Jagged Heart (Broken Bottles Series Book 3)

by Taeuffer, Pamela

  “You never told me about that.” She turned to Ryan. “She didn’t tell me or anyone else too much until recently. In fact, you know, Ryan”—now she was rolling—“you’ve actually helped open my sister in a lot of ways. Now, if you can just get her to let you in other areas of her life you’ll have it made.”

  Everyone tried not to laugh.

  "You're not funny, Sis."

  "Yes, I am," she lifted her chin confidently.

  “I’m working on her.” Ryan’s lips quivered, revealing his amusement.

  “Okay, I heard that comment long ago, Mr. Tilton. If I remember rightly, it was after our first visit to Yountville.”

  Another one of his sexy laughs broke the sound barrier.

  "Where did you get this necklace?" Jenise held the emerald that dangled from its gold omega chain around my neck. "I've never seen this."

  "Where do you think?" I patted Ryan's chest.

  "Aw," she made kissy lips. "Sweet gifts already? Hmm . . ."

  I kissed his hand and we walked into the lobby. Several people recognized my date. The whispers and calling of his name began. As soon as a few people approached him, many others followed. I knew we'd have to step aside.

  Waiting with my sister and Sean, we watched more than a dozen families and couples ask to pose with him. He knelt down for the younger children. One little girl kissed his cheek.

  “You’re my favorite,” she said in a sweet little voice. Her arms hugged his neck and her face blushed scarlet.

  The look of endearment was all over Ryan's face.

  It's obvious having a family is one of his dreams.

  “Thank you,” he said softly. “You know what? Your hug and kiss were just what I needed. Now I just know I’ll pitch a great game tomorrow.”

  “See mama? It was okay!” the girl said excitedly. Her parents beamed as they shook his hand and thanked him.

  He stood in the middle of young and old, grandparents who talked about watching years of Goliaths’ baseball at the old stadium, and teenage boys who wanted to know how he pitched so fast. While answering their questions he signed autographs, listened to their jokes, and discussed the team’s chances for the playoffs.

  “My friends won’t believe this,” a boy about fourteen said. “Thanks, Mr. Tilton.”

  “Ryan. Just call me Ryan. Do you come to any of the games?”

  “My friend and I go once a month.” The teenager was so excited he seemed to click his heels. “We sit in the third level. The seats are only eight dollars up there and it’s still awesome.”

  “Call this number when you can get to a game,” Ryan pulled a card from his wallet, the same one he had given to the woman waiting for her husband in Java House. “They’ll upgrade you to a couple of box seats. Come to the railing and say hello next time you're at the stadium.”

  “I know you won’t remember me,” the young man's voice was laced with tones of self-imposed disappointment. “Thanks, though. This is really cool.”

  “Oh, I’ll remember you,” Ryan assured him. “Faces are my specialty.” They talked for a few minutes and then he moved on to the last few fans waiting to speak with him.

  “You’re right,” Jenise leaned over to me and whispered. “He is good with people.”

  “I know,” I confirmed. “He’s just . . . magical.” I wasn't sure I breathed as I watched him walk over to me. He held my hand as we walked to his car.

  “You’re nice to your fans,” Sean commented.

  “Well, it’s part of the gig. Without them," he shrugged his shoulders, "where would I be?”

  “You make me feel good when you stop for your fans.” I squeezed his hand. “The smiles on those kids’ faces—and on the adults’ faces, too—you just made their night.”

  When we arrived at the car, I waited for him to open the back passenger door. Instead, he turned me around to face him. His look had gone from pleasant to sensuous. He flattened me so my back against the Land Cruiser. I was pinned.

  “Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” his voice was breathy. “I can’t hold back any longer.”

  Without waiting for my response, his mouth found its perfect fit. Slowly his lips opened mine. I let out a little moan. I felt as if sugarcoated promises were fed to me with every press of his lips and touch of his tongue. His body was on mine in so many places it was as if warm pulses and tingles lit up everywhere. Soft, muffled sounds of pleasure from his throat made the burn deep inside my body feel swollen. The deliciousness of its torture alerted me to how much I wanted him.

