The Masks of October
Page 10
“It’s about time. You should have been rooting for them all along.”
Tag knew why she’d wanted Seattle to win. To bring it up again now told her he was trying to deflect her attention away from him by putting her on the defense.
“You’re absolutely right. I am scum.”
She was going to miss Tag. Even when he was surly. Oh, she still might see him every day when she cooked his meals, but once she had her new stove in place, she’d only be dropping off the food.
She knew her only value was in keeping him entertained.
* * * *
The final game of the season. The Gems had pushed the Series to game seven. The clubhouse almost hummed with the player’s energy. Their entire season had come down to this November evening.
The pregame meal was uneventful. Cleaning went smoothly. Skye and Tag were settled in front of his television by the bottom of the first inning.
“What do you think of the wings?” Skye asked as Tag gnawed on a bone in the commercial break between the top and bottom of the second. She’d prepared two kinds for him to snack on during the game: one with bourbon sauce and a beer-battered version.
“Not bad.”
“I’m experimenting with healthier versions for my election night job. I’m probably going to need to keep using your kitchen until I can get my new stove.” There. She’d put it out there for him to accept or reject.
“No problem. Are these left wings or right wings?”
Skye laughed. She was going to miss the camaraderie of watching games with him. His wry humor.
“What else are you serving?” he asked.
“Pulled pork sliders.”
He snorted. “Kool-Aid?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. It’s not a bad idea. I thought caramelized acorn squash rings and—”
“Suckers for dessert.”
“I beg your pardon?” What was he talking about?
“Lollypops. We called ’em suckers when I was a kid. Appropriate for politicians and their supporters, don’t you think?”
Yeah, she was going to miss hanging out with him.
RED WOULDN’T BE in his place cooking every day.
Tag couldn’t wrap his head around the idea. She’d become a necessity in his life over the past two weeks. He’d miss her more than he’d miss Bluto, Hans, or Franz when they finished with him.
The only thing going right with him was how quickly the bank was handling his purchase of Red’s mortgage after Dixon backed off. And maybe the Gems winning the World Series.
He settled in his recliner and tried to focus on the game, but Red had distracted him with the reminder of her temporary status.
During the commercials between the third and fourth innings, he reopened the subject. “How long before you can get a stove?”
“Trying to get rid of me?”
The teasing tone didn’t help his mood.
“Just trying to get a handle on things.”
“Thanks to you, I can make my balloon payment as soon as my check from the Gems clears.”
If Dixon didn’t delay her payment.
“Once that’s behind me, I can take out a loan to buy the stove of my dreams.”
“A loan to buy a stove?”
“The stove I want costs over eight thousand dollars.”
He turned from the TV to look at her. “That’s ridiculous. What is it? Gold-plated or something?”
“You paid more for your car, and the stove will last longer and pay for itself. Your car depreciated the moment you drove it off the lot.”
The game resumed. The score remained nothing to nothing.
Tag should have been thinking about how Win Winston ought to pitch to the Seattle line-up. Instead, he conjured scenarios that would get Red to stay with him. Only until he was on both feet again. Nothing long-term.
“So tell me what’s going on with the pitches,” Red asked.
That was one to keep his mind from picturing her naked, her long red curls tickling his thighs while her tongue tickled…
“Wes is calling for a changeup away.” He wondered how he could convince Red to sit on his lap. If there were any way he could join her on the sofa, he would have. Stupid broken leg.
“How do you know that?”
“He’s waggling four fingers. Then three taps to his thigh.”
There was the thigh thing again. Tag would like to waggle something against one of Red’s thighs.
“I don’t get it.”
Oh, he’d love to give it to her. Again. And before the game was over.
“Four fingers is a changeup and an odd number of taps means away. When Wes touched his mask, he indicated to Win that the second set of signals was the pitch. All the other stuff is just to confuse the runner on second.” Wait. When had Seattle gotten a runner on base? “Now stop talking and pay attention to the game.”
“I am paying attention to the game. That’s why I’m asking questions.”
He liked that she didn’t back down. What he didn’t like was the way she’d gotten to know him too well so quickly. Terra never would have picked up on his reluctance to go to the stadium. Too subtle for the woman chasing the extreme story. For the woman Dixon claimed was fucking her brains out at his Halloween orgy when she’d told Tag she was out of the country.
And he still couldn’t summon the energy to waste on being upset either at Terra for lying—if she had—or at Dixon for thinking his relationship with Terra was a weak spot. Especially when he compared his reaction about Terra to what he’d seen Dixon do to Red.
Two batters later, Seattle scored a run.
The score didn’t change. The Gems stranded two runners in the bottom of the seventh inning, but going into the bottom of the ninth, the score was one-nothing, Seattle.
“Hey, Red. How about a kiss for luck?”
She hauled herself off the sofa and sauntered toward him, hips swaying so provocatively, his half-hard cock stirred. The odd thing was she wasn’t trying to seduce him. She probably had no idea just how much she turned him on.
He wrapped his fingers around her slender wrist as she leaned in to kiss him. One gentle tug and she was on his lap.
“That’s better,” he said. And it was.
Until she started squirming against him. Not to get away, but to make herself more comfortable. He pressed his cock against her soft ass.
A wild pitch hit Wes in the arm. He walked to first.
Tag nipped Red’s neck while Seattle’s pitcher shook off his catcher. The Gems’ backup closer was at the plate. One of the reasons he was the backup closer was because he could hit as well as pitch his way out of a jam. Seattle had been burned by him in game four.
Red arched away from Tag’s mouth. “Pay attention to the game,” she said as she reached between them and cupped his balls.
Right.
The first pitch was high and inside. As was the second. The closer swung at the third for his first strike. And all the while, Red was fondling Tag’s erection.
“I’ll get you for this,” he said.
“I’m planning on it,” she replied.
The crack of maple wood against cowhide, a sound Tag alternately loved and hated, stilled Red’s hand and stilled his labored breathing.
The white ball soared against the black night sky. Flew past the infield. Past the outfield. Past the first tier of seats in left field.
Two-run home run. Holy shit.
“Holy shit!”
The Columbia Gems won their first-ever World Series.
Loose Id Titles by MJ Compton
Stealing Home
Summer Fling
The Masks of October
MJ Compton
MJ Compton grew up near Cardiff, New York, a place best known for its giant.
Although her 30-year career in local television included such highlights as being bitten by a lion, preempting a US President for a college basketball game, giving a three-time world champion boxer a few black eyes, a mention
in the Drudge Report, and meeting her husband, MJ’s urge to create her own stories never went away.
MJ still lives in upstate New York with her husband. She’s a member of Romance Writers of America and Central New York Romance Writers. Music and cooking are two of her passions, and she enjoys baseball and college basketball, but she’s primarily focused on wine…and writing.