by Jean Joachim
And what would her parents say? A quick frown turned to a smile under the warm spray. They had insisted she give up the stupid idea of pro softball and get a real job. So, she’d left. Had they been amazed she’d made it on her own this far? She didn’t know, because she hadn’t spoken to them since last Christmas.
That short conversation had been awkward. She’d ended it as soon as she could without being completely rude. They’d be impressed that Matt Jackson was interested in her. And he was. She sensed it. From the way he’d stared at her breasts when he’d burst into the locker room to the gentle arm around her shoulders and encouraging words about her pitching. It was all there--signs of a crush.
She’d left Paradise walking on air, hoping for an invitation to return. She’d never met a man like him before. He’d swept her off her feet without even knowing it, at least that’s what she thought. Maybe she wasn’t the loser her parents said she was, maybe she’d just won the life lottery—an opportunity to play the game she loved and love the man who played.
She dried quickly and donned her Queen’s uniform. It wouldn’t do to make the man late to practice. She applied light makeup, pretty sure she’d be sweating it off on the field anyway, and headed for the front door.
When he arrived, looking drool-worthy in khakis, blue shirt the color of his eyes, and charcoal gray sports jacket, her body reacted. Heat flew through her veins. She tried not to stare at his mouth, but failed.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning.” She pushed up on tiptoes to brush her lips against his rough cheek, but he turned, and they met for a brief kiss.
“You’re up early.” His cheeks flushed, and his gaze dropped to his feet.
He’s shy, how cute! “Didn’t you say breakfast at seven thirty?” She tamped down her embarrassment, but shifted her weight.
He grinned. “I did. Let’s go,” he said, guiding her to the car with his hand on the small of her back.
Her skin burned, and it wasn’t from the Florida sun.
Driving down a straight road, he eased back a bit in his seat and glanced over at her. “I like your uniform. Cute.”
“We’re serious players, but a couple of the girls wanted a little something to distinguish us from guys.”
“And it works. The little pink crown over the pocket. Nice touch.”
“Thanks.”
Matt pulled into the parking lot. Dusty got out and looked up. Even though she remembered it, the stadium looked brand new, gleaming in the early morning sun. A thrill shot through her. She’d be working out in a big-league stadium. He took her hand and headed for the door.
He interrupted her thoughts. “How’s your fielding?”
“I’m a pitcher. Haven’t thought much about fielding.” His hand was warm and dry. Strong fingers held hers gently.
“Sometimes, a ball comes right back to you, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Do you ever bobble it?” Matt asked, opening the door for her.
“Sometimes. I mean, occasionally it might get away from me.”
“That’s something we can work on.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He smiled at her.
Dan Alexander was the first player they ran into. Matt dropped her hand before he introduced her. She picked up on the fact that the pitcher was trying hard not to stare at her chest. He kept his gaze on her face, the ceiling, his shoes, anywhere but on her rack. She chuckled to herself. His avoidance made her more uncomfortable than if he’d simply taken a good, long look and satisfied his obvious curiosity.
“You look official,” Dan said. “Matt’s a great coach. He’s helped me a lot.”
“I’m sure I can learn a lot from him,” she responded.
Dan nodded and trotted off.
“Breakfast is this way,” Matt said.
They entered the clubhouse. The long table already had a couple of players eating. They nodded to Matt and stared briefly at Dusty’s chest. She swallowed and continued behind Matt, hoping to block the view.
He led her to a buffet with hot dishes and cold. He filled a plate to overflowing. She hesitated. Her parents had raised her to be a polite guest and not overindulge.
Matt looked at her plate, which was barely covered. “You’re not gonna make it through practice if you eat like that. Fill it up.”
Dusty followed his instructions. She was hungry and took plenty of scrambled eggs, bacon, some sausage, toast, and fruit.
“That’s better,” Matt said, nodding.
