Moonshot

by Alessandra Torre

  “I’m sorry.” He rubbed at his mouth.

  “It’s a blind corner. No big deal.”

  “No.” He coughed. “I’m sorry about the locker room. What I said—it was stupid.”

  “Oh.” I could feel the blush, hot and prickly through my cheeks. “It was stupid.”

  He laughed in response, the sound loud and unexpected. “So you didn’t like what you saw.”

  I stared at him, my eyes widening, no coherent, logical response coming to mind. “No!” I finally said, and it was five heartbeats too late.

  “Really,” he challenged.

  I couldn’t respond to that and stepped around him, moving down the hall, my feet quickening. I was desperate for an escape, for room to breathe, desperate for anything but another word of conversation.

  “You always run, Little League?” his call rang down the hall, slamming into the back of my head.

  I stopped. Turned. Met those eyes across twenty feet of nothing. “You always bunt?” I called back.

  He snorted. “Bunt?”

  I shrugged. “That’s what it felt like to me.” My lie came out strong, the words mixing his brown eyes into something darker.

  “Grand slams aren’t typically called for, in this situation.”

  “What situation is that?” I couldn’t shut up. It was like I was running full force to the edge of the cliff, but my legs wouldn’t stop.

  “Untouchable women.”

  Women. Not girls, not children. Had I ever been considered a woman? Was I a woman?

  “And it wasn’t a bunt,” he added, before I had the chance to formulate a response.

  “It wasn’t?”

  He took a step back, turning away and tossing a response over one perfectly sculpted shoulder. “Babe, I haven’t even stepped up to bat.”

  He was around the corner before my brain processed the words. Before I could form the question that followed the receipt.

  Hadn’t stepped up to bat? Meaning … he hadn’t even been interested? Or … was that heart-stopping moment just a scratch at the surface of what Chase Stern could unleash?

  It was probably good he left. I didn’t think anything positive would come from a further explanation.

  That night, the game was cancelled, and I went back to the hotel, my uniform still wet, my mind still wound up.

  When I closed my eyes in bed, all I could see was his stare, and all I could smell was the phantom scent of his cologne.

  26

  Dallas

  Chase Stern stepped off the bus, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. Moving forward, he ignored the shouts from fans, their line of bodies packed in on either side, hands reached out over the barricade fence, balls and notepads thrust out, an undulating wave of obligations. A pair of tits caught his eye, and he slowed, stretching and taking a Sharpie from the perky blonde. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Kristin,” she beamed, and when she leaned forward and adjusted the hem of her shorts, he could see everything.

  He scribbled her name on the jersey she held out, glancing backward, his eyes connecting for a brief moment with Ty, her step off the bus quick and no-nonsense, her eyes moving off his, her face unchanging.

  “My number.” The blonde tried to hand him a piece of hot pink paper.

  “I’m good.” He waved it off, capping the marker and handing it back.

  “Just take it,” she insisted, still holding it out.

  He took the next pen and scribbled out another signature, ignoring the paper, which seemed to make the blonde more insistent. Giving another two autographs, he stepped back, waving a hand to the crowd and avoiding the eyes of the blonde.

  He didn’t analyze his actions. Didn’t wonder why his overactive sex drive seemed to have suddenly gone on hiatus. It was probably about time he stopped screwing around—especially with the Yankees, a team that frowned on scandal of any sort.

  He stepped toward the building, following the line of players who had passed, his eyes finding and resting on a figure, shorter than all the others, one blonde ponytail bobbing among the men.

  27

  Tampa

  11:14 PM. The Marriott. At an alcove at the end of the twenty-seventh floor, I stood and stared at the vending machine choices, chewing the edge of my cheek. I had my strengths. A killer curveball. Mad karaoke skills. The ability to finish off a Slurpee in five minutes flat with no brain freeze. Decision-making was not my strong point. Especially when faced with a well-stocked vending machine.

  “Big thought process you got going on there.”

