Home Run: A Texas Heat Romance

by Camilla Stevens

  As she approached him, Jordan realized that she had completely neglected to get the ball signed. In fact, she had even threatened to throw the damned thing into a sewer. She frowned, trying to think up an excuse.

  She certainly wasn’t going to mention the ménage.

  “Hey Ben,” she said tossing the ball up in the air. “Sorry, but I couldn’t get him to sign it. He kind of just rushed off before I had a chance to talk to him.”

  Looking at the disappointment in his face, she felt bad. It made her that much more pissed off at Carter Fox. If he hadn’t been such a manwhore, then she wouldn’t have been too flustered to remember to get the signature despite what he’d said.

  “Excuse me miss?”

  She turned around at the sound of the voice behind her. It belonged to a lanky, short man with a press badge around his neck, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a slightly smug smile look on his face. For some reason, when he saw Ben, the smile grew to one that could compete with that of a kid in a candy store.

  “Lucas Grabow, journalist, for Lone Star State Baseball,” he pointed to the press badge on his chest. “I was just wondering if I could do a profile on the lucky person who caught Carter Fox’s 30th home run ball.”

  That was the last thing Jordan wanted, especially after the riot act she’d just read the man who’d hit that ball. In retrospect, it probably hadn’t been the smartest move. Especially not for someone who wanted to get a permanent position at Morris & Gibson next year. She was working at the law firm as an associate this summer before her third and final year.

  She took a closer look at the badge. It certainly seemed legit.

  “Cool!” Ben exclaimed. “An actual interview!”

  “Actually, we should probably get going.”

  Lucas just continued, taking his cue from Ben instead of Jordan. “You two wouldn’t happen to be related, would you? I can certainly see the resemblance.”

  “Yeah, she’s my cousin,” Ben piped, before Jordan could stop him. “She caught the ball for me since I couldn’t.” He awkwardly lifted his leg up to show Lucas the obvious.

  Lucas gave an appreciative chuckle.

  “Well, this would make a perfect story. A girl, er, woman,” he gave a meaningful grin toward Jordan, which didn’t give off the female empowerment vibe he was probably going for, “manages to catch Carter Fox’s 30th home run ball, while fighting off an army of attackers, all for her younger cousin who is…”

  He wrinkled his brow at Ben. “Say, what is the deal with the crutches?”

  “Excuse me?” she exclaimed.

  “I was hit by a drunk driver while I was riding my bike.” Ben didn’t seem too perturbed by the question, despite the blunt manner in which it had been asked. It had been well over a month since the accident, which had left the entire family traumatized at the time. By now he was used to people asking about the full-leg cast, even enjoying the attention a bit.

  “You know, it’s been a long day and we’re just trying to get home now,” Jordan said, already feeling the weight of the day wearing on her.

  “It would make a nice little memento of this day for you,” Lucas offered.

  Which was the last thing Jordan wanted.

  And the very thing Ben wanted.

  “Come on Jordan! This would be almost as cool as Carter signing the ball!” Ben said, a pleading look in his eyes as he turned to his cousin.

  Oh, Ben!

  He was still young enough to be thrilled with the idea of being famous. Unfortunately, now the journalist had her name.

  Ben just plowed right on, oblivious to the ambivalence his older cousin was feeling about this whole thing. “Could you get our picture too? I’m going to print it out and frame it next to the ball in my room.”

  “Absolutely, buddy!” Lucas seemed even more thrilled with that idea than Ben was.

  “Awesome!”

  “Absolutely not,” Jordan said. The last thing she needed was a picture cementing everything she was now regretting about this day.

  “Oh come on, Jordan,” Ben begged, using those damn puppy-dog eyes on her that had been working all day. “I could show all my friends and they’d think it’s the coolest.”

  For heaven’s sake, the boy could make Tiny Tim seem like Ebenezer Scrooge. The crutches certainly helped. It reminded her of the shitty year he’d had so far. She had disappointed Ben once already today, she might as well give him this.

  “Okay, fine,” she sighed. After all, it was just a harmless little puff piece about catching the home run ball.