He found a spot away from the others. Dusty let out a breath. She had to get used to the staring and not let it get to her, but that wasn’t going to be easy. Then, four men threw down caps on seats next to Matt and Dusty.
“My friends are here,” he said.
When they returned with full plates, Matt made the introductions. These guys had no problem looking at her chest, but they didn’t stare for long.
Sweat crept along her palms. Does everyone know about Matt busting in on me? I guess so. And they say women talk!
Once they started eating, conversation turned to the day’s workout and the schedule of pre-season games. Matt’s best buddies smiled, nodded, and looked over Dusty. She knew how a prize pig at the county fair felt. Four sets of discerning eyes raked over her, from the top of her head to the cleats on her feet.
She held a breath, praying they approved. Being part of a team, she got how important the opinions of teammates were, and she believed Matt would feel the same. She gave a half-smile to Jake Lawrence. The last thing she wanted was to be accused of flirting with any of them. Oh, they were hot, but none could compare to Matt Jackson.
She managed to stuff down all the food he’d made her take. After two cups of coffee, he smiled at her and raised his eyebrows. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
Along with Skip, Nat, Bobby, and Jake, they headed for the field.
“Let’s do some pitching first. This way to the bullpen,” Matt said, tugging on her arm.
Dusty wiped her palms on her thighs as heavy-duty anxiety took over.
Matt donned his catcher gear while Dusty loped to the mound. She rubbed the softball she’d brought, hoping to soften it up a bit. She needed a good grip, and sweaty hands didn’t cut it. Once again, she dragged her palms across her uniform. When she looked up, she noticed Matt watching her. Hell, that can’t be sexy, can it?
“Okay, Dusty, show me what you’ve got,” he yelled, crouching down, raising his glove.
A couple of players behind him, who she didn’t know, cracked up. One piped up, “Thought she already did!”
Dusty stopped dead. Tears stung at the backs of her eyes. Not gonna cry. Humiliation flooded her, and she folded her arms across her chest. She clamped her lips together.
“Shut the fuck up, dickwad!” Matt called to his teammates. “Never mind those assholes, Dusty. Fire one in.”
She took a deep breath. Matt punched his glove a couple of times then held it still. She trained her gaze on the pocket and went into her wind up.
“High and outside,” the catcher said, returning the ball.
Dusty did it again, and again, and again. Each time, the sound of the ball hitting the leather got louder. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a couple Nighthawks sitting nearby, watching. She gave her head a shake and focused again on Matt.
She threw ’em, and he called ’em. They did this for forty-five minutes. Then, Matt stood and held up his hands. She stopped, put the ball in her mitt, and wiped her face with her free hand. Her mouth was as dry as sawdust. The sound of clapping reached her ears. The men who had laughed at her were applauding. It was only four guys, but she smiled anyway.
“Not bad, for a girl.”
Those words were like a match to gasoline. Without thinking, she pulled the ball out of her glove and rifled it at the man’s crotch.
He caught it with one hand. “Hey! What’re you doing?”
“Sorry,” she said, but didn’t
mean it.
“Hey, hey, don’t be putting anyone on the DL,” Matt said, corralling Dusty. “Don’t mind him. He’s just an idiot. You did good.”
“Yeah?” She closed one eye against the sun and looked up at him.
“Yeah. Come on.” Again, he tugged on her elbow, and she followed him to the cooler that had bottles of water. He flipped one to her before taking one for himself. After he downed his, he spoke. “Let’s do some fielding practice.”
“Fielding?”
“All pitchers have to field. Come on. You’ll be better than the others in your league.”
“Okay.”
She followed him to where two fielders were practicing. The trainer hit a ball out, and the man with the glove ran to meet it.
“You gotta have quick hands,” Matt said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you gotta field fast. Know how to tame the ball and get it where it belongs.”
She nodded.
Matt grabbed a bat and headed for home plate. “Let her do this with the guys,” he said to the trainer.
“Fine with me.” The man took his bat and headed for the cooler.