  I didn’t look over. There was only one person who owned that voice. I held up the dollar. “Limited funds. I have to choose wisely.”

  “Go with the Milky Way.”

  That line of idiocy earned him a grimace; the gesture aimed in his general direction before my eyes were held hostage by the beauty that was a shirtless Chase Stern.

  Navy pajama pants hung low on his hips, and I’d bet my dollar right then that he had nothing on underneath. No shoes. Bare torso, cut and lean, with enough muscle to rip homers and make any teenage girl come apart at the seams.

  My seams twitched, along with my eyes, which pulled from his abs and to his face. I was still frowning, and his eyebrows rose in response. “Not a chocolate fan?”

  He leaned a hand on the Coke machine, and the new pose popped unique muscles and pushed at the limits of my control. I fought to maintain eye contact. “Not a Milky Way fan.”

  “Then what’s the big debate?”

  “Starburst or Twix.” I shouldn’t be talking to him. Three conversations were three too many. On the other hand, it wasn’t physically possible for my feet to walk away. They refused, rooted deep in the hotel carpet.

  He straightened, reaching a hand into the pocket of his pajamas. The dig slid the waistband lower, and I looked away, hearing the low scrapes of a chuckle. “Here.” He spoke, and I looked over, seeing his hand outstretched, cupped around a stack of change. “Get both.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Shut up and take the money. Otherwise I’ll be here all night waiting on you to make up your mind.”

  I twisted my mouth at him and held out a hand under his, the exchange of coins managed without any physical contact.

  He said nothing as I inserted my dollar and the change, my fingers quick as they jabbed at the buttons. The moment grew uncomfortable, and I bent over, pushing the drawer open and reaching in for my candy.

  When I straightened, I caught his eyes on my ass, and they darted, guilty as sin, back to my face. I ignored it, nodding politely to him as I lifted the candy in parting. “Thanks.” I stepped around him and walked toward my room, trying for a slow and leisurely stroll, when all I wanted to do was sprint.

  “What are you doing now?”

  I stopped, glancing back at him. “Going to my room.”

  “You share a room with your dad?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Does it matter?”

  He shrugged, pushing his hands in his pockets, his shoulders cupping forward. “I can’t sleep. Thought I’d walk down to the marina. You been?”

  “Yeah.”

  He chuckled, as if that was funny. “Want to go again?”

  “You want me to go down to the marina with you?” I turned fully around to face him, my mind too slow to comprehend.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Jesus, Ty. To talk. To get to know each other. It’s not an orgy invitation.”

  “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

  “Why?”

  “You know.” I waved my hand in his general direction. “Your reputation.”

  “It’s a walk.” He glanced to the machine, dropping in some change and punching at a button. “But whatever. Enjoy your night.” The machine rumbled, and he crouched, pulling out a Gatorade.

  I hovered, my candy in hand, and weighed my options.

&nb
sp; I knew what I should do. Trot back down the hall and to my room. Lock the door, crawl into bed, and order a movie.

  Instead, I stepped toward him, his eyes on mine as he twisted off the Gatorade lid and lifted it to his lips. “A short walk,” I countered, stopping before him.

  “Fine.” He shrugged.

  I smiled despite myself, and there, in the quiet hallway of the twenty-seventh floor, he smiled back.

  28

  The hotel towered over the marina, both of them stuck on the edge of the Tampa Bay. We said little in the elevator, the silence uncomfortable, and I relaxed a bit when we stepped out the back doors and into the night air. It was late, the restaurant closed, few lights on, and our walk to the dock went unnoticed. My dad was probably sleeping, our goodnights said an hour before, his room quiet when I’d slipped out to get a snack. Still, I felt nervous. With every person we passed, I held my breath, worried about another teammate, or a coach, a media hound, or even a fan.

