by J. M. Maurer
Defeated in more ways than one, I take a moment to stare down at the ground, then lift my sight to the blue skies, which only serve to remind me of Addison’s eyes. Weak in the knees from the memory of everything about her, I plop down in the grass and let the midday sun warm my shoulders. While I sit there, my barely beating heart pauses several beats, just as my neighbor’s yell barrels its way across the lawn and hits my ears. Why can’t she just leave me alone?
“I see you haven’t completely lost it. Though the choice of clothing does make me wonder. Bender, what in blue blazes is wrong with you?”
I twist, meeting the sharp gaze of an old woman who appears as ticked off as I am, and sigh. “Are you this nosy with everyone who shows up at Mike’s house, or just with me?”
“Just you. And I’m about to crack one over your head for throwing without a proper warm-up. You know better than that, Bender.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Like hell it doesn’t matter. You wanna get back on the mound, don’t you? ’Cause the way I see it, there ain’t nobody out there who’s better than you.”
“You know nothing, nosy neighbor.”
“Maybe so, but I can read. And there ain’t no other chatter out there about a breaking ball that behaves like yours. The proof’s in the numbers. They’re your numbers. You can’t tell me you don’t know exactly how many batters you’ve sat down.”
“The proof is history. And I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Your prerogative. But ya best be tellin’ me what you got goin’ on here. ’Round these parts, a grown man hangin’ in his backyard in a tight pair of see-through briefs ain’t right. You got neighbors who’ll call the cops, ya know.”
“Let them call.”
“You don’t mean that any more’n you can get me to believe you don’t wanna ring on your finger. Get up, dust yourself off for Christ’s sake, and show me how all these fancy gadgets work. I admit you’re pretty entertaining, Bender, but you need to get your head on straight, your feet back on the mound, and your golden arm putting splinters in your opponents’ backsides. Go on. You run through a proper warm-up so I don’t have to whack you a good one. I’ll go get us a few beers. I have a feeling I’m going to need ’em.”
As my unsolicited and unofficial off-season trainer tricks her knees up the steps off the back porch and into Mike’s house like she knows her way around, I move to check the video camera and try to cajole my brain into remembering the lady’s name. But for the life of me, nothing in my file cabinet matches the old woman’s face. I don’t give it much additional thought and follow her advice instead, starting with a deep cleansing breath before moving through a series of arm-care warm-ups I’ve been trained to do since I was a little kid.
From somewhere behind me, the most beautiful tone I’ve ever heard fills the air. Two words. One voice. And it immediately comforts my aching heart.
“Mrs. Tinley.”
My heart hammers into overdrive. My body heats up with need. I’d recognize her voice anywhere, any time, any day. The pleasant chime vibrates my being right down to my soul. Always lifts with the perfect pitch out of those kissable lips of hers.
I’m not sure if she’s caught sight of me holding my pose on one foot, but before she called out, I was just about to let loose another pitch. Balanced and focused, I could stay like this all day. But knowing she’s there, I draw my arm back and let it rip, certain to locate my fastball where I want it, which is up and in. I only wish I could tell the other guy in her life to back off and step away. I need him out of this game so I can move Addison into my batter’s box and claim her as my own.
Since I can’t tell him to take a hike, I watch the red numbers flash 103. I’m not sure if I’ve impressed Addison, but at least now I know my nosy neighbor’s name.
One final crunch of the grass tells me Addison’s stopped somewhere in the yard. I can’t stop myself from turning around. Her pull on me is strong.
Meeting her soft gaze I notice the puffiness under her eyes. Either she’s putting on some strange baby weight or she’s been doing a lot of crying.
“Addison.”
“Ben,” she replies; the softness in her voice sets fire to my insides. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Mrs. Tinley wanted me to bring her…” She trails off, taking a moment to let her eyes roam up and down my body. She shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, then drapes an arm across her belly. “Well, anyway,” she says, finding my eyes. “It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t seem to be home. Would you mind giving her the keys to her Gator when she shows up? I parked it out front.”
Gator? Hmm. I know a thing or two about them. Namely, what I look like while being unconscious in the back before being transported to an ICU. But with Addison standing in front of me with a dress hugging her curves in all the right places, I don’t want to talk about utility vehicles and I’ve all but forgotten about my neighbor.
I’m in awe of her beauty. She definitely has a glow. I can’t stop drinking her in or stop wishing I could sift my fingers through the soft strands of brown hair that’s lightened up from the sun. Even more, I miss the way her full lips curl into a smile, the sound of her giggling, and the way she enjoys life when she’s goofing around. Truth is, I miss everything about her. Have since I got in my truck last spring and drove with my head in the clouds all the way back home.
Today she seems different. I suspect my behavior this morning might be the cause. There’s an overriding pain in her eyes that seemingly won’t let her enjoy the moment. I can’t stand to see her looking so sad. An apology seems in order.
“Addy, I’m sorry about this morning. I wasn’t expecting—” I stop mid thought, my mind at a complete loss for words.
