Triple Score

by Regina Kyle

  “Whatever that means.” His smile made her pulse skitter. “But don’t worry. You can hang on to your precious shoes. Both of them. I don’t have to track you down. I know where you live, remember?”

  “Then what?”

  “The happy ending, babe,” he whispered in her ear as they stopped in front of the hostess station. He took the pager out of her unprotesting hand, gave it to the woman behind the podium and motioned for his friends to join them. “It’s all about the happy ending.”

  * * *

  “I THINK I got one.” Reid’s line jerked. He stood, put his beer in the cup holder on the arm of his folding chair and plucked his pole from the sand.

  “Are you sure it’s a fish this time and not a tire?” Cooper taunted.

  “That was an honest mistake.” Reid waded a few inches into the water and planted his feet apart, slowly reeling in his line. “Damn thing weighed a ton and fought me every inch of the way.”

  “Just remember, we’re aiming for striped bass, Professor. They’re tastier than Goodyears. And a lot easier on the jaw.”

  Jace sat back and listened to his friends’ good-natured bickering. They were always like this, the three of them. At each other constantly, but in a harmless, boys-will-be-boys kind of way. And when push came to shove, they had each other’s backs. Night or day, no questions asked.

  So what would his two best friends say now if they knew their star shortstop, their fearless leader, the guy famous for his string of ballpark bunnies was hung up on a little bit of a ballerina with a whole lotta backbone and a big-ass attitude?

  They’d only been at the lake a day and a half and he already missed her. Missed her like hell, with a palpable, physical ache. And he wasn’t just talking about his neglected dick. He tried to tell himself it was because they hadn’t had the chance to say a proper—translation, horizontal—goodbye before he took off with the infield idiots. But that was bullshit, and he knew it. He could screw her from now to eternity and it still wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough.

  What scared him the most was that it wasn’t just the sex he missed. It was her. Her perfume, a mix of fruit and flowers, lingering on his pillow. Her off-beat taste in music—something she called art punk, which she subjected him to during their joint workouts. The endearing habit she had of wishing on everything from dandelions to pennies to stray eyelashes.

  Jesus Christ, he was turning into a major league pussy. He crushed the empty can in his fist and lobbed it into the cooler at his feet.

  It’s all about the happy ending. His syrupy sweet words echoed in his head. Had he actually said that to her? Who was he, Hans Christian Andersen?

  This wasn’t a fairy tale. Noelle had her life to go back to in New York. He had his in sunny California. And with three thousand miles in between, never the twain shall meet.

  “Hey, Monroe,” Cooper barked, snapping Jace out of his trance. “Think you can toss me a beer with that gimpy arm of yours? I’m gonna sit back, relax and watch the Professor reel in the catch of the day. Or another hunk of rubber.”

  “My arm’s fine,” Jace lied, fishing a can from the cooler and making a show of aiming it with his trademark pinpoint accuracy into Cooper’s waiting hands. But a beer can at twenty feet was one thing. A baseball across the diamond was another.

  “I’m telling you, this one’s dinner.” Reid waded farther into the lake, the water seeping over the tops of his Wellingtons. The guy took his fishing seriously. He looked like he’d walked straight out of an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. “And you’re cleaning it.”

  Ten minutes, a lot of splashing and a fair amount of swearing later, and Reid stood on dry land, proudly holding up a fat, shiny fish.

  “Hope you’ve got your knife ready,” he said, removing the hook from the fish’s mouth, tossing his prize into a wire basket and handing the whole thing off to Cooper.

  “You want to cook it inside or out?” the second baseman asked.

  “Out.” Reid wiped his hands on his pants and reached for his beer. “There’s nothing like the taste of fresh fish grilled over a campfire.”

  Jace stood. “I’ll go get some wood.”

  “I’ll help.” Reid finished his beer and threw the can into the cooler with the rest of the empties. “Then we can bring all this stuff back up to the campsite.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” One-armed, Cooper folded up his chair. “I’ll get started on the fish.”

