Unruly

by Cora Brent

  Benji Carter, the team’s cantankerous manager, rolled into the room and started yelling at everyone to get lost for the night.

  “Ten am flight,” he shouted as the remains of the team filtered out the door. “Get your beauty sleep. You sorry-lookin’ bastards are gonna be wilting in the desert heat as it is.”

  Tomorrow we were headed out for a three game road trip to Phoenix. Phoenix. I knew Claudia was there and I knew how to find her. Phoenix was a division rival so this was our third series in the city so far this season. But somehow I still hadn’t located my balls long enough to call her.

  Benji squinted at me as I pulled a shirt over my head and closed my locker. “What are you still doing here, hot stuff?”

  “Getting the back worked out.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “And the elbow?”

  “Fine. Not even a twitch.”

  Benji chewed a wad of pink gum and looked me over shrewdly. I didn’t fool him for shit. He knew there was no point in grilling me though. I would go home and I would ice it and by the time my spot in the rotation came around again I’d be good to go.

  “There’s a rumor,” Benji said.

  My heart suddenly started skipping around. “Good or bad?”

  He shrugged. “You think it’s a good thing to be starting in the All Star Game?”

  “What?”

  He pointed at me. “You. You’re gettin’ the nod, kid. This’ll be news tomorrow but tonight it’s just gossip between gentlemen, you got it?”

  My head was running in thirty directions. I may never get it back together again.

  “I got it, boss.”

  Benji winked and waddled away.

  The All Star Game was an annual Major League Baseball pageant, a vanity game between the National and American Leagues. It was comprised of the best of the best. To be tapped as a starter in the All Star Game was like…like…well, there wasn’t a single fucking thing like being named as a starter in the All Star Game. There just wasn’t.

  I’d clean forgotten about the media critters until I opened the door and was attacked by flashing lights and microphones.

  “Easton, how did you feel when you threw that last pitch to finish your first major league complete game?”

  “What do you want to say to your critics who say you lack discipline and control?”

  “Does it bother you that your nickname is Unruly Malone?”

  I stopped and dropped my duffel bag on the ground. I flashed a grin at the cute blonde from ESPN who’d asked that last question. “Baby, I am unruly.”

  I was grinning all the way to the parking lot.

  Unruly.

  When I got my first major league deposit the first thing I did was run out to the nearest Ford dealership and smack down a big check for the biggest pickup truck on the lot. Now I gunned the engine before rolling out of the stadium parking garage, thinking about the first time I’d been saddled with my nickname. It was right after my first start in the majors. Local sportswriter penned an editorial complaining about my unorthodox pitching style, predicting that I wouldn’t last a month in San Diego.

  “Young Mr. Malone will prove to be too volatile. Too unruly.”

  Fuck him. Fuck him with a big stick the size of a saguaro cactus. I made a mental note to see about sending him a bottle of champagne, in celebration of tomorrow’s sports page headlines.

  The condo I was renting overlooked the bay. It was pricey as hell but it was worth it for the views. Best thing was the wall of glass facing the ocean. I’d bend some hot piece of ass at the waist and ride away while I watched the waves crash beyond the pristine beach. In fact I was totally up for doing that tonight. It was the next best thing to heaven.

  Almost.

  I grabbed a beer because it was the only thing in the fridge and headed out to the balcony. The water was calm. I could switch on my phone and call any number of eager participants. The thing was probably packed with messages of offers right now. Briefly I considered doing something different, maybe taking on two at a time and seeing if I could get my head straightened out with double the distraction.

  A soft wave licked at the sand and I breathed deeply, closing my eyes and remembering a girl standing in the Atlantic Ocean with a wet t-shirt, remembering how she’d come to me later that night and how over the next few days we’d done everything two bodies could do to each other. But my version of heaven was reserved for a different time, a cold winter night over a year later when I held her and listened to her before I finally laid her down and got inside her. It had occurred to me, right before I shuddered and released, that this was it. This was what it was like to make love.

  I hadn’t seen her or talked to her since then.

  The second I turned up the volume on my phone it came alive in my hand. I might have ignored it if anyone other than Anya was calling.

  “Oh my god!” she laughed even before I managed a ‘hello’. “I watched every second of it, baby brother. You were magnificent.”

  I grinned over my sister’s excitement. “What are you still doing up?” I asked her. “It’s after one am on your side of the street.”

  “Oh, I had to talk to you. Just for a minute.” Her voice dropped. “Hold on, I’m back in the living room now. Allie’s asleep on the couch with Jack.”

  Anya’s daughter was evidently a light sleeper. Suddenly I heard the lively, insistent voice of a three year old. “I wanna talk.”

  “Okay, baby. Just for a minute.”

  “Hello?” said the little girl. “Who is this?”

  “You know who this is,” I smiled.

  “Uncle East!”

  I pictured her standing in the Giordano living room, all precious and sleepy-eyed and looking so much like her mother.

  “You haven’t been home in so long,” she accused.

  “I’m sorry, sugarplum. I’ll visit as soon as the season’s over.”

  “When’s that?”