“Okay, guys. Let Dusty here have a shot too. All right?”
The two men nodded.
“Who are you guys?” she asked.
They introduced themselves. They were two rookies up from the minors to give Cal Crawley more back-up fielders. Dusty’s nerves kicked up. She’d never competed with professional players before. She sighed. Maybe this was her payback after objecting to all the comparisons of her playing like a girl. Now was her chance to prove herself against guys. She squinted in the sun, spread her legs, put her glove up, and focused on Matt.
He threw the ball in the air and hit it. He was so powerful that he didn’t even need a fast pitch to knock it hard. He intentionally aimed it at the ground. The much smaller ball slipped past Dusty and was picked up by one of the young men behind her.
Ball after ball, she chased but missed.
Matt finally raised his hand. “You’re used to the bigger ball. Okay, guys. You can continue without us.” He led her to the outfield. “Gimme your ball.”
She tossed the softball to him.
He weighed it in his hand and nodded. “Okay. Let’s try this.”
She backed up, and he hit one to her. She caught it on the first bounce. Matt smiled. Again and again, he hit it and she got it, whipped it out of her glove, and fired it at him.
“You’re doing great.”
Thirst grabbed her. She was ready to stop, but he wanted one more. So, she stood back, but her concentration was slipping. Matt whacked the ball, and it came zooming. She ran up to meet it, but it hit a stone and took a weird bounce, right up in her face. It hit her breast and continued into her chin. She grabbed her chest and slid to her knees.
Chapter Five
Matt ran out to where Dusty was curled over, clutching her chest. “Damn! I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
She shot him a nod, but no smile. Obviously, she wasn’t okay. He paced, not knowing what to do. He couldn’t very well rub it, could he? Damn, he hated not taking action.
“It’s okay,” she squeaked out, slumped down on her knees. “I’ll be fine.”
A trainer ran out. He bent over, resting his hands on his knees. “Can you breathe?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Come on. I’m taking you in for an x-ray.” He cupped her elbow and helped her to her feet. Matt took her other arm. He walked with them to the medical room.
“This is as far as you go, Jackson,” the trainer said.
Matt nodded. “I’ll be out here when you’re done.”
Cal Crawley tapped Matt on the shoulder. “Give Dan some practice, will ya, Matt?”
“But I’m waiting for—”
“She’ll be okay. I’ll bring her over when she comes out. I hope she’s not hurt bad.”
“Me too. I never should have brought her here.”
“Aw, she’s probably gonna be fine. She’s pretty good. For a girl, I mean,” Cal said.
“She’s pretty good for anyone,” Matt countered.
Cal chuckled. “You boys.” He shook his head and made his way to the bullpen with Matt following.
Matt crouched down and put up his mitt. Dan wound up and shot a pitch at his friend.
They warmed up for about half an hour. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Dusty, in the company of Cal, on her way to join the catcher. He stood up and signaled for Dan to take five.
“How are you?” His brow furrowed.
“Okay.”
“No broken ribs. No lawsuit,” Cal said.
Dusty shot him a look.
Cal raised his hands. “Just kidding. Good thing it was a softball. A hard ball might have done more damage.”
“Sit here. You can watch Dan. Get some pointers. You did good out there,” Matt said.
“You were right. I need more practice on fielding. I mean, if I want to be a starter, I’ve gotta be the best at everything, right?”
“Right.” He smiled at her. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming.
“Even though I’m a girl?” she asked, her voice flirty.
Matt laughed. “Especially if you’re a girl.”
Dan tapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s go before my arm gets cold.”
They resumed practice. Dusty warmed a bench, sipping from a bottle of water. Cal brought her a sandwich. She munched while she watched the pitcher and catcher work. After an hour, they broke. Both men had sweated through their shirts.
“Hey, you must be special. Cal doesn’t wait on me like that,” Matt said, toweling off his face before grabbing another water.
