The Winning Season

by Alison Packard

  “Oh, right. She’s more the Frederick’s of Hollywood type, isn’t she?” She set her pen down and covered the hearts she’d drawn with her hand. “I prefer Victoria’s Secret myself.”

  “Really?” A wicked gleam lighted his eyes. “Interesting.”

  Kelly’s mouth went dry. Why the hell had she said that? “They have excellent sales,” she said quickly, feeling her cheeks start to burn.

  “I’m sure they do.” Matt grinned, his strong features softening with boyish charm. “So we’ll talk later about Lily’s party?”

  “Yes. Have a good game,” she called after him as he left her office.

  For a long while Kelly stared at her computer screen without seeing a thing on it. She was going to Lily’s party with Matt. It wasn’t a date, was it? No. No way. Matt had just been relaying Lily’s invitation and since he was going to the party anyway it made sense to go together. Besides, she was the last woman on earth Matt would date. He was into skinny blondes with big breasts like Tiffany or Stacia.

  Besides, I’m fat. No man wants a fat chick, remember?

  “Stop it,” she whispered to her subconscious.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and replaced the negative words with positive ones.

  I’m the right weight for my height. I’m fit and healthy. Any man would be lucky to have me.

  It took several minutes but she was able to push the negative thoughts away. At first, the whole positive thoughts thing had been difficult. For years, even before the worst of her eating disorder, her thoughts about herself had been brutal. As a kid she’d always been taller than her peers, and the sometimes cruel comments they made to her had cut like a knife and made her even more self-conscious. Then later, when she was older and had become interested in boys, none of them were interested in her. They all seemed to prefer the more petite and less athletic girls.

  Every day, she’d wished she was like the other girls, and that’s when she’d started obsessing about her body. Then in her senior year of high school it got worse. She’d overheard a guy she liked talking about her with his friends. Unaware she was listening, he told them he’d never go out with a fat-ass like her, and how it was too bad she didn’t have a hot body like her sister. She’d been crushed, but instead of realizing that the guy was an immature and insensitive jerk, she became convinced that losing weight was the answer to all of her problems.

  Rising from her desk, Kelly left her office and headed for the elevator. She needed to clear her head and the best way to do that was to take a walk. The ballpark was situated right on the edge of the bay and there was a promenade with a spectacular view of the Bay Bridge. A brisk walk would do wonders for her state of mind and since she’d eaten lunch at her desk while working, she still had her lunch hour to spare.

  It was a beautiful August day. The morning fog was long gone and the warm sun kissed her face. The air smelled of salt, and the seagulls squawked as they hovered over the area looking for scraps of food. She watched, amused, as two of the gulls fought over a discarded French fry.

  She strolled past Java Joe’s, a small white shack that was—as usual—packed and headed toward the promenade. As she walked, she made it a point to really look at the people around her. It was something her therapist had recommended when she was going through recovery and as odd as it had seemed at first, it really helped. People came in all different shapes and sizes. Only a few could attain the perfect image worshipped by the media and Hollywood. Those individuals were a very small percentage of the population and many of them had developed eating disorders striving to maintain that illusion of perfection.

  An illusion was just what it was. At least for her. During the worst years of her eating disorder—right after college—she had lost a great deal of weight and yet it had never been enough. There wasn’t one single day when she’d felt happy. She had shunned her friends and ignored her family. She’d stopped playing softball and spent long lonely hours at the gym trying to burn as many calories as possible.

  It was a nightmare she wasn’t sure she’d ever wake up from. Then one day she’d come across a program on television that had changed her life. It was a talk show devoted solely to eating disorders. It scared her. The young women on the show were emaciated yet still believed they were fat.

  Talk about a wake-up call. Horrified, she’d watched knowing she was going down that same destructive path. She had called Kayla that evening and, after a shaky start, told her sister everything. The next day, at Kayla’s urging, she’d started an outpatient treatment program.

