by Jean Joachim
* * * *
Dusty shoved her cell into her back pocket and shouldered her softball gear. She headed for the Hellgate Field in Astoria, Queens, about a ten-block walk. In addition to saving bus fare, the walk would give her a chance to think. She had a lot on her mind.
“See ya at the field, Nicki,” Dusty called out, closing the door.
Who does that big ape, Matt Jackson, think he is, anyway? Thought he could have her at his beck and call for sex on demand? He had another think coming. She frowned. The more she thought about his request, the madder she got. Indignation burned in her chest. Whatever made her think she could date a pro athlete? Self-centered, arrogant, puffed up fool, that’s Matt Jackson.
When she arrived, she mumbled greetings to her teammates and unpacked her gear. Opening her backpack, she retrieved glove, water bottle, hand towel, softball, and sun block.
Nicki came running up to her, huffing and puffing. “Why didn’t you wait?”
“I didn’t know you were ready. Come on, catch me. I need to warm up.”
Nicki donned her catcher’s gear and headed for the plate, right behind Dusty. The pitcher had learned how to harness her anger into her throw. After her parents had given her the ultimatum of get a job with a future or move out, she’d spent hour after hour pitching into the backstop at the field. She channeled her fury into her arm, making pitches faster and harder each time.
The team manager, Marjorie, had noticed the improvement and moved her up in the pitching lineup, even started her a couple of times. Dusty had confided her secret to Nicki. The women had laughed over the fact that Dusty’s parents’ behavior had helped their daughter achieve success.
Lorna and Evie, Dusty’s other two roommates and team members, showed up.
“Hung over?” Dusty asked the yawning Lorna.
“Nah. I didn’t drink, just up too late with Tommy.”
“Screwing her brains out. She had such a smile on her face when she got home.” Evie chuckled.
“Hope it helps you on the field,” Dusty put in.
“It always does,” Lorna said, with a sly grin.
The women lined up for batting practice then split into groups—infielders and outfielders—for fielding practice. The next game was with their nemesis, the Philadelphia Foxes.
“You’re pitching tomorrow, Carmichael,” Marj said, chewing on a wad of gum.
“Okay.” Her knees got weak for a moment. Matt’ll be there. Shit. He’s gonna see me pitch. Probably find a thousand mistakes. Her nerves kicked up, and nausea hit her stomach.
“What’s wrong?” Nicki put an arm around her friend.
Dusty explained.
“You need to practice your butt off. Get your ass over here,” Nicki said, tugging on Dusty’s sleeve.
Dusty realized she’d been fooling herself. She cared what Matt Jackson thought of her pitching, of her, in bed and out. He’d invaded her thoughts and dreams. She’d dared to hope that it might be something serious, but now, she’d have to abandon that idea.
Obviously, he was only interested in convenient sex, not a committed relationship. She hardened her resolve not to give in to him. His offer tempted her. The idea of snuggling with him and waking up next to him three days a week seduced her. She resisted. She heard her mother’s words—“Once you let a man use you, you lose your self-respect, and his too.
The thought of marrying a man who was as into baseball as she was would have been a dream come true. But after a few months, he’d proposed something totally different. She couldn’t agree, and the disappointment in her heart made her sad.
“Snap out of it! What the fuck? You can’t afford to let that asshole ruin your game,” Nicki said, cracking her gum as she fired the ball back to the pitcher.
“You’re right.”
Dusty pushed thoughts of Matt Jackson out of her head and narrowed her eyes. Her hand gripped the ball, and every muscle awaited orders. She took her time to get it right. After about five pitches, her body got in the groove. The pitches smoothed out, and she kept hitting the strike zone. Harder, faster—the movements were fluid, and her spirits rose. She still had it.
After four hours, Marj let them go with instructions on what to eat and when to go to sleep.
“Alone! Alone, ladies. I need you tense and ready to spring tomorrow.”
The four roommates walked home and prepared steaks and salad for dinner. They needed every edge against the Foxes, and Nicki touted a high protein meal. Dusty took a hot shower and headed for bed.