  “Perfect! Now, why don’t you stand up so you’re next to your pretty cousin, Mr…?”

  “Ben. Ben Douglas. And this is Jordan Douglas,” Ben said, happy to be as accommodating as possible.

  “Got it,” Lucas said, writing their names down. “And how old are you, buddy?”

  “Twelve,” Ben said proudly. “And Jordan is twenty-four.”

  Which was something she didn’t feel was particularly relevant. Before she could give Ben a good what for, Lucas was on to the photography.

  “So let’s make sure to get that cast in the photo so we can show everyone what a trouper you are.”

  Jordan had the vague idea that the man was being particularly exploitative of Ben’s condition, but Ben was just eating it up. Lucas positioned him just so, making sure the crutches and cast were glaringly obvious, and then snapped a few photos.

  “Great!” Lucas exclaimed. “Perfect. I’ll be posting today. Make sure to be on the lookout for it! LoneStarStateBaseball.com.”

  Jordan frowned. She had missed the “dot com” at the end of the name the first time around. All the same, she breathed a sigh of relief when he finally jogged away from them.

  “That was cool!” Ben said, beaming. “We got our own interview. I can’t wait to see it!”

  Jordan was glad that Ben was enjoying it all. She had a sneaking suspicion she had just made a huge mistake.

  4

  “Dammit, Carter! The kid’s a damn cripple, for cryin’ out loud!”

  Carter scowled at the offensive word. It wasn’t just the crass nature of the term, it was a reminder that he had screwed up. Seriously screwed up.

  Somehow Lucas Grabow had not only documented the tirade of the woman who’d caught Carter’s ball, but he’d also managed to get a nice little photo of her with her cousin, who as it turned out, wasn’t “as sexy as she was.” It all painted a pretty bad picture. Scratch that, it painted a career-tainting, endorsement-canceling, fanbase-diminishing picture.

  How the hell was Carter supposed to know that her cousin was a 12-year-old boy—a 12-year-old boy on crutches? He mentally winced at the entire episode. No wonder she had called him a disgusting jerk.

  In retrospect, he couldn’t even say why he’d said what he did. The moment she’d mentioned her cousin, the little brain between his legs had immediately taken over. What man could think straight in the face of those damn dimples and those damn legs of hers?

  He’d actually been surprised when he thought she was offering up a threesome. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but she hadn’t seemed like the type. As he very quickly found out, she wasn’t.

  A few fans had recorded the episode for YouTube posterity. Then, a couple of sites had picked up the complete story from LoneStarStateBaseball.com; Carter Fox’s comeuppance made great fodder for the highlight reel of the week. Now, it had officially made its way to legitimacy via the Houston Chronicle and ESPN.

  Lucas fucking Grabow.

  Jordan fucking Douglas.

  Carter shifted in his seat, remembering those curvy legs and brown eyes. It would do him no good to use the word “fucking” in the same sentence as Jordan Douglas.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  Carter shot an irritated glare at the Sluggers’ General Manager. It was pretty bad when you had both the Manager, who coached the team on the field, and the General Manager sitting in front of you. Michael Snyder currently had a tiny vein on his f
orehead that was visibly throbbing in time to his angry words.

  At least Miles Derrick, the team’s manager seemed to be taking it in stride. In fact, Carter could swear there was a hint of a smile at the wringer he was being sent through. Miles was a huge fan of his players getting their life lessons the hard way. Well, Carter Fox was certainly learning today.

  How the hell had he missed Lucas Grabow in the crowd of fans outside the stadium that day?

  He knew how, and she went by the name Jordan Douglas. Jordan Douglas, who wasn’t some Sluggers ball girl hoping for a wink and a smile. Jordan Douglas, who, as it turned out, was in the top 10% of her class at UT Law. Jordan Douglas, who thought Carter Fox was “a disgusting jerk.”

  Carter couldn’t deny much of that assessment.

  Disgusting? Based on the thoughts he was having about her even now, despite himself: Check.

  Jerk? In retrospect: Check.