  That program had saved her life. And while she now considered herself recovered, sometimes those negative thoughts would pop into her head—just like they had today. Or something would upset her that made her want to ignore what she was feeling by bingeing. The trick was in knowing how to deal with those thoughts and her feelings so she didn’t fall back into those old patterns.

  Maybe Matt wouldn’t date a woman who looked like her. She could accept that. After all, everyone had their preferences. It didn’t mean she was unworthy of love. It meant that despite the attraction she felt for him, he wasn’t the man for her.

  Her mom’s favorite saying was “there’s a lid for every pot.” She was a pot that hadn’t yet found its lid. But she would.

  * * *

  Sitting on a bar stool at Kamu’s gleaming oak bar, Matt took a long pull of his beer and watched the highlights of the game the Blaze had just fought hard to win. A walk-off home run by Marquis Lopes in the bottom of the ninth inning had capped a come-from-behind rally that had sealed the Diamondbacks’ fate and, combined with a Padres loss, had put the Blaze and the Dodgers in a dead heat for first place in the division.

  Next to him, J.T. was also engrossed in the highlights. They both watched and listened as an annoying sports channel reporter speculated on whether the Blaze could keep up their winning ways.

  “This dickhead is pissing me off,” J.T. said irritably after polishing off the last of his beer.

  “Why’s that?” Matt asked, still staring at the flat screen.

  J.T. set his bottle on the bar and waved off the bartender. “No thanks, man. One’s my limit after a game.” The bartender nodded and then moved to the other end of the bar. “When we were on that losing streak they wrote off our whole season. And now that we’re winning, they’re saying it’s a fluke. We can’t catch a break from those assholes.”

  “Don’t listen to them. Trust me, letting them get inside your head isn’t worth it.” He took another sip of his beer.

  “Is that what happened to you last year? Is that why you...”

  “Why I fucked up?” Matt finished for him. “No. I can’t blame the media for my behavior. That’s all on me. But I did let what they were saying about me fuel my anger.”

  J.T. cast him a sidelong glance. He was dying to know more, but because J.T. was a stand-up guy he wouldn’t ask. Matt appreciated that about him. J.T. was becoming a good friend. The same couldn’t be said for Dave Rizzo. After their little confrontation in the clubhouse lounge, the pitcher had stopped questioning Matt’s pitch calls but his surly attitude hadn’t changed. In fact, Rizzo’s animosity seemed even stronger.

  Forgetting Rizzo, Matt glanced at his watch. It was still fairly early and he wasn’t at all tired. Nor did he relish the thought of going home to his empty condo. It didn’t feel like a home. All the furnishings were rented, including the dishes. It was like living in a hotel. Hell, Kelly’s office was more inviting than his place. It was small, but she’d hung several photos of her family on the walls and several potted plants sat atop the credenza near her desk. Plants that weren’t dead. He’d never had much luck with houseplants. Along with her stellar softball skills, Kelly also had a green thumb.

  Softball. That’s right. Kelly had a game tonight. The championship, she’d said. At the park on 6th and Folsom—an easy walk from Kamu’s.

  Matt turned to J.T. “Got any plans?”

  “Nope.” J.T. cocked his
head and regarded him with curiosity. “Why?”

  “Kelly’s softball team has their final game tonight. I was thinking of taking a walk over there and checking it out. You in?”

  J.T. flashed a wide grin. “Beats going home and watching reruns.”

  * * *

  Kelly sprung up from her crouched position behind home plate and trotted toward Angie, who had stepped off the pitcher’s mound and motioned for her to come out for a little pitcher-catcher convo. Slipping off her catcher’s mask, she wondered what had Angie so distracted. It was the top of the third inning and until just moments ago her friend’s concentration had been razor sharp. Angie had struck out every single batter until walking the opposing team’s overconfident shortstop.

  “Don’t let that guy rattle you,” Kelly said, glancing at the trash-talking jerk who’d just informed her he was going to steal second base and there wasn’t a thing she could do to stop him. Yeah, right. If he thought he could steal a base off of her, let him try. She didn’t have the most picks in the coed league for nothing. “We beat these guys before, remember?” Wiping her moist brow, she frowned as Angie looked over her shoulder, her usually smiling face dead sober. “Hello? What’s going on with you?”

