by Jean Joachim
Using his glove, Jake tagged Bobby as he slid, feet first, into third. Jake made the tag while leaping over Bobby, avoiding cleats heading his way. It seemed to take only two or three seconds. But as she watched, it became obvious that the pitcher, catcher, and short stop were all in cahoots and communicating in subtle signals the base runner didn’t see.
“Out by a mile. Nice work, Matt,” Cal said, pushing to his feet and ambling to the next group of men who were practicing sliding into base.
Dusty sat, sucking down water, watching the men execute the same plays over and over again. Finally, the trainer, Vic Steele, called for a ten-minute break. Matt joined her on the bench and twisted open a bottle of water.
“You’re amazing.”
“Practice,” he said, before taking a long drink.
She squeezed his biceps. “Strong.”
“Have to be to get the ball there before the stealer.”
“You must work out?”
“Four days a week.” He finished the bottle.
After practice, Matt and Dusty went for a run. Then, Matt worked out in the gym before hitting the showers. At three thirty, she was climbing into his car for the ride to the airport to make her plane at six.
“I had a wonderful time. Today was so interesting. I learned a lot about catchers.”
“We’re more important than some of the fans think.”
“It’s a hard job.”
“Hell, I’m on it for every pitch, and I don’t get relieved at the end of the sixth.”
“Right. I have a lot more respect for my catcher now,” she said.
He clapped her on the back. “As you should.”
Matt carried her suitcase up to the security line. He lingered, resting his arm over her shoulders. As the line started to move, Matt leaned over to place a quick kiss on her mouth. “Remember, Easter. Right? The weekend?”
“Right! We’ll make a big dinner at your place,” she said.
“Sunday. Friday and Saturday, you’re all mine.”
“Got it. Thank you for everything.” She hoisted her bag up on the conveyor belt.
Matt waited until she went through the line. He waved at her, and she smiled back at him.
On the plane, she fell asleep.
In the cab weaving its way through New York City traffic, she consoled herself that Easter was only four weeks away. Matt had a game Friday afternoon and Saturday afternoon, but nothing on Sunday. She’d pack a bag and stay with him Friday night, go to the game on Saturday, and stay with him again.
She shivered in anticipation. She couldn’t wait to tell Nicki! In the meantime, she’d better find some good recipes for Easter dinner and practice before the big day.
* * * *
Dan Alexander pitched the season opener. His fiancée, Holly, was in the stands, as a spectator, not selling hot dogs. Matt put on his leg gear and chest protector. With face mask in hand, he loped out to the field for the national anthem.
Standing next to Dan, he noted how relaxed the pitcher looked. Season openers weren’t the biggest game of the year, but they usually drew big crowds of fans, hungry for the game after so many months of baseball drought.
The pressure began. From that day on, the men pushed themselves to give one hundred percent every day. Glancing at his friend, Matt noted no worry lines, no knitted brows. Dan sang the words then grinned. Damn idiot had been doing a lot of that shit lately, and it was getting on Matt’s nerves. Where the hell was the complaining about women, about players jumping ship for more money? Where was the griping about keeping his arm warm during rain delays and the quality of the hot dogs sold in the stadium? Clouds gathered, and Dan seemed oblivious.
Matt shook his head. His friend was in love and nothing seemed to matter to the man. The catcher wished he knew what that felt like. For the first time in their friendship, Matt was jealous. But in two weeks, he’d be having his big weekend with Dusty.
He was nervous. Every week the event grew bigger in his imagination. For the first time, he thought he might have found the right girl, the one for him—the one he could count on, who wouldn’t desert him, leave him flat, or die.
With a quick shake, he threw those thoughts out of his head and focused on the game. The Nighthawks were playing the Baltimore Badgers. That meant that asshole Basil Carter would be hitting clean-up. Dan hated the former ’Hawk for jumping teams, taking a bigger, better offer from the Badgers when he’d become a free agent.
Matt walked to the mound with Dan. “Basil Carter’s hitting fourth,” he said.
