by Jean Joachim
“You’re just going to let him slip through your fingers?”
“This is about the kids. Camp. It’s not about getting laid.”
“Fine. Just don’t complain to me when you realize what you missed.”
“It’s late. I gotta get up early. Thanks for calling.”
“Don’t let that asshole get you down. You’re still a top ten chick, Dusty.”
“Thanks, Nicki.”
“Goodnight.”
Would she regret not making a play for Matt Jackson? Better to regret that than to make a play and be rejected. Maybe he was gay? The humiliation of rejection would be more than she could take. She needed to be professional. What if she made a play for him, and he reported her to the Nighthawks? She shivered at the thought. And the Queens would be told too. They might kick her off the team for unprofessional behavior!
Horrified, Dusty promised herself that no matter how alluring and sexy Matt Jackson was, she’d keep her hands off him at all costs.
“Ready?” he asked.
She looked up, right into his baby blues. He wore a white shirt that set off his Florida tan, khakis, a navy sports jacket that fit him like a glove, and a blue and green rep striped tie.
“Ready?” She cocked an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Dinner? Remember?”
“Oh, oh, yeah. Right. Sure. I’m ready,” she said.
The scent of his aftershave wafted to her, seducing her. He had shaved off his scruff, and his clean, smooth cheek called to her. She wanted to kiss it and feel his soft skin beneath her lips. She swallowed and prayed her knees would hold as she rose.
He took her hand. “Come on. I’ve got a new place tonight. The Mariner. Bark said the fish there is the best in the county.”
“Bark?”
“Our general manager,” he said, as he held the door open for her. “Let’s take my car. I’ll bring you back here after dinner.”
“Okay.”
She slid into the front seat of his rental. Matt closed her door then got behind the wheel. He talked about the day’s activities and the kids. Dusty simply stared at his profile and tried not to drool.
“So, who do you think should get the most improved award?”
“Huh?”
“Most improved.” He glanced at her. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”
Heat rushed into her cheeks. He’d nailed her, and now, she had to explain herself. He turned down a small side street and pulled up to a red light. Dusty’s mind searched for the right words to lie her way out of her predicament.
“Well, I…” she started, turning to face him.
Before she could utter another word, his mouth was on hers. He kissed her soft and sexy until the driver behind leaned on his horn. Matt returned his attention to the road.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since day one. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind?” She could hardly breathe.
“Yeah. I know. I’m a chauvinist pig,” he said, making a right turn into the restaurant’s lot.
* * * *
Matt opened the car door for her.
“I’m sorry, okay?” He offered her his hand. Her firm grip reminded him that she was strong enough maybe to break his jaw. He stepped back and gave her plenty of space.
Dusty stood still, staring at him. “Sorry?”
“Yeah. You probably didn’t want me to do that.”
“Really?”
“I figured if I asked, you’d say ‘no’, so I went ahead.”
“Do you always do that?”
“Most of the time I get ‘yes’.”
“I see. But you decided not to wait for that this time?” She crossed her arms over her breasts.
“That’s why I’m apologizing. You’re probably mad. I won’t do it again,” he said, raising his palms. “I promise.”
“Was it that bad?” Her brows knitted.
“It was heaven,” he said, his voice a whisper.
She laughed, relaxing her arms down to her sides. “Let’s go in.”
“Hungry?” He placed his hand on the small of her back.
“Starving!”
Once they were seated at a quiet little table in the corner, Matt perused the menu. He was hungry for food and for Dusty. The kiss had served as an appetizer, and he wanted more. She didn’t give any signs that she wanted more, but she didn’t push him away. The girl knows how to kiss. Did that mean he could try again, or maybe not?
She ordered fish and chips and a draft beer, and he followed suit. The waitress brought a bowl of salad for them to share with a variety of dressings on the side. Dusty parceled out the greens while Matt picked his dressing.
“I hear the fish is very fresh here. They get it right from a local dock,” Matt said, digging into his salad.
Dusty faced him. “Why don’t you want to kiss me again?”
He stopped cold, then finished chewing. “I didn’t say that. I figured you wouldn’t want me to.”
“Why’d you figure that?”
He shrugged.
“Well, you figured wrong.”
Using two fingers, Matt raised her chin and kissed her again, this time long, hard, deep, and progressively more passionate. When he broke, she panted for a few seconds.
Her mouth was sweet, and her lips soft. Pulling her up against him ran through his mind, but they were in a restaurant, a public place. The press would have a field day, and the boss would know Matt wanted to make it with the girl teaching camp. It wouldn’t help his image any to have that going viral.
The waitress stopped by. “Another round?”
Dusty nodded. He chuckled to think she couldn’t speak. It had been a long time since he’d done that to a chick. Dusty Carmichael wasn’t just any woman. He couldn’t stay away from her. He’d tried for ten days, and it was no use. She drew him like a flame drew a moth.
Matt glanced at her blouse. Her nipples were hard and straining against the bra and thin, white fabric. An overwhelming impulse to squeeze them washed over him. He fastened his fingers tight around the cold stein and picked up his fork with the other hand.