  He headed for their campsite on Boulder Beach. Jace and Reid set off in the opposite direction. They hadn’t gone ten feet when the interrogation began.

  “So, now that we’ve gotten rid of the comic relief part of this trio, let’s get serious. Tell me about your girl.”

  “Noelle.” Jace bent to pick up some twigs for kindling. “Her name is Noelle.”

  “Her name’s not important. What’s important is that you’re in love with her.”

  “You figured that out in less than twenty-four hours?” Jace kicked at a rock. “What are you, psychic?”

  “I don’t have to be. It’s written all over you.”

  “How so?”

  “Please. You were inches from flattening Coop just for staring at her ass a little too long. You’re a textbook case, buddy boy.”

  “Of jealousy, maybe. That’s a long way from love.” Wasn’t it?

  “If you say so.” Reid picked up a log. One end broke off in his hand, and he threw the rotted wood down. “But take it from me. Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”

  A shadow flashed across Reid’s face, so quick Jace almost missed it. What did he mean, take it from him? As long as Jace had known him, Reid had been a rolling stone, never sticking with one woman for long. Then again, the first baseman was notoriously close-mouthed about his private life. Even Jace and Cooper, his two closest friends, didn’t know the story behind his scar.

  Jace studied his friend but it was like staring at a blank wall. “Okay, let’s say for the sake of argument that you’re right. What am I supposed to do about it? We live on opposite coasts.”

  “You’ve heard of the Wright brothers. They invented this fancy flying machine called the aeroplane. I hear tell it can get you cross country in under five hours. Then there’s texting, FaceTime, Skype...”

  “I get the picture.” Jace thought of his mother, waiting in some crappy, Double-A-salary apartment for his father to return from yet another extended road trip. Even if the technology had existed back then, no amount of texting or Skyping or whatever-ing could have held that marriage together. “Long-distance relationships never work.”

  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. If the girl’s worth it.” Reid pinned Jace with a look so pointed it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Is she worth it?”

  “What’s with you, man?” Jace stopped midstride. This was super serious, even for the Professor. “You sound like Dr. Phil.”

  “Don’t dodge the question. This is about your love life, not mine.”

  Jace didn’t have to think long or hard to answer. “Yeah. She’s worth it.”

  “Then take a risk. You’re a power hitter, damn it. Swing for the fences.”

  “And if I strike out?”

  “You won’t.”

  “Psychic again?”

  “Nah. Just observant. She could barely keep her eyes off you. She’s as gone as you are. If you love her and let her go, you’ll regret it. Trust me.”

  Again, Reid’s face darkened, his scar seeming to become deeper, harsher, and Jace wondered exactly who had hurt him and how. But Reid didn’t give him the chance to ask.

  “We’ve got enough wood. Let’s get back to camp.”

  Jace got the message. Subject closed. Not that he was complaining. They spent the rest of the time talking about safer stuff like the All-Star game and the Storm’s chances in the play-offs.

  “Took you guys long enough,” Cooper scolded them when they finally made it to the campsite. “Jace, you better check your phone. It’s be
en blowing up for the past half hour.”

  Shit. He’d left his cell in the RV, not wanting to risk losing it in the lake. Service sucked outside the campground, anyway.

  “Thanks.”

  He jerked open the door of the Airstream, panicked thoughts rushing his brain. His dad wasn’t as young as he used to be. What if he’d fallen and hurt himself, or worse? Or maybe it was his agent, calling about his contract, which was due to expire at the end of the season.

  And for the first time, a new concern cropped up to join the other, familiar ones: What if something had happened to Noelle?

  Only one way to find out.

  He dug his cell out from under a pile of Field & Stream magazines on the kitchen table that folded into the most uncomfortable bed he’d ever slept in—and he’d slept in some downright pitiful ones during his stint in the minors—and swiped the screen. Five missed calls, all from an unfamiliar number, and one voice mail.