“Fuck him. Easy out,” Dan said, rubbing the ball with his palm.
Matt’s eyes widened as he stared at his friend. “If you say so.”
“I do. Let’s go. Looks like rain.”
Sure enough, April showers had the maintenance men racing out with a tarp to cover the infield while the players lounged in the dugout. The tradition of the season opener was that every man put money in the cap and participated in their “who can spot the hottest chick in the stands” contest. Even Cal threw in twenty bucks. Being an almost married man, Dan was reluctant to join in, but his teammates insisted.
“Looks like ole pussy-whipped here is gonna forfeit his crown,” Jake Lawrence said.
“Hey, I’m engaged. I’m not dead. I got eyes.”
“Yeah, but they’re not looking anywhere but one former hot dog lady,” Matt said.
“You’re jealous.” Dan tossed in ten bucks.
“Looks like the bar strike-out king has finally found a girl,” Skip Quincy put in.
“That Dusty chick,” Nat said.
“We’ll see,” Matt mumbled, tossing in a sawbuck.
The contest began. The players tried not to look conspicuous. Binoculars were not allowed. Once, Nat Owen had borrowed his sister’s opera glasses, but the guys had found out and disqualified him—even though he’d found the most amazing woman, double D’s for sure.
Skip wandered from end to end, gazing out, trying not to be obvious, but not succeeding. Nat followed him. Bobby spotted the winner, hiding under an umbrella. He couldn’t see her face, but what he could see was choice, winning him the pot.
Dan kept staring at his watch, then looking up at the sky.
“What’s up?” Matt asked, unbuckling his leg guards.
“I wanted to take Holly to a special dinner. Back to the place we went on our first date. But if this fuckin’ rain doesn’t stop, we’ll miss our reservation.”
“If it doesn’t stop, we’ll miss dinner altogether.”
The rain turned to a light sprinkle after twenty minutes then finally stopped. The sun came out, but it was cold. Most of the men wore long sleeved shirts under their uniforms. The pitcher almost always did to keep his arm muscles warm.
Back on the field, Basil Carter came to the plate. He shot Matt a half-grin and a nod as he took his stance. Now that they were opponents, did they have to be enemies? Dan stared down at Carter and clenched his jaw. For a moment, Matt remembered a night when he’d gone chick-hunting on the road with Basil. It had been a memorable night. How could Matt hate him?
Matt signaled for a slider, a pitch he remembered Carter couldn’t hit the season before. Dan gave a slight nod and went into his wind-up. He struck out the slugger on three straight sliders. Matt smiled. It paid to remember who could hit what. That was part of his job, and he was the very best at it.
The Nighthawks squeaked a two-to-one win from the Badgers. After he showered and changed, Matt stopped at the exit to sign some autographs and chat with fans.
“Well, hello,” a familiar voice piped up.
He turned to find Dusty standing behind him.
“I couldn’t miss opening day.”
Matt folded her in his embrace and kissed her hello. Some of his teammates and fans gave him a catcall, but he didn’t care. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“You did, baby. You did,” he said, a big grin splashed over hi
s face. “Hey, got plans for tonight?”
“Nope.”
“Let’s get dinner. There’s a place the guys hang called Freddie’s. That okay?”
“Perfect.”
Matt pulled into the parking lot and opened the back door of the restaurant.
“Well, as I live and breathe. Be still my heart. Is that Matt Jackson with a beautiful girl?” said Tommy, Freddie’s grandson and owner of the bar and grill.
“Shut up, Tommy. She’s with me. Her name’s Dusty.”
“What’ll you have?”
* * * *
As they sat after dinner sipping coffee at a table in the corner, Matt took her hand.
“Come home with me,” he said in a low voice for her ears only.
She nodded. Nicki had drummed it into her head that she had to sleep with him before the big weekend. She recalled the conversation.
“What if he sucks in bed? And I don’t mean in a good way,” her friend said.
“He couldn’t.”
“Yeah, he could. Big athlete, big ego. Could be selfish.”