“Tell me, where do you live during spring training?” Dusty asked.
“Since the stadium is in Paradise, we bunk in a rental in Paradise Springs.”
“We? I thought you weren’t married?”
“Me? No. No, I’m not. I bunk in with a couple of teammates.”
“Bunk in?”
“We rent a house together. Six bedrooms.”
“Nice!”
“This year Dan’ll probably get his own place. He’s engaged.”
She nodded and took another forkful of her food.
“We’ll probably be in the same place, if it’s available. We’ll have an extra bedroom. Maybe you’d like to come down for a weekend and see how the pros do it.”
“The pros? Do what?”
“Train for the season,” he said, picking up his beer. “What’d you think I meant?”
Dusty blushed a pretty pink.
He read her mind and chuckled at her embarrassment. “I can show you that too, but I’d rather do that inside, in a nice, private hotel room.”
She laughed.
“Seriously. If you want to come down for a weekend, I’ll arrange it with the team.”
“What do you do in spring training?”
“Why don’t you see for yourself?”
They finished eating and glanced at a dessert menu.
Matt patted his stomach. “Better not. I’ve got a few pounds to lose.”
They ordered coffee.
“Oh? Do they weigh you and stuff?”
“The first thing they do is get you in shape to play ball. And that might mean losing weight. In my case, it does.”
“Why?”
“If the players aren’t in shape to play, the season’ll be shot to hell.”
“Really?”
“Diet, exercise, and shit like that are first on the schedule. Don’t you do stuff like that?”
&
nbsp; “Yeah. I mean, each woman is in charge of being ready to play. But they don’t get as picky about that stuff as you do.”
“This is pro ball. There’s a shitload of money on the line. And reputations. And jobs. They don’t fuck around. Oops. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. We talk like that in the women’s league too.”
“So, you think you’ll come?”
“I’ll see. Sounds interesting.”
“And it’s Florida in March when the weather in New York sucks.”
“Don’t you stay down there off season?”
“I haven’t. Some guys do. I’m thinking about it. It’s a big investment to buy another house when I have a place in the City.”
She nodded.
“About camp. I was thinking that we could have a little World Series on the last day.”
“A game?”
“Yeah. Divide the kids into two teams. Maybe red and blue.”
“Co-ed teams. Boys and girls.”
“Yeah, yeah, co-ed.”
“They could play for their parents.”
“Right. Last day is Sunday. Short game. Maybe six innings?”
“Works for me,” she said, adding milk to a second cup.
“Let’s get it set up now. We need to divide the kids into teams.”
“Okay. Wait. I’ve got the roster,” she said, reaching into her purse.
Matt picked up the dessert menu. “What the hell.” He signaled for the waitress. “I’ll have the chocolate lava cake. Dusty?”
“The almond cheesecake.”
Moments later, the woman came back with their dishes. Dusty licked a smidgeon of her confection off her lower lip, destroying Matt’s concentration. He wanted to do that for her—and a whole lot more. Matt took a bite of the warm chocolate cake with the liquid center as he pondered what he’d do if she took him up on his offer. What if she shows up at spring training?
A twinge between his legs told him what might happen. He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. Busy with her food, she didn’t notice. The room grew warm. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Dusty’s blue eyes connected with his, and a spot of color climbed up her neck.
Focus, asshole. You’re not taking her home tonight. Get back to business. Matt pulled a small notebook out of his breast pocket. “We need to make sure the teams are fair, even.”
“Right,” Dusty said, unfolding papers and laying them on the table. “Let’s start with the A’s.”
Chapter Three
On their hectic last day, Dusty and Matt separated. Dusty checked in the campers and their parents as they arrived and handed out position assignments. Matt provided the equipment and got the kids set up on the field.
By the sixth inning, the game was tied. They went an extra inning, and the blue team squeaked out a victory. Caterers had arrived and set up tables with hot dogs, chips, potato salad, coleslaw, and cupcakes.
Matt stood back for a moment, munching a hot dog, and watched the kids, most sitting cross-legged on the grass, eating with their teams. He’d accomplished some of what he’d planned—getting the kids to form loyalties and learn to play together. Their skills needed work, but for the first camp session ever, he figured they hadn’t done too badly. Of course, a heaping helping of gratitude belonged to Dusty Carmichael. He had to admit that her sensitivity, as well as skills, had added much to the experience for the kids. Okay, and for him too.
After lunch, Matt and Dusty gave out awards and certificates. They shook hands with the parents, hugged the younger kids, and signed a whole lot of autographs. By four, the place was empty, and the only task left was clean-up. The caterers took care of the food and garbage while Dusty and Matt gathered together the equipment.
He’d planned a surprise, fancy dinner out tonight to celebrate. Although he had loved the kids, he was ready to return to adult company, especially hers. Closing the padlock on the storage room, he turned to her.
“Shower’s yours first.” He checked his watch. “Dinner reservation’s not ’til six.”
She looked up at him. “Dinner?” “Yeah. I’ve got a reservation at that fancy joint Bark eats at—Le Monsieur. French.”