  “I guess you didn’t mind.” The desire within his sensual tone wrapped me inside it. “Should I stand with you a minute?”

  “You get in the car first,” I avoided looking at him.

  “Why?” His voice was husky, alive, and beckoning.

  “I need to keep my eye on you,” I teased weakly.

  His electric laugh raised every hair on my head.

  I watched the way he moved as he got in the back seat.

  I anxiously followed.

  Looking at his butt wasn't too shabby, either.

  Chapter 16

  Waterfront Turbulence,

  Part I

  Frequented by friends, families, and couples of all ages, the Waterfront Café was part of the Embarcadero area and waterfront. Located just a few blocks from the ballpark, it offered patrons two very different experiences.

  Downstairs, a grill and sports bar was furnished with oversized TV screens and sports memorabilia—especially Goliaths gear. There were autographed photos of the ballplayers from past and present, along with their signed gloves, bats and baseballs. Families often went there after day games or before night games for burgers, salads or sandwiches. After ten, the over twenty-one crowd gathered for beer, cocktails and appetizers.

  On the second level and accessed around the back, was a nightclub. The entrance was via an escalator, which was covered with an acrylic roof. At the bottom, two husky men guarded a rope that protected the entrance. Dozens of people waited in line on the weekends. At the top of the moving stairway were two more men made sure the “right” guests were let inside.

  When we walked by, the whispering and speculating began. I heard Ryan’s name bouncing through the crowd. The red leather rope was immediately unlatched for us. We stepped on the escalator and it carried us to the entrance.

  “Go ahead,” the bigger of the two men opened his hand, gesturing us inside. Ryan gave each of them his soul shake and knuckle bump. I started to follow my sister but Ryan grabbed my wrist. I stayed at his side while he gave each a generous tip.

  “Where are we going to sit?” We walked through the doorway together and I quickly scanned the room. “This place looks full.”

  “They’re in the back,” a jovial and jubilant voice broke through the air.

  I spun around to find a stunning red-haired hostess eyeing my date. She wore a formfitting white satin dress that caressed her hips and dipped suggestively at her breasts. From the way she nodded and by her casual tone, it was obvious she knew the man at my side.

  “Kevin’s in rare form tonight, Ry," she giggled. "Have a good evening everyone!"

  Oh yuck. Ry? Give me a break. I can only guess why she’s so friendly to him. I want to ask how he knows her . . . should I?

  The lighting inside was strategic and colorful, the decor was modern, the music blasted, and the volume of conversation was turned way up. There were people two and three deep, especially at the bar and dance floor. Everything about the place screamed for attention.

  “I’ll lead the way.” Ryan raised his voice so we could hear him. “Jenise, Sean, follow us.”

  “You already have a reservation?” I stood on my tiptoes as if he couldn't hear me unless I spoke directly into his ear.

  “In a way.” His mouth angled in sin.

  “You come here a lot?” Ew, I know the answer. Why did I ask?

  “Don’t start worrying, Nicky.”

  Too late.


  He held my hand as he led me through narrow openings between tables, crossed a floor crammed with dancers, and weaved through people smiling, shouting, and laughing.

  How can anyone move in here?

  Once we passed the bar and stage, we walked through a semi-private area, where multiple tables were put together for a few dozen men and women. I recognized the Goliaths players but didn't know any of the others. A few of the married men on the team were with women who were not their wives and I struggled with it immediately.

  “Hey, Tilton!” Ryan’s teammate and good friend, Kevin Reynolds, called out. “Over here!” He motioned to two empty seats near him.

  Kevin had introduced himself to the cheer team the prior year and also danced with me at the end-of-the-year party in November. I knew the two men were close. I had eavesdropped on a private conversation between them in the outfield and heard the deep concern and friendship the two had for each other.

  Still, I was disappointed that it wouldn’t be just the four of us.

  “Do you mind sitting here?" Ryan asked, perhaps noticing my expression. "Would you rather sit at our own table?”