  He hesitated, then dialed, slumping against the table as he listened to the message.

  “Dammit.” He stabbed the end-call button with his finger and shoved the phone in his pocket.

  “What’s wrong?” Cooper asked.

  “You look like shit,” Reid, on his heels, added not so tactfully.

  “I’m sorry, guys, but we have to cut this short.” Jace scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “I’ve got to get back.”

  “To rehab?” Reid asked, all trace of smart-ass gone now. “Something up with Noelle?”

  “To Sacramento.” Jace’s hands tightened into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms. Painful, but it beat the alternative—punching a hole in the windshield. “It’s my father. He’s been arrested.”

  13

  JACE HAD PLANNED to tell Noelle straight off. Maybe not all the gritty details about his father being behind bars, charged with gambling. Gambling, for Christ’s sake. As worried as he was about his dad, he couldn’t help but be a little pissed, too. What if he was betting on baseball? Or even worse, betting on—or against—the Storm? Did he want his son banned from the sport for life?

  No, Jace wasn’t confessing all of that to Noelle. He figured he’d be deliberately vague, tell her a family emergency meant he had to be on a plane home first thing tomorrow morning. Hopefully, she wouldn’t fish for more information.

  She’d been the first person he sought out when Cooper and Reid dropped him off at Spaulding. Just his luck, he’d tracked her down in the pool. One look at her slicing through the water, her lithe, slick body powerful and graceful and totally synchronized, and all his good intentions had flown out the window.

  He waited until she reached the side of the pool closest to him and came up for air, gripping the edge with one hand and wiping the water out of her eyes with the other.

  “Well, well.” He smiled down at her, almost drowning in the pleasantly-surprised look filling her baby blues. “Look what we have here. My very own mermaid.”

  “Jace.” She blinked away a stray water droplet. “I thought you weren’t due back until tomorrow.”

  “Would you believe me if I said I couldn’t stay away?”

  “From what?”

  He squatted down in front of her and plucked a stray lock of wet hair off her face, letting his hand linger on her cheek. “From you. Mind if I join you?”

  He stood and reached for the hem of his shirt.

  “That depends.” She crossed her arms on the edge of the pool, letting her legs float behind her. “Are you wearing a swimsuit under there?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Then come on in.” She rested her chin on her forearms. “The water’s fine.”

  Jace glanced at the door leading from the pool area to the locker rooms, then back at Noelle. “You’re not afraid we’ll get caught?”

  She shook her head, spraying droplets all over the pool deck and onto his Vans. “It’s after dinner. All the patients are back in their rooms, asleep or watching TV. Anyway, the pool’s closed for the night. Sara told me to lock up when I’m done. So no one will be disturbing us.”

  Jace wasn’t sure what had inspired the sudden attitude adjustment, but he wasn’t about to question it. Not when she was wet and willing and—holy crap—peeling her swimsuit down over her perfect breasts.

  “I figured if you’re naked, I should be, too. I mean, what’s good for the goose and all that, right?” She eyed his still-clad lower body. “You are going to get naked, aren’t you?”

  ‘Hell, yeah.” He toed off his sneakers, shucked his jeans and boxer briefs in one swift move and did a swan dive into the pool.

  When he came up for air, he was a few feet behind her. She threw her swimsuit onto the deck next to his clothes and spun around to face him, using her elbows to brace herself on the ledge. “Are you crazy?”

  “You’re the one who invited me skinny-dipping.”

  “I meant diving. The water’s not even six feet deep. You could have broken your neck.”

  “Worried about me, Duchess?” He swam up to her and took hold of the ledge on either side of her, trapping her between the side of the pool and his body. She felt soft and slick against his hardness as the lukewarm water gently lapped around them. “Be careful. I might start to think you have feelings for me.”

  “Of course I do. I told you, I don’t sleep with men I don’t like.”