“That sounds great, but my plane leaves at six.”
He frowned. “Really? You’re flying out tonight?”
“I have to be back at work tomorrow. I’m so sorry. I’d love to go.”
“That’s okay. Another time.” He hid his disappointment behind a smile.
“Is that offer of a room during spring training still good?”
“Yep.” Hope welled up.
“Great! Here’s my cell. Give me yours.”
They exchanged numbers.
“I’ll send you the dates. Just let me know, and I’ll have clean sheets on the bed in the guest room.” Or you can bunk in with me.
“You think of everything,” she said, grinning.
She pushed up on tiptoe, steadying herself by gripping his shoulders, and kissed him—and not on the cheek, either. He rested his hands on her waist, holding her to him while he pressed his lips to hers. She stepped back, her eyes bright, her smile wide.
“Good luck. You’ve got skills, lady. Talent. You should go far.”
“I’d be happy just to make the starting line-up this year. There’s lots of competition.”
“I’m sure you will.”
She picked up her gym bag and headed for the locker room. Matt walked the field, picking up the few pieces of overlooked garbage. His heart pounded in his chest. Would Dusty really fly down for a weekend? Could she afford it? He should have offered to pay. Nah, then it would seem he was paying for her to sleep with him. If they actually ended up in bed together—a big “if.”
He was sorry to see her go. She had added so much to his days in only two weeks. Maybe he was finally able to put Marnie’s death behind him and have a life? He lounged on a bench outside the locker room.
She came out, her gorgeous hair swinging loose, her face scrubbed beautiful. “Good luck to you, Matt. And thanks for treating me like an equal.”
“It was a pleasure. See you soon?”
“I hope.”
And with that, she headed for the parking lot. His heart was heavy. In only two weeks, he’d gotten accustomed to having meals with her, working shoulder-to-shoulder in his favorite pastime, baseball. Now, there was a huge void.
He showered, changed, and headed to the hotel. As he packed his clothes, a text came in. It was from Jake Lawrence.
Got the house. Let the party begin!
The only party Matt wanted was with Dusty Carmichael. He sighed and replied.
Home tomorrow.
His spirits rose as he remembered his friends. They weren’t Dusty, but they’d do. He ate dinner in his room and watched a chick flick. When he thought about what the guys would say if they knew, he chuckled to himself. Dusty Carmichael had made an impression on Matt. Maybe his days as resident chauvinist pig on the Nighthawks were over?
* * * *
Matt didn’t bother to unpack when he arrived at his apartment. He was scheduled to report to Paradise, Florida for spring training in five days. He gathered everything he’d need for the next seven weeks.
He shoved clothes, a couple of books, toilet articles, a few movies, and Ace bandages in another suitcase. The plane chartered for the season would be leaving LaGuardia airport on Wednesday morning. He was expected to be at practice Thursday at eight sharp.
Pitchers and catchers reported first. He was looking forward to seeing Dan and finding out how the man was doing partnered with the hot dog girl. Geez, he had to stop calling her that!
Mornings, he gathered his bills and paid a couple of months in advance, since he’d be in Florida until April. There was always so much to do before leaving town. Five days never seemed like enough to tie up all the loose ends and pack.
Before he left, Matt made sure to stop by Freddie’s for dinner a couple of times. Tommy, who ran the place, liked to keep in
touch with the Nighthawks, even off-season.
The infielders dropped in from time-to-time even when they weren’t playing. You never knew who’d be there, and they could hoist a few with their friends without worrying about being hung over for a game the next day.
The restaurant was a hang-out for the players, a home-away-from home. They enjoyed good food and camaraderie there. The owner made sure they always had a table and threw in a beer on the house from time to time.
On Wednesday, he made sure to call his father before leaving for the airport. Conversations with Tom Jackson were filled with silences. His dad was still drinking and still dying. Matt got mad every time he found out his father hadn’t gone on the wagon. Geez, the man could save his own life, but never did what was needed.
It killed him to hear the boozy voice on the other end, pretending to be sober. Tom watched all of Matt’s games on television and rooted for the Nighthawks. He appeared to do what any proud father would, follow his son’s career, everything except kick alcohol and be a real parent.
Matt sent money every month to supplement his dad’s social security and small pension. His father had been a custodian for forty years, before he drank himself out of a job. Counselors told the catcher his money simply enabled his father’s drinking, but the young man didn’t have the heart to cut him off.
“Who’s your first preseason game with, son?”
“I don’t know. They’ll give us the schedule on Thursday.”
“Well, good luck. You’re the best in the league, Matt. Don’t forget it.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Silence.
“Gotta go. Plane’s leaving soon.”
“Be safe.”
“You too, Dad. You too.”
Matt dreaded the day he’d get a call that his father had been found dead. The thought made him check the screen on every call, thanking God when it was a friend.
At the airport, the men congregated by the gate. Matt watched as their luggage was loaded. Each teammate either shook his hand or clapped him on the shoulder. On the plane, he’d hear the stories of their offseason lives—romances, problems, relatives, everything. They were like his brothers. He considered them family, since he had almost no family of his own.