“Wait!” Nicki called.
“What?”
“A delivery. For you.”
Dusty’s eyebrows rose as she padded to the living room.
* * * *
When Matt got downstairs, his buddies were waiting. The Uber van pulled up five minutes later. The driver needed directions to Hellgate Field.
Nat Owen whipped out his cell. “I’ve got GPS. Give me the name again.”
With all of them putting their heads together, they managed to find the right place. By the time they got there, both teams had arrived and were warming up. Matt looked around for Dusty. His stomach got queasy as he wondered if she’d even speak to him. His teammates would never let him forget what an asshole he’d been when they found out what he’d done. He didn’t want to lose Dusty, but it might already be too late.
He got her attention and raised his palm. She smiled and waved back. Whew! She tossed the ball to the catcher and loped over to join the Nighthawks.
“Thanks for coming,” she said.
“Glad you’re still speaking to me,” Matt whispered, as he leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“The flowers and the note…well, everyone deserves a second chance, right?” Her blue eyes were warmer than the last time.
“You’re the best.”
She stretched up on tiptoes to kiss him.
“You know everyone, right?” He gestured to the ’Hawks’ infielders and Holly.
She nodded.
An older woman in a uniform and ball cap approached. “Hi, I’m Marjorie Stocker, manager of the Queens.” She stuck out her hand. Matt grasped it firmly and introduced his teammates. “Don’t really need any intros. I’m a big fan,” she said. “Not that we’re not thrilled, but why are you here?”
“I’m a big fan of Dusty Carmichael. Came to watch her pitch,” Matt said.
“Dusty? She’s our star. Thanks for coming. We appreciate the vote of confidence.” Marjorie grinned then returned to her team.
“Kill ’em, baby,” Matt said, giving Dusty a hug before she followed her manager.
The men and Holly found seats. It was sunny, but a bit cool for a day in June. Holly snuggled closer to Dan.
“Perfect weather for a ball game,” Matt said.
“A ball game with hot chicks,” Jake said, shaking his head. “Only you could find a team like this, Jackson.”
“Maybe you’ll treat me with more respect,” Matt responded.
“Maybe you’ll introduce us after the game,” Nat Owen said, staring at the Queens’ catcher’s butt.
“Me too,” Skip put in.
“Easy, guys. Easy. One at a time. Hold the heavy breathing ’till after the game.” Matt chuckled. A woman with a trumpet and one of the players stepped out to center field. Marjorie announced the Star-Spangled Banner, and everyone rose.
Matt’s brow furrowed as he watched Dusty warm up. Using his catcher’s eye and intuition, he sensed her nervousness. Her motion was jerky, not smooth. A lump formed in his stomach. Am I jinxing her by being here? She needs to find her rhythm.
The first Fox batter stepped up to the plate. Dusty took a breath and rocketed a strike right down the middle. She struck out the first player, and Matt let out the breath he was holding. As the second one took a swing and missed, Jackson’s grin widened. Seemed as if Ms. Carmichael had found her groove. He relaxed while she took the other team out—three up, three down.
The short game was over quickly. Dusty pitched all
six innings, giving up one homerun, striking out eight batters, and walking two. The Queens won, four to two. His keen eye picked up that while her pitching was excellent, her batting needed work. She’d struck out three times. He figured he could help her, like he was doing with Dan. Once she picked up her batting, she’d be the hottest ticket in the league.
After the game, she headed for the stands. Matt walked out to meet her.
“So? What did you think?” Her brow wrinkled, and uncertainty shone in her eyes.
“I think you are the most incredible softball pitcher ever.”
“Yeah, but?”
He laughed. “How’d you know there was a ‘but’?”
“There’s always a ‘but’ in my life.”
“Your hitting needs a little work.”
“I don’t know why you say that. Just because I struck out three times? You noticed I can’t connect with the ball unless I’m pitching it, huh?”