Expecting. I wasn’t prepared to see the love of my life expecting a child, that’s what.
“Apology accepted.” She flashes me a wavering smile. It’s as if she’s trying to lighten the mood. “What ‘cha doing back here? I didn’t expect I’d ever see you again.”
She says the word “expect” in a lighthearted way. I love it, just as much as I suspect I love the woman in front of me. But I can’t have her. She’s clearly got a baby on the way. And by the looks of things, she could push out a perfect clone of herself just about any day.
Even with the evidence standing right there before me, for some reason, I don’t much care about the obvious. I want her in my arms. I want her arms around me. I want her in my bed where I can give her my offspring.
I lift my hat, smooth back the mess of hair at the top of my head, and return my cap in a fit of hidden anger I don’t want Addison seeing. The glint in her soft blue eyes works like a charm to calm my soul.
“I’ll answer your question if you’ll answer mine,” I say, watching as she waddles a little closer and then takes a seat on one of the steps.
“It might be a bit of a challenge for me to talk with you while you’re tossing a ball in your backyard barely dressed. But I’m game. Though I think I’ll sit here on the sideline if you don’t mind.”
She can do whatever she wants. I’m just happy she’s agreed to have a conversation with me. I sneak a peek at her belly, focusing on it while I splice my thoughts together.
“So.” I nod, looking down at her belly. “When’s the big day?”
At my question, she lifts her brows and spreads her fingers across her abdomen. It’s like she’s protecting the precious bundle growing inside her. “The big day.”
She repeats my words. The entire sight makes me want to remove her hand and spread mine over the rounded belly that looks so perfect on her. But I fight the urge to touch her in an attempt to respect what isn’t mine.
She rubs a tight circle with her hand. “Not for a while. If I actually deliver on my due date, the big day, as you say it, won’t be until the beginning of January. But that rarely happens. Babies come when they come.” She shrugs and tosses me a tiny smile. “Okay, your turn to answer my question.”
I’d answer, but I
haven’t a clue what the heck it was she asked. At the moment, I’m mentally cataloging the significance of early January and staring at her beauty.
She must read my mind because she raises her brows, then goes about gesturing with her hand and pointing at things around the yard. “What’s going on back here? That was a pretty impressive number you hit. And don’t think you pulled one by me. I know you knew I was watching.”
I almost laugh, and would if I were in a better mood. Instead of telling her what I’m doing, I grab the camera to show her instead. After rewinding, I sit next to her on the step, selfishly let my leg brush against hers, and grow intoxicated by the simplicity of her clean vanilla scent. I know I shouldn’t do it. But I’m a man. A man who dreamed a thousand times I’d take her into my arms and kiss her breathless until the end of time.
That’s how our reunion was supposed to go. At least that’s how it played out all summer long in my head. Now I’m ticked off. I wanted so badly to make those images real.
I blink through a burst of sadness and turn the screen of the camcorder. After I ask if she can see it, Addison nods and moves in closer. Taking her time, she appears to analyze the scene and seems way more interested than I would have thought any woman would be.
When the clip’s over she straightens her spine and leans away, then cocks her head and turns those beautiful blues toward me. “You video yourself throwing?”
She’s asked a question, but the slight distance she’s put between us with her movement makes me want to pull her back in. I need her close, where I can secretly take in everything about her I possibly can.
She scratches her head, peering back at me as if she’s aware of what I’m thinking. “Wouldn’t it make a lot more sense to do it completely naked? I think you’re missing some of the most important muscle complexes doing it this way.”
She up and winks; the sexy sight makes me dizzy as all the blood I got pumping through my body seemingly chooses this moment to pool deep in my groin. I’m as hard as a baseball bat and feel the need to move my hands to hide my reaction. But there’s no way my underpants are going to contain this one.
Captivated by everything about her, I delve deeper into her gaze, my eyes draw in on her as if she’s the sea I want to swim in. She’s so dang smart. Brighter than any girl I’ve known.
Before I completely lose myself, I offer up an explanation to her question. “That’s how I usually video my training sessions, at least when I’m searching for any minute correction I can make to make me better than the next guy stepping up on the mound. But since at least a dozen homes are within eyesight, I’m guessing they can also see me. I don’t want to get arrested for being some kind of perv. It’s not like Willow Run’s busting at the seams with Major League baseball pitchers.”
“So you’re a professional pitcher.” She says it as more of a statement, then, as if suddenly confused, scrunches her brows real tight.
Taking a moment, she scans the logo on my hat. I can see the cogs turning away in her mind. She also seems to be doing her own bit of memorizing.
“I guess I should have asked you last spring. I noticed the hat. Sorry if I didn’t catch something you might have said.”
“We were busy having too much fun to talk baseball. Besides, last spring was filled with all sorts of fun activities I’d never tried before.” Not to mention passion like I never knew was possible. But I don’t mention the last truth to Addison.