  “If I’m lucky, the end of October.”

  “Okay. Will you bring me a present?”

  “Don’t I always bring you a present, Allison?”

  “Mommy says I have to give the phone back. Bye bye, Uncle East.”

  “Good night, Allie.”

  I heard Jack’s voice murmuring in the background. Then he shouted, “Complete fucking game shutout!”

  Anya laughed and shooed them off to bed. “I won’t keep you,” she said, yawning. “I’m sure you’re busy.”

  “Never too busy for my big sister.”

  “Aw. You always did know how to turn on the charm. You’re heading to Phoenix tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. I’m not pitching again until Tuesday but it’s still a good thing to ride along on road trips.”

  Anya paused. “Are you going to call her this time?”

  I swallowed. “Has she asked why I never did before?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “Call her, Easton.”

  Two and a half years and we always seemed to miss seeing each other. I would visit Long Island for Christmas. She wouldn’t fly in until New Year’s Day. And so it went and sometimes I figured it was for the best. But I still couldn’t think about that girl without immediately putting my heart on a treadmill.

  “Give me her number.”

  Arizona was on the same clock this time of year. I watched the minutes tick by as I stared at the numbers on my screen. Finally, when it was a hair away from midnight, I pressed the button and listened to the ring.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Then a click and the sound of her voice. “Easton?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CLAUDIA

  Baseball had always the game of choice in the Giordano house. During the off-season, football or hockey would substitute but baseball was king in the spring, summer and early fall. I grew up bitching about the umpire’s version of a strike zone and mentally tabulating batting averages.

  The game was tough for me to watch these days. Everythi
ng about it reeked of Easton. Since that passionate Christmas night I hadn’t seen him in person, except for the time he was the starting pitcher against the home team here in Phoenix. That probably didn’t count because I was in the company of forty thousand other people and he never knew I was there. But whenever he stepped to the mound I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He pitched seven beautiful innings and only gave up one run.

  Easton was the talk of the sports world these days and the darling of the celebrity gossip sites as he was glimpsed partying with all the famous and beautiful people. A few years hadn’t changed his looks much. He was still muscular and blue-eyed and gorgeous. But now I only ever saw him on a television screen and he seemed so far away. He didn’t seem like he belonged to me at all anymore.

  Quit fooling yourself, Claudia.

  He’d never been mine. And I’d never been his. We’d had some moments together and a few of them were wonderful. That was all.

  When I got home from work I fussed around my apartment for a while, then gave up and turned on the game because I knew he was pitching. Even though it was San Diego versus Los Angeles, it was being nationally televised. Four innings in and Easton had only allowed one hit and no runs. I sat on the edge of the coffee table and didn’t breathe for five more innings as he worked some serious magic on the mound. He threw everything he had into every single pitch and it was astonishing to watch. I waited for the close ups and resisted the urge to run my fingers over the screen. He was focused, intense. When he got that last out he pounded one fist into his glove and then walked coolly into the celebrating arms of his teammates. I smiled and turned the television off.

  Sleep wouldn’t come easy though. I stared at the clock as it ticked off the minutes mercilessly. Closing my eyes was out of the question because Easton appeared every time. I tried to summon the faces of some of the men I’d gone out with but in my mind they all ran together as a pack of featureless male figures in neckties. I had become a serial dater. People who had known me for a while figured it was all because of the broken engagement with Garrett. They thought I was still cautious and wounded. But that had happened over four years ago and I hardly ever thought about it anymore.

  On the other hand, I thought about Easton Malone way too much.

  Even if I kept my distance from current sports news, whenever I happened to get Anya on the phone she always went out of her way to deliver updates about her brother. I wondered how much she knew but she never hinted that her reasons were anything beyond that of a proudly bragging sister. This past winter I’d flown to New York on New Year’s Eve and stayed for three days. The idea of riding the train into the city to party in frigid Times Square had always been baffling to me so I sat in Jack and Anya’s living room as the year 2013 roared to life.

  Anya chatted brightly about Easton’s Christmas visit while Jack dutifully massaged her left leg to ease the arthritis that had started to trouble her.

  My little sister Allison had insisted on trying to stay up until midnight. She was sound asleep in a little ball on the floor, covered with a fleece blanket and tightly holding the baby doll I’d given her for Christmas.

  “Too bad you guys missed seeing each other,” Anya said, wincing a little as Jack hit a sore spot with his big hands.

  “Yeah,” I echoed, “it’s too bad. So where is he now?”

  “Back in San Diego.”

  “And no doubt up to his eyeballs in trouble and women,” Jack grunted.

  Anya shot him a hard look.

  “No one special,” she said pointedly. Jack shrugged and started massaging her other leg.

  Soon Anya limped off to bed and Jack picked up little Allison to carry her to her own room. Before he headed out with the sleeping little girl in his arms, I called him back because something was bothering me. I asked him if everything was all right with Anya. Jack frowned but then dismissed the question.

  “Everything is fine,” he said. The strange shadow that crossed his face left me feeling a little unsettled. I told myself if anything were really wrong he would have said so. He wouldn’t have kept something important from me.