He smiled. “I kinda noticed. But I can help you with that.”
“Would you?”
“Of course. Then, you’ll be the best in the league.”
She beamed at him. “Think so?”
“You’re already the best in my league,” he said, taking her in his arms. A hug turned into a kiss.
“Ah, Dusty?” The catcher walked up to the pitcher and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Oh, Nicki! Hi.” Dusty’s face reddened.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Nicki unbuckled her chest protector and knee pads as she spoke.
“Of course, of course. I’m sorry.”
“I get it. You were busy,” Nicki joked, her hazel eyes twinkling.
Dusty presented each member of the team. Matt was surprised to see the shyest member, Nat Owen, hold Nicki’s hand the longest. The catcher smiled to himself. He knew how it was to have a girlfriend who played ball too—sheer heaven. Maybe Nat was next in line?
“Dinner?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at Dusty.
She nodded. “I’ve gotta shower.”
“I’ll come back and pick you up.”
“That’s a lot of trouble and—”
He placed his finger over her lips. “No trouble. Call me when you’re ready.”
“Can we go to Freddie’s?”
“Sure, babe. Whatever you want.”
“I love his steak.”
Matt kissed her and joined his friends, who had filled another Uber van.
“She’s hot. How come she’s dating you, Jackson?” Jake asked, his eyes teasing.
“Fuckin’ beats me. Oops. Sorry, Holly.”
“Her roommate’s smokin’,” Nat said.
“Which one?” Jake asked.
“All of them,” Skip put in.
Matt laughed. “You guys. Always the same.”
“Oh, yeah. And they play ball too,” Skip added.
Nat was the last one in the van.
“Let’s go, Owen.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he said, but clearly wasn’t.
“Hey, she’ll still be here tomorrow.”
“Who?” Nat said, climbing in.
“Nicki, that’s who. The chick you’ve been staring at for the past half hour,” Matt said, getting in the front and slamming the door.
“Her?”
“Yeah. Her,” Matt replied.
“Really? I didn’t notice,” Nat responded.
A chuckle floated through the vehicle as the driver put it in gear.
Chapter Eleven
Dusty showered at home and slipped on a pair of tight, black pants and a silky, short-sleeved, white blouse. The blouse had a ruffle along the low-cut neckline, showing off her fair skin, slender neck, and great cleavage. She smiled to herself. Matt loved her breasts. She caught him staring at them often, and when they were in bed together, he paid them special attention. The memory of his touch gave her goosebumps.
She stopped to sniff the gigantic bouquet of pink roses in a vase next to her bed. Matt had sent them, along with a note. She sprayed perfume on her neck then picked up the card.
Dusty –
You are the light of my life. Please forgive me for my
stupidity. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that
I like having you around, even if I don’t know how to
say it.
Love,
Matt
He’d signed it “love,” but he hadn’t said he loved her. Not yet. Did she love him? Maybe. Handsome, generous, funny, and protective to a fault made him a homerun in her book. Nicki kept telling her to play the field. “With your looks, Dusty, you could have any guy. Don’t settle.”
Certainly, having a relationship with Matt Jackson, star catcher of the New York Nighthawks, wasn’t settling. Besides, she didn’t care much for dating around, and not at all for sleeping around. Nicki was a lot looser on that score than Dusty.
Something clicked into place when she was with Matt. She frowned, knowing she didn’t have nearly enough info about him. What about his childhood? Was he happy growing up? Sad? Where did he come from? Didn’t he have a sibling? Matt had never talked about his early life. How serious could you be about a guy if you didn’t know everything?
She set her lips in a fine line and narrowed her eyes. This date would be a fact-finding mission. Subject—Matt Jackson. Objective—dig out his background. She plucked a favorite pair of ivory and black earrings out of her small jewelry box, applied lipstick, blush, mascara, and eyeliner, and then headed for the door.
“You’re smokin’ tonight!” Nicki exclaimed.
“Amazing!” Evie concurred.
“Whoo hoo,” hooted Lorna, giving her a thumb’s up.