  Oh sure. If I don’t agree, I look like an ass in front of everyone. You might have asked me earlier. I don't have any choice now.

  “At the table with your friends!” Jenise's excitement made the decision for all of us.

  “Ryan, do you think I could get in trouble with management?” I gently planted the suggestion, hoping he'd take my cue to sit elsewhere. “We’re not supposed to fraternize with you guys.”

  “No.” he waved off my comment. “That’s management. No one here cares about that stuff.”

  “But what if someone snaps a photo?” I reminded. “I could be in trouble.”

  “Don’t worry, Nicky, you’ll be fine. I'll speak with management if something happens.”

  “Hope so.”

  Damn it. Oh well, I tried.

  We joined the table of macho men and exquisite women. Ryan did his high fives and fist-bumping routine, as did Sean when he was introduced.

  They’re morphing into boys . . . jostling and smacking each other. I wonder what Jenise thinks? Oh, there’s Henry! At least I can talk with someone I know.

  “Hi Ryan!” A woman with very short, stylish blond hair and blue eyes yelled to him. She stood and waved and then sat down to Kevin’s right. Her tight, form-fitting dress shimmered like liquid copper and diamonds. The hem fell to the top of her thigh showing off her slender and petite body.

  “Dana.” Ryan’s voice was flat. He squeezed my hand as if he’d come across a snake in his path and seemed undecided whether or not we should sit down.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked pointedly. "Should we sit somewhere else?" I tried a second time to steer him to another area of the club.

  “Uh . . . I’m . . .” He fumbled for the words.

  “Come on you guys!” Jenise shouted. “Sit down!”

  Ryan glanced at Jenise and then at me. He finally pulled out my chair as if surrendering to his peers. After he sat, he immediately turned to talk with my sister’s end of the table.

  What just happened? I know there’s a secret going on here and I don’t like being in the dark.

  “Ryan." I tapped his shoulder.

  “What, honey?” he leaned back.

  “What’s wrong?” I figured I might as well be direct, just like he always was with me. "How come you turned your back to me?"

  “Nothing's wrong. Hang on a minute.” Once again, he turned away.

  Something isn’t right.

  “Hi, Henry!” I shifted to face him.

  After I sang the National Anthem, Henry had followed me into the tunnel. We'd been friendly, joking around up until that point. He turned away when he saw me talking with Ryan, who'd warned me that Henry couldn't be trusted. I never asked why and instead chalked it up to male ridiculousness.

  Henry smiled awkwardly and then looked away.

  Okay, that was weird. This is all uncomfortable so far.

  “Hi, Nick, how’s it going?” Kevin nudged my shoulder.

  “Good, Kevin, you?” Finally, someone I can talk with since my date is ignoring me.

  “So far, so good. Beer?” He held up a half-full pitcher.

  “No thanks," I shook my head. "I don't drink. Hopefully, there’s water or iced tea or . . . something.”

  “I think we’re fresh out.” Kevin's eyes scanned the table. “I’ll go get some for you."

  "I can get it. You're all drinking beer, and—"

  “No problem,” he interrupted. “Sit tight. I think I see someone I know at the bar. I'm gonna go and say hello. Be right back.”

  Almost all of the people who sat near me were strangers. I tried to make conversation, but no one seemed interested in talking with me. I felt insignificant and immediately fell into my old pattern of withdrawing. I forgot to be attentive and in the present moment. To make matters worse, as I stood to check on Jenise and Sean, I heard whispering from Henry and his friend.

  “She’s so innocent," the stranger said, just loud enough so I'd hear him. "She must be tight."

  “Only eighteen," Henry informed.

  "Damn, Ryan’s a lucky fucker," the other man commented.

  I had nowhere to hide. Their nasty conversation had elevated into disgusting banter. Even though I was hypersensitive to it, I showed no change in my expression.

  I was always tuned in to conversations around me.

  Forever insecure.

  Forever vigilant.

  Waiting to be validated.

  I got out my cell phone and pretended to text.