  A breeze broke up the balmy night, and the tension in my shoulders relaxed a bit with each step farther into the dark, away from the hotel. When we reached one end, a mammoth yacht beside us, he crouched down, swinging his feet out and sitting down on the edge, looking up at me. “Sit down.”

  I did, leaving enough space between that we didn’t touch. Before us, a gap between the boats, a twinkle of city lights lined the top of dark water.

  He was a quiet guy. He sat there and said nothing, his Gatorade occasionally lifting to his lips, his strong profile lit gently by the yacht’s lights. I didn’t speak. Ten years with my father had gotten me accustomed to stretches of silence. I opened my Starburst package and pulled out a yellow cube. Unwrapping it carefully, I sucked the gummy candy into my mouth and leaned back on my palms. Against my bare legs, the night breeze tickled.

  “You normally do this? Come on the road with the team?”

  I rolled the candy in my mouth. “Yep.”

  “Must make a social life hard.”

  I turned and looked at him. “It’s the same schedule you’ve been on for three years. Doesn’t look like it’s cramped your style any.”

  “I’m not a teenage girl. Don’t you guys have sleepovers and—”

  “—pillow fights?” I cut him off. “No.” I reconsidered the question. “At least I don’t. Friends aren’t something I have a lot of.” Any of.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Lack of options?” I didn’t look at him. “No one else travels with the team except a few wives. And I’m home schooled so…” I lifted a shoulder. “My dad and I are close. And the guys on the team keep me company.”

  “No boyfriend?”

  I risked a look at him. The darkness shielded most of his face, dim hints of his beauty peeking out at me. But I could see him looking back at me, the eye contact I was so scared of right there, his face expectant, his question hanging in the dark.

  “I don’t think you can ask me that.”

  “Why?”

  I stuffed another Starburst in my mouth. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” I rushed out the words, the response barely audible through the candy, my cheeks burning.

  If I expected a response, I was disappointed. He tilted back his Gatorade and took a long sip. I tried to think of something, a change in subject, but couldn’t find a single question that didn’t border on inappropriate.

  He broke the silence. “I hate traveling.” He screwed the lid on the bottle and flipped it into the air, catching it with one hand. “Why don’t you stay home? Be a normal teenager?”

  I set down my candy and tucked my hands under my thighs, swinging out my feet. “Dad tries every year to keep me home. He doesn’t succeed.”

  “Most wouldn’t give their daughter a choice.”

  “I think he just wants to make sure that I really want to be here. He argues, I fight back…” I shrugged. “Then the next season starts, and I’m back on the bus.”

  “But this is your last season, right?”

  I turned to him, one eyebrow raised.

  “Someone said you were seventeen,” he explained. “I figured you were a senior.”

  I nodded slowly. “I am.”

  “So … what will you do after you graduate?”

  I turned my head and met his eyes. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “None of the ones I want.” His reply was so quick that it caught us both off guard, his eyes moving away, head dropping, his teeth catching his bottom lip and holding it in place.

  “So ask.” I suddenly felt bold, his hand near mine, gripping the edge of the dock, those strong fingers, that home-run-hitting arm tight as he rested his weight on it.

  “Nah. Not now.” He smiled, as if in apology, and lifted his chin at me. “Ask me something.”

  “Why did you sleep with Davis’s wife?”

  It was a wildly inappropriate question—one I almost took back, the words hanging uncomfortably between us.

  “Wow.” He rubbed his cheek. “You really dove in there.”

  “You don’t have to answer it.” But I wanted him to. I wanted to know how someone could be so incredibly stupid.

  “She was there. I was bored.”

  I shifted uneasily. “Please tell me that’s not the sugarcoated answer.”

  “It’s the truth. I’m a man. Self-control isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

  “So … you didn’t love her?” I heard the way the question came out. Naïve. Young. I know people fuck without love. I’d seen, in ten years around players, a lot of stupid decisions. But, I still needed to ask, needed to know what kind of man sat beside me.

  He laughed, hard and cruel. “Love her? No. I’m not entirely sure I even liked her.”

