laugh. “So that’s it, you just deliver the numbers and let the players figure it out?”
“Yes.”
She licked her lips, causing him to remember what they’d felt like that giddy moment when he thought his life was breaking wide open. In the park at night, she’d tasted like hope and wild excitement and wine. Now would he taste bitterness and defeat? Shame at his failure?
“Dwight, listen. I’m sorry about what happened. And I know you must feel pretty awful right now. But…”
She hesitated, drawing her lower lip between her teeth. As she deliberated over her next words, his gaze made a quick detour down her body. Damn, but she really filled that dress out perfectly. Had he considered her lacking in curves the first time he’d seen her at the hospital? He must have been blind. The dress she wore made that very obvious.
Unbelievably, considering his distress over San Diego and her distress over him, he was actually getting hard.
“Will you go somewhere with me tomorrow?” she asked.
He drew back in surprise. “I have a game tomorrow.”
“I know. It starts at two, you have to report for batting practice at noon. Will you meet me at nine? There’s something I want to show you.”
He studied her carefully. All his anger with her had disappeared. None of this was her fault. He had no business even talking about it with her. This was his shit to work through, not hers. And now she was being nice enough to invite him somewhere.
“Sure. I’ll meet you. And I’m sorry, Maggie. I—” She interrupted him by putting a finger on his lips. A shock of pleasure seared through him.
“Don’t apologize. It’s not exactly easy, what you just went through. In the park, I knew you thought I’d recommended you, and I thought about saying something. Maybe I should have.”
“No. No, what difference would it have made? Instead of going in all confident, I would have been second-guessing myself. I could have done even worse. That would have been something to see.” He grinned at that thought—was it even possible?
She laughed along with him, and he felt the tension and misery that had accumulated since San Diego dissolve. Being with Maggie…it just made him feel good. Her intelligence was sexy as hell to him. She stood up for herself, but she kept her cool do
ing it.
“I forgot to mention,” he said softly, “that it’s really good to see you. I thought about you while I was gone.”
A flush stained her cheeks. “I thought about you too. I thought about calling after that last game. The one where you accidentally scissor-kicked the umpire.”
He winced. “Don’t tell me you watched those games.”
“Every one.”
“And you still want to be seen with me?”
She stepped forward, until she was brushing up against him. “First of all, you are more than your performance on the baseball field, Dwight Conner.”
He was dying to say something about his performance in bed, but managed to keep his mouth shut.
“Second of all, yes. Of course I do. You’re an attractive, dynamic, charismatic, smart, multitalented man. Why wouldn’t I?”
“You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now,” he murmured, dropping his head slightly.
She swallowed; he saw her throat move. Then her gaze shifted so she was looking past him, and she drew back. “Nina.”
He straightened up with a jolt. How had he forgotten about Nina? Truth was, he’d forgotten about everything—baseball included—while he’d been lost in Maggie’s deep green eyes. He turned, clearing his throat. Nina was wending her way through the crowd, holding a tray containing two beer bottles and a club soda.
“Hey, Nina. We were just coming to find you.”
“I got you,” she said cheerfully. “Do you know my tray-holding skills have improved by a million since I started selling cotton candy?”
She handed them each their drink and tucked the tray under her arm. About to take a sip, she hesitated, looking from one to the other of them. “Well, well. I was right.”
Maggie was making shushing gestures with her eyebrows, which Dwight hadn’t even known was physically possible.
“Right about what?” Dwight asked.
“About you two. There is something going on.”
“Yeah. We’re friends,” he told her, though “friends” didn’t really describe his feelings for Maggie. His interest in her went in a completely different direction. “Kind of like you and Bieberman.”
Double Play Page 7