  Jordan Douglas. Brains and beauty in one fiery, little package. It made him all the more interested in her.

  “We’ve kept you on a long leash because it brings the fans in. When the fans start getting angry, it’s time to rein you in.”

  Carter snapped back to attention. He shouldn’t have to take this crap. He was a 6-foot-4 mass of muscle, and he was being talked down to by a man half his size. A man half his size, who made his salary partially off the arm that Carter used to serve up those home runs that fans filled those stadium seats for.

  “You proposition a woman, and not one of your little groupies, a fucking law student—which was a particularly fun little twist—and then suggest a ménage a trois with her 12-year-old cousin, who just happens to be on a pair of goddamned crutches. Oh, and the best part is—they’re both black!”

  Carter wanted to point out that that wasn’t exactly how it had gone down. But people heard what they wanted to hear, and read what they wanted to read, the more scandalous, the better.

  “Do you have any idea how many damn groups we’ve had up our ass since your little incident? The feminazis, the Jesse Jackson crowd, some cripple org. Parents all over the city are gunning for your head. Thank God neither of them was gay!”

  “Well, it certainly doesn’t help when you go around using terms like ‘cripple,’ ” Carter growled.

  He couldn’t help himself, poking the rabid dog. Even Miles gave a slight smile, but subtly shook his head in preparation for the violent reaction Snyder was about to have.

  “Don’t you get smart with me right now, Carter. The only thing saving your ass is that swing of yours. I can’t speak to what Gatorade and Nike are going to do, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”

  “So go ahead and terminate my contract. Trade me to another team if you want.” Carter shrugged, knowing the owners would do no such thing. “Maybe the fans are angry right now, but they’ll keep coming to see me play.”

  Snyder just glared at him. “There’s a term called ‘compounding effect’ Carter. You might want to look it up. And this, this shit right here that we’re dealing with? It’s compounding with interest.”

  Might want to look it up?

  So the man thought he was just a dumb jock.

  “Actually, the interest is what gets compounded, Snyder,” he said leaning forward across the desk. “And the compounding effect works both ways. I think the interest earned from Carter Fox has compounded enough to weather this market downturn.”

  Snyder just gaped, the vein in his forehead pumping like a turbo engine. Carter could see Miles suppressing a smile to his left. No one was a fan of the team’s General Manager.

  Up until now, the owners had been fine with his “bad boy” image, even subtly encouraging it, mostly because the fans ate it up. The parties that had his neighbors in River Oaks getting their panties in a bunch. The blonde/brunette/redhead—sometimes all three—on his arm at some club every other weekend. The cash he liberally threw around everywhere he went. Men wanted to be him. Women just wanted him. A lot of it was for show these days, maintaining the image. The thrill of it all was beginning to wear off. This meeting certainly wasn’t helping.

  “You’re going to fix this, Carter,” Snyder continued, slightly chastened. “You may think you can just go on as usual, but the team owners don’t agree. We’ve got a press conference set up next week. You are going to offer a sincere apology for your statements. Then you are going to personally invite this cripp”—he paused as he saw the dark look on Carter’s face—”this boy for a one-on-one with you. We’ll make sure there are plenty of press around to see it.”

  Carter just shrugged. The meeting hadn’t gone nearly as badly as he had expected. They just wanted damage control.

  Aye-fucking-aye, captain.

  5

  Houston Sluggers’ Star Hitter Strikes Out Big Time With Fan

  Carter Fox may be well on his way to breaking the in-season world record for home run hits, but when it comes to his fans, the “star” batter just struck out big time. In an incident that some may find amusing, others may find offensive, but everyone can agree was a major league foul, Carter found himself confronted with someone who may not be a Sluggers fan for long.

  Attendees at the Sluggers-Rockies game on July 23rd may remember Jordan Douglas as the face that launched a thousand punches—or at least a few dozen. Douglas was the woman lucky enough to catch Carter Fox’s 30th home run ball, but perhaps she was not so lucky after all. A brawl ensued, as a few of Carter Fox’s fans brutally attacked the defenseless woman in an attempt to steal the ball from her. After the game, evidence of the savage attack was still visible on Ms. Douglas’s face in the form of a large bruise on her chin.