  “‘Like’ is such a weak word. I like pizza. And beer. And watching stupid cat videos on YouTube.” He punctuated each one with a kiss, tasting first her lips, then her throat, then those perfect breasts. “I’m talking about something a little deeper than that.”

  On the word deeper, he pushed a finger inside her, teasing her. She wrapped her legs around him and arched her back. After a few awkward thrusts, he withdrew and started walking to the shallow end of the pool.

  “What are you doing?” She clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging into his back. The slight pain made the pleasure of her body sliding against his even more intense, and he had count to ten before he could answer.

  “Deeper may be good for diving, but it’s not so good for sex.” He set her down on the pool steps and she lay back, propping herself up on her elbows. He leaned over her and plunged one finger into her again, then two, curving them to hit her G-spot. Her long, blond hair fanned out behind her and the water swirled around her hard, rosy nipples, making her look like a sexed-up mermaid. “See? Better, right?”

  “Right,” she panted, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. “So, so right.”

  “Open your eyes,” he demanded. “I want to watch you when you come. I want you to watch me watching you, to see what you do to me.”

  Her eyes drifted open and she ground her hips against his hand in a wild, wide circle. Christ, she felt so good around him, like wet, smooth silk.

  “I’ve never had sex in a pool before.” Her cheeks flushed adorably, making his heart lurch.

  “Technically, you’re not now.”

  “Close enough,” she said on a moan as a third finger joined the two already probing her center.

  “Believe it or not, neither have I. Something we can both cross off our bucket list.”

  Even as he said it, he knew what they were doing was more than a checking off a box on a list. What they were doing might have started as two consenting adults scratching a sexual itch, but it had grown into something more than a friends-with-benefits fling. How much more, only time would tell.

  Time they didn’t have because he was leaving tomorrow morning.

  He banished that thought and instead pushed into her with renewed urgency, any idea he might have had taking it slow and teasing her until she begged for release a speck in the rearview mirror. She seemed as desperate as he was, meeting him thrust for thrust, her nails raking tiny lines up and down his back.

  The water sloshed over the lip of the pool onto the tile as he drove her higher and higher. It didn’t take long before she spiraled out of control, bucking and writhing until she was spent.

  “Wo
w.” Noelle flopped onto the step. “Now I know what I’ve been missing.”

  “Missing?” Jace splashed down next to her, then pulled her on top of him.

  She tucked her head under his chin and sighed. “You know. The pool sex thing.”

  “Oh, that. I guess you do.”

  He felt her laugh rumble through him, and a pang of guilt stabbed him in the gut. “There’s something I have to tell you. I...”

  “Shhh.” She put a finger to his mouth. “Not tonight. Whatever it is can wait until morning.”

  No, it couldn’t.

  “But...”

  She added another finger and pressed them harder against his lips. “Please. I don’t want anything to spoil this. Besides, I owe you one orgasm.”

  “It’s not a contest.”

  “Tell that to Little Jace.” She wriggled against his still hard dick. “Let’s go back to my room. We can shower off the chlorine. I’ll scrub your back. And your front.”

  Well, when she put it that way...

  One more go-round wouldn’t hurt. And it’d sure as hell make Little Jace happy. He could always tell her after they were showered and in her bed, in a state of postcoital bliss. Maybe it wouldn’t sound so bad then.

  “Okay.” Jace stood, taking her with him, cradled against his chest. “But only if I can return the favor.”

  * * *

  “JACE? ARE YOU AWAKE?” The form next to Noelle remained unmoving, the only sound coming from him a soft snore. Not surprising given the workout they’d had, first in the pool, then the shower, then, finally, the bed.

  With a soft sigh, she rolled gingerly to her side, not wanting to disturb him, and studied him in the half-light coming from the partially open bathroom door. He was beautiful, even in sleep. A lock of blue-black hair hung across his forehead. Dark lashes, sinfully long for a man, rested on his smooth, tanned cheeks like feathery fans. Stubble dotted his strong, square jaw.