  Angie bit her lip as she swung her gaze back to Kelly. “Matt and J.T. are here,” she whispered. “Don’t look. They’re watching our game.”

  “So what?” Kelly said, even as her heart started to pound. Despite the evening chill, her body was suddenly hot. Matt was here? She itched to turn around but forced herself not to. She knew why she was suddenly flustered. It was that damn attraction she felt for Matt. But why was Angie affected? Angie didn’t give ballplayers the time of day and dated a guy who worked for the city. Scott. An accountant. Kelly had met him once and found him boring as hell, but if Angie was happy, who was she to judge? Angie couldn’t care less about the guys on the team. It didn’t make sense that Matt and J.T. showing up would send her into a tizzy.

  Angie glanced down at the ball in her hand. “None of the players have ever come to our games. It’s weird. It threw me, that’s all.”

  “Then let’s show them how it’s done.” She playfully tagged Angie’s arm with her catcher’s mask. “C’mon, let’s kick some ass.”

  A wry grin split the somberness of Angie’s face. “You’re a cocky bitch, you know that?”

  Kelly laughed, not at all offended. “Damn straight. It’s my best and worst quality.” She paused as the idiot on first base yelled for them to hurry it up. “Ten to one, that douche bag tries to steal on the first pitch. Make it a fastball, would you? I want to nail his ass.”

  Two hours later, after the final out, Kelly was on the field alongside her teammates just after they’d participated in the traditional after-game handshake with the other team. The ritual was a lot more fun when her team won. Which they had. The Panthers were the new coed league fast-pitch champions.

  It felt good.

  What was even better was that the trash-talking shortstop had to shake her hand. He’d done it, but grudgingly. Getting thrown out on an attempted steal had pretty much shut him up for the rest of the game. The next time he’d come up to bat he didn’t even look at her.

  “Are you joining us at Kamu’s?” the Panthers left fielder, Richie, asked her as they crossed the infield together.

  “Not tonight.” She glanced at the row of stands on the side of the field. Matt and J.T. were still there, both talking to Angie, who’d already changed out of her cleats and had her gym bag looped over her shoulder.

  “Are you sure?” Richie put his hand on her arm, pulling her to a stop. “One beer won’t hurt.”

  Kelly laughed. “There’s no such thing as one beer at a Panthers celebration bash.”

  “True,” Richie said.

  “You’re signing up for next season, right?”

  “Of course. And just so you know, I’m predicting another championship.”

  “Those are bold words,” she said as they stopped outside of the caged area that served as a dugout. Most of the team had grabbed their stuff and were heading off in the direction of Kamu’s. “But I think we can do it if we have the same group of players.”

  Richie grinned and then enveloped her in a hug. “Good game tonight, Maxwell,” he said when he pulled back. “I’m glad we’re on the same team. I’d sure as hell hate to play against you.” He looked over her shoulder and squinted. “Isn’t that Matt Scanlon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t peg him for a guy who’d come out to watch a coed game.” Richie released her. Kelly followed him into the dugout and sank down on the metal bench. As she set her mask and glove on the bench next to her, Richie picked up his gym bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll down a few for you at Kamu’s,” he said and then patted her on the arm. “Catch ya later.”

  “See you,” she called after Richie and then bent over to untie the laces of her cleats. She’d slid them both off and had pulled on her sneakers when footsteps crunched on the gravel in the dugout. Looking up, she met Matt’s eyes and couldn’t help the way her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.

  “Good game,” he said and then motioned with his hand. “Can I sit?”

  “Sure,” she said, leaning forward to tie her shoelaces. The move bought her a little time to get her reeling emotions under control. She’d been able to block out his presence during the game, but now there was nothing to distract her. He was inches from her. So close that she could smell his clean soapy scent, close enough that if she moved her thigh to the right just a bit she could touch him.