  Undaunted by her experience, Jordan Douglas remained focused on her ultimate goal: get Carter Fox to sign the ball for her beloved younger cousin, Ben Douglas, who was unable to obtain the signature himself. Ben is a 12-year-old boy who, earlier this year suffered the heart-wrenching experience of being hit by a drunk driver, leaving him in a full leg cast and thus unable to vie for the home run ball himself. Anyone lucky enough to meet the plucky, young Sluggers fan, would be relieved to learn that Ben was waiting patiently inside the stadium due to his condition. The alternative would have had this minor exposed to Carter Fox’s borderline obscene language as he first, offered to pay Ms. Douglas $50,000 for his ball, right before happily inquiring about a ménage a trois with Jordan and her cousin, all in front of a large crowd of Sluggers’ fans.

  In all fairness to Fox, he had no way of knowing that Ben Douglas was merely a child. Still, one has to wonder:

  Is Carter Fox the sort of role model we want for our children?

  Ms. Douglas pretty much summed it up in her statement regarding the Sluggers’ home run star: “All I wanted was [his] damn signature on [his] damn ball, and for my cousin to meet his idol,” she proclaimed, struggling to keep her emotions in check. “But obviously, the amazing Carter Fox is too much of a womanizing perv to bother meeting his true fans, unless, of course, they come packaged with the right amount of T & A for his personal enjoyment.”

  Her words certainly provide concerned parents of Houston’s Sluggers fans a healthy serving of food for thought.

  Jordan sat in her office and stared at the screen. This was probably the 50th time she had read the article by Lucas Grabow, if you could even call it an article. It looked more like a hatchet job. If she had known the man was nothing more than a blogger hoping for fodder for this sleazy piece, she would have put a complete nix on the “interview.”

  Everything on the screen in front of her was completely twisted to make her seem like some whimpering damsel in distress and then some sort of prudish harpy. She certainly hadn’t “struggled to keep her emotions in check.” That was a laugh. It would take a tougher man than Carter Fox to break her.

  Grabow hadn’t been very generous to the Sluggers’ player either. There was a definite personal bias going on there. Jordan almost felt sorry for Carter Fox…almost. It wasn’t his fault that the jerk in the stands
had attacked her. In her more generous moments, she was also willing to concede that Carter certainly didn’t know that her cousin wasn’t “as sexy as she was.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re reading that thing again,” Tiffany Pittman said from the other side of the office.

  Jordan spun around in her chair to find her officemate already looking in her direction. The two of them had been thrown together to share an office since they both focused on corporate law. As spoiled as summer associates were at Morris & Gibson, the generosity seemed to end at giving them each their own office.

  Both of them being ambitious females, and working in the same environment for extended hours, they had developed a sort of affinity toward one another. It was nice to have someone to commiserate with, even in areas outside of law. Of course, her friend didn’t seem to be doing much commiserating these days.

  “What?” Tiffany shrugged in response to Jordan’s expression. “You always make this sighing noise when you read it.”

  Jordan frowned as Tiffany began her mock imitation of her, one hand going up to her forehead in an overly dramatic fashion.

  “Ugh, it totally sucks that I caught Carter Fox’s home run ball.

  “Ugh, I can’t believe he offered me $50,000….Worst day ever!

  “Ugh, my life is so awful because the hottest guy on the Houston Sluggers wants to screw me.”

  She laughed as she brought her face down to look at Jordan, who wasn’t at all amused.

  “Seriously Jordan, if Carter Fox offered me $50,000 and the opportunity to have sex him, you wouldn’t find me complaining. He’s so damn hot.”

  “Well, feel free,” Jordan said. “You’re probably just his type.”

  Tiffany was tall, blonde, and had the body of a runway model. She was pretty much a carbon copy of every woman Jordan had seen pictures of Carter Fox with. She had all the associates here—and a few partners—going gaga. Jordan was more than happy to let her steal the limelight. Especially in light of recent events, she had zero desire to be the center of attention.