  Surprised? I shouldn’t have been. I’d already witnessed their behavior at the ballpark dozens of times. Even so, I had hoped because of what I’d done with my business plan—creating something new for professional baseball—I’d be considered an equal. I reluctantly admitted to myself that in their eyes I was only pussy and nothing more.

  My heart panged with a new fear—was any woman just sex to these guys—perhaps even to Ryan? I knew they browsed the railings with their “Alpha Male” game face on. I never imagined they would behave the same way when out for an evening.

  Uneasiness fell on me.

  The trouble I'd settled with Ryan earlier in the day began to rise up again.

  Why isn't he saying anything to the guys? Didn't he hear?

  When I turned to look at him I saw he was busy trying to lag down a waitress to place an order. Between the music and yelling, it was so loud that I gave him the benefit of the doubt he hadn't heard the demeaning conversation across the table.

  Maybe when he’s away from me he says those things, too.

  Ryan finally got some attention, practically yelling to the nearby waitress. I couldn't hear him and I sat right next to him. Apparently neither could the woman trying to take down the items, as she cupped her ear to demonstrate the difficulty. When she quickly came to his side and squatted on the floor, he was given a clear view down her shirt.

  I wish I could see his eyes. I wonder if he’s wearing his flirtatious smile for her. Is this the way all waitresses dress in nightclubs?

  “Sorry,” she yelled to Ryan. She put her hand on his leg. “I couldn’t hear from over there. Tell me what you want again, honey.” She was almost in his lap when she'd made the suggestive comment. After jotting down his order, she winked at him, patted his leg again, and moved to the other side of the table to serve other people. As she waited on them, she kept her eye on Ryan.

  “Come on, Tilton, you pussy, have some beer and Tequila shots,” several men chided.

  “I’m good,” Ryan said calmly, seemingly unmoved by the comments. Just as he started to turn to me, an athletic looking Latino man yelled at Ryan. I could see they knew each other and by their greeting, it had been a while since they'd been together. He grabbed Ryan's arm and escorted him to the bar.

  Shit, there he goes again. Is that the man who kissed Cassandra when Jerry and I were admiring that sexy pain
ting in the Bellissima gallery?

  “So Nicky . . .” Henry grabbed my attention while I was in the throws of worry. “How are you and Tilton doing?”

  “Fine." Against my better judgment, I turned to face him.

  “Tell us, does he really make your . . . uh . . . what I'm trying to find out . . . do you purr like a wild cat when Ryan strokes you in the sack? That’s what he tells us, so . . . do you?”

  Chapter 17

  Trying To Keep A Lid On It

  “What do you mean?” I hid my shock like the expert I was.

  Oh my God! How do I respond? I can hardly stand to look at them. Keep your eyes open, Nick. Don't be a coward. He’s actually asking me about sex with Ryan! I’m frozen. Do I tell him to go fuck himself and ruin our evening or do I play stupid? Will I ever be invited to go out with his friends again if I make a scene? What will Jenise and Sean think?

  Henry laughed sadistically and so did the man sitting next to him.

  “You know—" The hell with it. I'm going to call them out. This is bullshit.

  Just then Kevin came back with a container of something for me to drink. I stopped mid-sentence and gathered myself.

  “Here you go, Dana." Kevin placed the pitcher of beer on the table. "And iced tea for Ryan's lady." He poured two glasses. “I hope it’s okay if I join you. I figured it’s time to cut myself off. Thanks for sitting next to me, by the way.”

  “I really appreciate that, Kevin, thank you.” It was like the darkness parted, allowing a rainbow to grace the sky. "Who did Ryan go to the bar with?"

  "Carlos. We played together in semi-pro. That's who I saw at the bar and I told him Ryan was here, so . . ."

  "I see."

  "Did these guys give you any shit while I was gone?” He glanced at Henry and the others sitting nearby.

  "Haven't heard anything," Dana remarked. "I would've told them to go to hell like they deserve." Her chin went up in defiance.

  Most of the men and women shook their head, respectful of Kevin's seniority and dominance at the table. One woman sitting at the end of the table seemed to watch my every move. Henry and his friend were silent, waiting for my reply.