“Matt? I doubt it.”
“Better find out now. If he’s good, great. Makes the weekend even better.”
“And if he’s not?”
“That’s up to you.”
“It’s all up to me, isn’t it?”
“I guess so. But get in his bed and do it now!”
Nicki did have a point. And she wanted to, so why wait?
Matt dropped some bills on the table, said farewell to Tommy, and opened the car door.
His apartment wasn’t lavish. It was in a seven-story building.
“It’s not big, but it’s good,” he said, dropping his keys on a small side table in the tiny foyer and hanging her jacket on a hook by the door. “I’ll give you the tour.”
One bedroom, nice kitchen, roomy living room, but that was it. She had expected something bigger, since he was so successful. Dying to ask, but not wanting to seem nosy or like a gold digger, she kept quiet.
The large bedroom had a king size bed. Heat filled her cheeks when she saw it. The room was decorated in blue and white. In fact, the whole apartment was in blue and white. Dark teal on the living room walls, a light, colonial blue in the bedroom, and a cheerful aqua in the bathroom. She guessed it was his favorite color.
The apartment was neat, the furniture spare. The only sign that someone with money lived there was the giant television set. Otherwise, it was furnished in a comfy, but not expensive style. The sectional sofa and coffee table invited her to sit back and put her feet up.
“It’s not fancy,” he said.
“I love it. It’s homey,” she interrupted.
He grinned. She plopped down on the couch.
“How about a drink? I have some wine?”
“A small glass. Do you have red?”
“I have whatever you want, sweetheart,” he said, opening the bottom door of a well-stocked liquor cabinet in the corner.
Oh, yes, you do have what I want. You certainly do.
He brought two small glasses of red wine to the table and sat next to her. “Wanna watch a movie?” he asked, wiping a bit of sweat off his forehead.
“Sure. Not porn, though,” she said, holding up her hand.
“I’d never offer you porn.”
“Good.”
They drank in awkward silence.
“When was the last time you had a girl up here?”
He looked at his hands. “It’s been a while.”
“Why?”
“I’ve kind of taken a break from women for a bit.”
“Any special reason? Someone break your heart?”
“You could say that.”
She put her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”
“Let’s not talk about it. Let’s talk about us,” he said, moving nearer to her, snaking his arm across the back of the couch.
Dusty put her glass down and snuggled into his shoulder. Although he was five foot ten, there was something cuddly about Matt Jackson. She rested her hand on his chest.
She’d waited long enough. She figured lifting her chin was all the green light he’d need. He lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was passionate, hungry. He wound his arms around her, pressing her closer. His tongue swiped against the seam of her lips, and she opened. He deepened the kiss, probing with his tongue, ramping up the heat in her body.
In her head, she screamed for him to touch her. There’s taking it slow, and then, there’s waiting for the next millennium. Her nipples burned to feel his hands. She wore a pink, soft, cotton top that buttoned up the front to a low-cut neckline. Hoping to get him moving, she squashed her breasts against his hard chest.
Like a match to gasoline, the man flew into action. He dipped his fingers under her sweater, gliding them up her rib cage. They closed around her flesh. She groaned. God, she wanted him.
“I can’t take it anymore. This is too slow,” he said, pushing to his feet. Then, he scooped her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.
Chapter Seven
His dick hadn’t been this hard in a long time. Unbeknownst to his buddies, Matt had scored a few one-night stands in the past few years. Hey, he had needs, like any other man. But Dusty was different. He laid her down on the bed. She adjusted her long hair and pushed up to a sitting position. His gaze connected with hers. She reached out to him. When he took her hand, she tugged him down.
He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had looked at him with desire in her eyes. His blood heated, and he glanced at the thermostat. Nope, it wasn’t ninety degrees in the room.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, unbuttoning her sweater.
She yanked his shirt from his pants then dipped her fingers under the fabric. He flinched for a second at the tickle of her delicate fingers on his bare skin. She shot him a quizzical glance.