  I wondered how Davis’s wife had felt about him. If she’d been the same, their sex just some lust-filled side project that had gone wrong. Or if he’d poured on false promises, wooing and abandoning her with one easy signature on the trade contract. I wondered if she was heartbroken and crying, all while I giggled at him in a hotel hallway and felt special because he’d given me seventy-five cents for a candy bar.

  I was suddenly angry with myself and pushed to my feet, my cheeks burning.

  “You’re mad?” He looked up at me, the moonlight on his face, his expression wary. “Oh.” He barked out a laugh. “You wanted the bullshit response I gave the press? You want me to be remorseful and blame it on alcohol or drugs?” I moved to leave, and his hand grabbed my bicep, and then he was standing.

  “I knew what I was doing,” he said, low and close to my ear. “I knew the risks. I didn’t care. And look.” He let go of me, holding his hands out from his body. “Look at what I got. A spot on the Yankee roster. Not bad.”

  I smiled, and he didn’t understand, his cocky grin becoming wary. “You think you’re the first asshole I’ve met?” I shook my head. “I’ve lived in a man’s world for a long time, Chase. And I’ve watched men like you make mistakes like that over and over again.”

  “I’m not an asshole,” he said quietly, stepping closer—and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be able to see the detail in his eyes when they softened. The way they begged. What was he wanting? “It was sex. Nothing more. For either of us.”

  “Her husband was your teammate. It’s like … being a family. You don’t do that to family.” He shouldn’t need me to explain this to him. He should know.

  “A team isn’t a family. If it were, that would make your father and I brothers. And if we were brothers, then I couldn’t do this.” He stepped forward, his fingers warm, tips of contact sliding under the hem of my shirt, around to the small of my back. His other hand touched my cheek, a soft brush as if testing to see if I was real. I didn’t move, my mind struggling to think, to process. Was he about to—then, his head lowered, his hand fell away, and he pressed his lips to mine.

  I didn’t want to kiss him. My hand was suddenly on his chest, and I wanted to push away. I didn’t want my palm
to mold to muscle, for my fingers to dig. I didn’t want my mouth to open wider, my tongue to give in. I certainly didn’t want for this kiss, with this man, to change everything I ever knew about chemistry.

  Our kiss had energy, it was a battle—one fought with gentle teases, exploratory touches, and passion—need pulling me forward even as I tried my best to push him away…

  And then it was done, my feet stumbling back, his hands releasing me, eye contact the only thing left between us. Hungry eyes. They held me in place as he all but licked his lips. They should have scared me, but they didn’t. They matched the staccato of my heart, the gasp of my breath, the tremble of my fingers. They were wild and young, and I saw—in the widen of them—a peek of vulnerability.

  I took another step back and almost fell off the dock, my foot turning on the edge of the path, my arms swinging out as I regained my balance. I blushed, my visions of a smooth exit shattered, and glanced over my shoulder at the hotel, no one in sight to witness my stumble, or our kiss. “I’m going to bed.”

  I could still feel his lips on me when I looked back, Chase saying nothing, his eyes darker now that I was farther away, their hold lessened, and I turned. I stepped down the dock, flip-flops flapping against the boards, and listened. But he didn’t call out, didn’t follow, silence the only sound behind me.

  He let me go and that, more than anything, stabbed the hardest.

  When I got back to my room, I turned off the lights and walked to the window. Pulling aside the curtain, I looked down at the marina. Chase was still there, his back to me, hands in his pocket, standing where we had kissed, his eyes on the water.

  I leaned against the wall, my fingers absently touching my lips. The kiss should never have happened. If my father found out, if anyone did, it would be disastrous.

  Together, we would only bring chaos.

  29

  He didn’t know what it was about her. How she managed to get under his skin. He’d sat next to her on that dock and wanted to wrap his arms around her. Sit there until morning and unwrap every layer, every story, every nuance of her soul.