  And damn it all, she really wanted to touch him.

  “Are you going to Kamu’s?”

  “No.” She grabbed her gym bag from under the bench. “I’ve got a status meeting with Katherine early tomorrow morning.” Forcing herself not to yearn for what she could never have, she reached for her glove and mask and shoved them inside her bag. What was happening to her? Ten days ago she couldn’t stand Matt Scanlon and now she couldn’t seem to stop wondering what it would be like to kiss those firm lips of his.

  It had to be lack of sex. That was it. Lack of nookie was the underlying cause of her overwhelming urge to drag Matt back to her place, strip off his jeans and Blaze sweatshirt, and have her way with him. There could be no other reason. It wasn’t like they had anything in common. Well, except maybe baseball. But that didn’t count. In every other way they were polar opposites.

  “Where did J.T. go?” she asked after noticing that, besides a few of the opposing team’s players, the Panthers were pretty much gone.

  “I think he went with Angie to Kamu’s.” He leaned back against the chain-link fence and stared out at the field. “You love it, don’t you?”

  “Love what?” Turning, she studied his profile. She could see the faint dark stubble on his chin, and his lashes were amazingly thick for a guy. Most women would kill for eyelashes like that. Her included.

  “Playing ball.”

  Tearing her gaze from him, she looked at the now empty diamond. The park’s groundskeeper would soon pull up the bases and rake the infield. By tomorrow it would be in pristine condition. But now it looked a bit used and roughed up. Two teams had battled on that field tonight and during those nine innings every single one of them had given it everything they had. Some would say it was only a game, but it was so much more than that.

  “After my first T-ball game I told my dad I was going to play for the Blaze. I was too young to realize that girls couldn’t play in the majors.” Pulling off her cap, she slapped it against her knee and watched the dust particles float into the air. She leaned back, her arm touching Matt’s as the chain link pressed into her back. “When I found out, I was pretty ticked off.”

  “You’re really good. When I watch you, it reminds me of why I started playing. For the love of the game.” His tone was wistful.

  “Don’t you love it anymore?”

  Matt turned to look at her, his expression enigmatic. �
��If you’d asked me that a month ago, I would have said no.”

  “And now?”

  “I don’t know. Ask me again in a few weeks.” He pinned her with his unreadable eyes for several long seconds before he put his hands on his knees and pushed up from the bench. “It’s getting late, I’ll walk you home.”

  “You don’t have to...”

  “No arguments.” A grin split his face. “Peanut.”

  Kelly slapped her cap against his knee. Hard. “Damn it, Scanlon. Don’t call me that.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I need your advice,” Matt said as he and Kelly stopped near the curb at the intersection of 3rd and Townsend to wait for the light to change. Despite the late hour, there was a steady stream of traffic whizzing by, leaving exhaust fumes in their wake. From what J.T. had told him, the whole area had been revitalized when Blaze Field was built and the Blaze moved from their former stadium in South San Francisco.

  “On what?” Kelly pressed the pedestrian button on the streetlight pole. She had her baseball cap on backward, the brim resting on the elastic band where she’d gathered her hair at the nape of her neck. The golden glow of the streetlights illuminated the faint smudges of dirt that dusted her cheeks and reminded him of that night at Kamu’s a few weeks ago. Another night when he had gone out of his way to insult her. Not his finest moment.

  “On a gift for Lily.”

  “That’s easy.” Kelly hit the button again, and then once more.

  “Punching that thing won’t make the light change any faster,” he said, amused by her impatience.

  “I know. Force of habit.” She gave him a sheepish smile as she adjusted the strap of the black gym bag she’d slipped over her shoulder and across her chest when they’d left the softball field. “Lily wants an official Blaze warm-up jacket.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I can read minds. It’s a gift I have.” She tilted her head, her suddenly serious gaze roaming over his face as if she could indeed read his mind. “In fact, I bet I know what you’re thinking right now.”