“He’s just buttering me up so I won’t file a lawsuit,” she said, wiping her lips with a napkin.
Matt’s eyes widened.
“Just kidding!” She punched him lightly in the shoulder.
He noticed a small bruise on her chin and touched it gently. She flinched.
“Did I do that?” he asked.
“No, the ball did that.”
“The ball I hit. Guess that means I have to take you to a fancy dinner tonight. Just so you won’t file a lawsuit, right?” He shot her a half-grin.
“Oh?” She gave him a quizzical look for a second. “Right! Right. Yep. That would do it.”
“Fine. Chez Olivier it is, then.”
“French?”
“The finest,” he said, moving close enough to comb his fingers through her hair. He gazed at her face—a few freckles sprinkled across her nose, wide, clear blue eyes, connecting with his, perfect skin, slightly reddened from the sun. Her beauty shone through the layer of dust and grime from the workout and the boxy uniform she wore.
Dusty tucked a shirttail into her pants and shifted from foot to foot. Matt wiped a small smudge from her nose with his thumb.
“I think I’d better go back to your place to shower,” she said, not breaking their connection.
He chuckled. “Good idea. I’ll shower real quick here. Do you mind waiting?”
She shook her head, bouncing her thick, auburn hair over her shoulders. If they’d been alone, he’d be kissing her. Instead, he smacked his lips and broke his gaze. She reached up to touch his cheek. He covered her hand with his for a moment, before heading to the locker room. At the doorway, he stopped to glance back. She faced him and raised her palm slightly.
* * * *
The food in the fancy restaurant was superb, but Dusty almost passed out when she saw all the silverware hugging her plate. Three forks, three spoons—she had no clue when to use which. Anxiety pooled in her guts. It’s one thing to be a girl from a poor family, but it’s another to look like one in front of a major-league baseball star. She swallowed.
Matt leaned over to whisper. “I don’t know which fork to use, either. Don’t worry about it.”
His reassurance melted the icy fear that gripped her. She hadn’t traveled the world and wasn’t sophisticated
, but the rest of humanity didn’t need to know. Admitting his own ignorance bucked her up.
“So, you won’t report me for using the wrong fork, then?” she asked, taking a piece of French bread from the basket.
“Not if you don’t report me.” He shot her a warm smile as the waiter placed giant menus in their laps.
Each dish was listed in both French and English. She stuck to the English side.
“I’ve had good steak here and the scallops, too, if you like seafood,” Matt said.
They both ordered steak and pommes frites.
“They’re just real French fries, from France!” She grinned as she stabbed some with her fork.
“Definitely better than the fast food variety.”
She chewed and swallowed. “A whole lot better.”
“What’s your favorite food?” he asked, slicing off a piece of steak.
“Hmm. Hard to say. Main dish? Desert?”
“Both. One in each.”
“Can’t beat a good steak. Although lamb stew runs a close second.”
“Lamb stew! I love lamb stew,” he said, before putting the meat in his mouth.
She watched him chew. Was it possible to be sexy when chewing food? Well, hell, watching Matt Jackson eat turned her on. She chuckled to herself about what Nicki would say about that. Drag him under the table and screw his brains out.
“Something funny? Share,” he said.
There was no way she’d be sharing her private thoughts, but simply the idea sent heat to her face. “Nothing, nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at her. “You’re blushing.”
“What’s your favorite dessert?” she asked, changing the subject, praying her skin color would return to normal.
“Hmm. That’s a tough one. I love Italian desserts. But chocolate lava cake is hard to beat. Especially with whipped cream.”
“Everything is better with whipped cream,” she said.
He laughed. “Oh, yes. I agree.” His sexy stare sent the thermostat in her face up to a hundred and fifty. Why did everything with Matt Jackson come back to sex?
When they finished and left the air-conditioned restaurant, a wave of hot, muggy air hit them. Dusty could hardly breathe until the cooling in the car kicked in.