Before she opened the door, her cell dinged. She read the message and smiled. “He sent a car for me!”
“That’s love, babe,” Nicki said.
Dusty shot a broad grin at her roommates before she hit the lobby and was tucked safely into a limousine. She gazed out the window as anticipation of a great night bumped up her pulse. A small thrill tingled up her spine, and her palms grew sweaty. After wiping her hands on a tissue, she sat back, gazing at the traffic, unable to keep a smile from her face.
Who was Matt Jackson? Was he the bumbling guy who’d stuck his foot in his mouth when he’d asked her to be around three days a week for sex? Or was he the caring guy who’d offered to help her with her batting and sent a car to bring her to Freddie’s? Dusty had had her heart broken a few times in college by guys who said they liked women athletes, but couldn’t handle her softball success. They’d goad her into a challenge then come up with an excuse when they lost.
Matt was the only guy she’d dated who took pride in her achievement. Coming to her game and bringing his teammates beat out the flowers for winning her heart. After her parents had turned their backs on her, she yearned for someone to cheer her on, come to her games, support her dream. Did she have that in Matt?
Her phone rang.
“You on the way, babe?” he asked.
“Yep. This is so nice. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I want you safe. Besides, you’re too hot to ride on the subway alone,” he said, chuckling.
“We just crossed the RFK Bridge.”
“I’ve got a table. Everyone is here. They want to congratulate you. Did you bring Nicki?”
“No, you didn’t invite her.”
“Damn. Should have. I think Nat’s interested.”
“Then, let him call her. Tonight’s my night with you. I don’t want to play matchmaker.”
“Right. I’ll tell him. Got her number?”
Dusty gave him her roommate’s cell then hung up. She leaned back into the seat and let her thoughts drift to the enigma that was Matt Jackson. Was she interested in a commitment or would it interfere with her softball career? Too many questions tramped through her head. Maybe for tonight, she’d forget everything and have fun. Like Dusty Carmichael, driven softball pitcher, could ever be that laid back.
* * *
*
Matt took a swig of his beer and leaned back in his chair. Whew, he’d had a close call with Dusty. Almost lost her because he’d been an asshole. Around the large table, his teammates inhaled burgers and washed them down with beer. The only one who had a girl with him was Dan Alexander. The pitcher and his fiancée didn’t like to be separated. With him on the road so often, they cherished the time they had together. Matt smiled to think they’d chosen to spend it with the Nighthawks.
He checked his watch and glanced at the door. Sure enough, a car pulled up in front of the bar and grill. Dusty! He rose from his seat to greet her. His gaze took in her sexy outfit and incredible beauty. He shook his head. Yeah, he was a lucky man.
He bent to brush her lips with his. She peered into his eyes, hers glowing. He thought maybe it was lust, because it sure as hell couldn’t be love. Love didn’t happen for Matt Jackson.
“You look smokin’, babe,” he said, guiding her to the table.
The Nighthawks raised hands and murmured greetings.
Dan piped up first. “Congratulations, Dusty. Great game!”
“Get this lady a beer,” Skip shouted.
Matt’s eyes rested for a moment too long on her cleavage.
“I’m up here,” she said, lifting his chin with her finger.
Heat spread through Matt’s cheeks. “Sorry. It’s just that they’re so amazing. And that’s an understatement.”
She laughed. “Chill. We’re not alone. You don’t have to announce it to the whole place.”
“Sorry, sorry.” He dropped his gaze to his mug and shook his head. He needed to get her back to his place sooner rather than later.
“What’ll you have?” Tommy asked.
“Burger, medium, cheese. No onions,” she said, throwing a smoky look to Matt.
“Coming right up.”
“No steak?” he asked.
“Gotta switch it up,” she replied.
The crew ate and drank, talking sports and women.
“I didn’t know so many hot women played softball,” Jake said.
“Yeah. There were some I’d go out with. Did you see the catcher? She’s smokin,” Skip tossed in.