“Ticklish,” he said, refocusing on opening her sweater. When it was unfastened completely, she shrugged it off. Her luscious breasts rested in a white, lacy demi-bra. His mouth watered as he stared.
Her eyes sought his. “Should I take it off, or do you want to?”
“Let me.” He ripped his shirt over his head and dumped it on a chair then joined her on the bed. Her eyes widened as she gazed at him. Although he wasn’t as tall as Dan or as buff as Jake, Matt was proud of his trim, strong body, especially his arms, muscular and powerful. All catchers need strong arms, and he had worked at building his up to be the best.
Pink colored the apples of her cheeks. Pride grew in his chest.
“Now, you,” he said, reaching around behind her to undo her bra. She smelled sweet, like honey mixed with a touch of lavender. He bent his head to kiss her neck. Dipping his tongue out, he tasted her. She was as delicious as her scent. With one quick motion, he unhooked the barrier to his view and sat back to watch it fall.
There they were, on display for him alone, as gorgeous as the first time he’d laid eyes on them. Now, they were his to touch too. He grinned. “Beautiful.” He cupped his hands around the soft flesh. Dusty leaned forward, gripping his shoulders.
He kissed her, taking his time, his tongue exploring. Then, he slid his lips down her jaw to her throat and below, until they were consuming the forbidden fruit. He had waited a long time to get her naked.
While he was kissing her breasts and nibbling on her nipple, she popped the snap on his jeans and ran the zipper down. He lifted his head to capture her mouth again. She snaked her arms around his middle and hugged him. Matt slipped his pants over his hips and down to his knees. His erection strained against his boxers.
“You,” he panted.
She opened hers then pushed up to slide them over her butt and off. She wore white, lace panties that matched the bra. He groaned, his gaze riveted to her undies.
“Those, too.”
“You first,” she said, a twinkle in her eye.
He chuckled and dropped his boxers, revealing his hard shaft.
“Wow,�
� slipped out of her mouth. She curled her fingers around him.
“No, no. Take those off,” he said, removing her hand and waving at her lower half. As she shed her panties, he asked, “Are you protected?”
“No. It’s been a long time. I mean, I don’t take the pill, because I’m not in a relationship. I don’t run around sleeping with a lot of guys.” Her gaze avoided his as a touch of color stained her cheeks.
“I get it. It’s okay, baby. No worries. I got this.” He took her hand between his two and raised her palm to his lips. Then, he opened the nightstand and pulled out a condom.
She stared at it, then at him. “Do you buy those by the dozen?”
He laughed. “Are you kidding?”
She shook her head. “I thought all pro athletes had a lot of sex. With a lot of women.”
“Not me,” he said, shifting his gaze to her thighs. “I’m choosy.” He closed his fingers around her leg and pulled her closer to him.
“I love this,” she muttered, running her fingers through the smattering of dark hair on his chest.
He closed his big hand over her breast then inched it down, enjoying the smooth, silky feel of her skin. He pushed up on his knees, kissed her, and then followed his hand with his lips. He paused at her breasts, taking a nipple in his mouth. The urge to taste her overwhelmed him. His tongue circled the hard nub, enjoying the feel of her arousal and her sugary flavor. She raked her fingers through his hair as he focused on first one and then the other.
He lifted his head, and they made eye contact. She was almost panting. He buried his face between her breasts then moved down. When he got to her hip, he eased his fingers around to grab her butt before squeezing her thigh.
“Nice!” he said, his face still buried in her abdomen. Turning his hand, he brushed his thumb over her sex. She twitched.
“More,” she whispered. His head jerked up again, his gaze seeking hers. Her blue eyes were hazy with desire. She glided her hands down his chest and around to his butt, which she pulled to her. Pressure grew in his groin. Her touch ratcheted up the heat in him. He bent to take one swipe of her sex with his tongue. Sweet. He had to have her. He cupped her mound then slid his fingers between her folds. He slipped one inside, then the next. She was wet, and his digits glided into her easily.