  The game had ended hours ago. It was a big night for Easton, the kind of night that cemented the reputation of an upstart young pitcher. There was already Cy Young Award talk in connection with his name. I wondered what he was doing right now.

  When my phone rang I was puzzled. The only one who ever called me this late was Brynna. We weren’t roommates anymore. She’d made a mistake and married the wrong man. When she got a few drinks in her she would hide in her bedroom closet with her phone and cry into my ear about it. I always listened. But I had no words of wisdom to share. I had no idea what to do if you ended up with someone you couldn’t stand.

  But that wasn’t Brynna’s ringtone and that wasn’t Brynna’s name popping up on my caller ID. I answered without thinking because if I had thought about it I might have been too paralyzed to answer.

  “Easton.”

  “Claudia. Hi. It’s been a long time.”

  When he said my name a shot of sexual adrenaline seared me to the core. I sat upright in bed.

  “Yes. It has been a long time.”

  “I’m not calling too late, am I?”

  “No. I was awake. I shouldn’t be since I have to get up in five hours, but insomnia is an old friend.”

  I heard something that sounded like ice cubes in a glass and the sound of Easton swallowing before his voice returned. “How are things going out there in Phoenix?”

  “Hot. We’re in the middle of a heat wave now. Which in Phoenix means third degree burns if you leave your car in the sun all afternoon and then try to touch the door handle. And I don’t need to ask what you’ve been up to. That was a hell of a game tonight by the way. Congratulations.”

  “You watched it?” He sounded pleased, and surprised.

  “Yeah well, The Walking Dead was a rerun so I was channel surfing and there you were.”

  “Here I am,” he agreed and lightly chuckled, either because he knew I was full of it or he was trying to break the two-and-a-half year ice between us. The reason didn’t matter. My libido was off and running like it had been heralded by a starting gunshot.

  Easton had no way of knowing that I was suddenly so uncomfortably hot I had to kick off all the covers and sit on the edge of the bed trying to suck in a normal breath. Either I was suddenly afflicted with asthma or else I was still in the throes of a consuming crush. I didn’t think it was asthma.

  There was a long silence. When Easton finally spoke again his voice was serious. “How are you, Claudia?”

  “I’m good. I think. I’m working for Better States Insurance, in the reinsurance division.”

  “That’s nice. What’s reinsurance?”

  “It’s insurance for insurance.”

  “Is that as boring as it sounds?”

  “No. It’s five times more boring, tedious and numbingly dreary as your worst nightmare. It’s a paycheck though.”

  “Paychecks are good,” he agreed. He paused. “Are you alone?”

  “In general or right now?”

  “Either one.”

  “Are you?”

  Easton exhaled noisily. “You think I’d call you while I had some girl’s hand around my dick?”

  “Is that why it’s taken you over two years to make contact? Because your dick has been otherwise occupied the entire time?”

  He snorted. “As opposed to the extensive communication that’s come from you.”

  I sighed, conceding. We had both tacitly kept our distance. “You’re right. I haven’t called you and you haven’t called me. We’re even.”

  “And since I bit the bullet and made the first move I have the upper hand. I win, baby.”

  “Listen to you,” I scoffed. “Ever the player. Actually I think you’ve gotten a little bit too used to winning.”

  “You sound irritated. Does that mean phone sex is off the table tonight?”

  “It was never on the tabl
e, Easton.”

  He breathed thickly into the phone. “God, I want to see you.”

  I closed my eyes. “I want to see you too.”

  I just want you.

  The reason for his call in the first place was because he was going to be in town with the team. Tomorrow. He wouldn’t be pitching again until next week so other than hanging around in the dugout during the three game series he was free for the next few days. Easton always received a handful of premium tickets to give away for every game and he would arrange to have one waiting at the box office tomorrow evening.

  “The car will be there to pick you up at five,” he said after I told him my address.

  “What car?”

  “The one I’m going to send, dummy. Any lady who comes to see me comes in style.”

  “If she’s lucky enough to come at all.”

  He laughed out loud. “Historically that has not been an problem. But you already know that better than anyone.”

  “Do I?” I said innocently although my hand drifted between my legs to calm the raging flame. “I don’t remember.”

  “You remember everything,” he said with the supreme confidence of a man who knew exactly what his talents were. Then he cleared his throat. “You know, I can get ass anytime I want. Shit. That came out wrong and I’m not even halfway drunk. What I mean is, this isn’t some kind of deep throat dirty mack call.”

  I smiled. “What is it then?”

  I heard him take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I think about you. I think about that Christmas night.”

  “I think about it too.”

  All the time. One of the best memories of my life.

  “Claudia?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow? You’ll be there?” His voice was boyish, hopeful, and it tugged at my heart.

  “Yes. I’ll be there, Easton.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  EASTON

  I was sitting over in the bullpen, watching batting practice on the field and staring at the seat she would be sitting in. It was two rows behind the dugout, prime real estate. I checked out the giant clock next to the scoreboard. The car should have picked her up a half hour ago and she’d likely be walking in any minute.