“Well, we should have at least exchanged last names. But I get it now.” She rocks her body to stand. “Anyway, if you need a more secluded spot to video yourself just let me know. I’m sure I can point you in the direction of a few places.”
She seems ready to leave, but I’m not through with her just yet. Heck, what am I saying? I won’t ever get my fill of this woman.
“You got some place to be?” I ask, then slap a virtual palm to my forehead. Of course she does. There’s a lucky sucker someplace out there just ready and waiting.
“I should probably let you get back to throwing. I really didn’t mean to interrupt. If you could get Mrs. Tinley’s keys back to her, I’d appreciate it.”
She bows her head and turns to walk away. Aching to spend more time with her, I clasp a tight hold around her wrist and silently beg her to stay. My hand slips between her fingers like it has a mind of its own and just as easily as it did when I had trouble letting go last spring. But something feels off, and I’m not certain what it is. Then it hits me like I’ve just learned I’m holding all the correct numbers to the winning lottery ticket.
With her left hand in mine, I caress her skin, rubbing my thumb back and forth across the bare spot where a ring would circle her finger. I lock in on her blue eyes, seeing a storminess I need to calm, and will myself the courage needed to ask her my next question.
“Addy, are you married?”
Her shoulders deflate quicker than a needle popping a balloon. She turns away and gently shakes her head.
“No.” Her one-word reply is laced with sadness as her chin hits her chest. “No, I’m not married.”
A mixture of emotions blasts through me in a flash, taking control of my thoughts until confusion settles in. Before I know it, Addison’s soft hand slips from my grip. She’s taking several steps forward while I can’t seem to move. Frozen in my spot, I watch in shock as her tall curvy form turns the corner between the two properties, and then promptly scurries onward and out of my sight.
This must be how Mrs. Tinley feels when her knees don’t obey her commands. But somehow I need to get to Addison. I can’t let her walk away.
Not now.
Not ever.
Suddenly, there’s so much more I need to know.
Chapter Five
Addison
The nerve of him. How can he not realize this baby’s his?
As a baseball player, has he had so many women he thinks I’m as easy as all of them? Well, Mr. Pitcher in your barely there white britches, I got news for you. And I’m centering it in big bold words, right on the front page of every newspaper I can.
I am not one of your ladies of the evening.
But I guess last spring I was. It’s no wonder that’s exactly how the majority of the townsfolk see me.
Whatever they think, I am not easy. Unwed? Yes. But I’m definitely not easy.
Though as much as I try and tell myself this, my hormones defy me, producing yet another round of tears that sting as they fall down both cheeks.
Addison, what were you thinking? Why did you ever sleep with him?
I couldn’t help it. I wanted him as much as I thought he truly wanted me. Except now it’s clear. I was nothing more than another strikeout on a warm, sunny day. Another K for his bedpost. Just another number among his long list of vaginal statistics.
Grrrr.
Why do hormones make you stupid? I no sooner ask myself the question than Ben’s sharp, deep voice slaps me from behind.
“Addison.”
I continue forward until his tall form circles in front of me, preventing me from fleeing. Face to face, he palms my shoulders and sucks in a few breaths. Too upset to look at him, I lock in on several beads of sweat that glisten on his chest in the midday sun.
Warm fingers lift my chin, effectively putting a halt to my staring, and pause when my line of sight is level with his. “We need to talk.”
Talk? I shake my head and break from his hold, ordering my legs to take me home as fast as they can go. Ben quickly moves in at my side, his long legs easily matching my pace.
I keep walking, catching myself stealing a glance at Ben’s toned body. I know he’s not mine. But dang it. He really needs to put on some clothes, because as much as I enjoy seeing him like this, I don’t need half the town talking about his mostly naked body.
“Ben.” My anger spews out, ramping up a notch in my voice. “Go grab a beer. Take the boat out. Go fishing. Heck, I don’t care. Just go. Go and do something to enjoy the beautiful day.”
And whi
le you’re at it, go right ahead and forget you ever knew me.
Of course I can’t bear to tell him that. Inside, that’s far from what I really want.
Ben cuts me off, stepping in front of me so I have to stop or face the consequences of playing a one-sided game of bumper bellies with him.
I don’t look up. If I do, the thought of not having him in my life is going to make me cry.
He lifts my chin again and swipes the pads of his thumbs across my cheeks. Once done, he shifts my sight to his. “Addy, why are you crying?”
Why am I crying? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you have no clue what you were doing just six short months ago. Maybe because, like the whole town of Willow Run, you, too, think I’m a sleaze. Maybe, just maybe, it’s because I can’t bear to ruin your life. Nope. There won’t be any tabloids at the grocery telling everyone about a baby MLB pitcher Ben didn’t plan for. And the biggest reason for my tears, because I might as well get it off my chest, might be that I’m certain, in some crazy way, that I love you and you don’t love me back.
I shrug my shoulders, praying the tears will stop streaming down my cheeks. “Hormones,” I admit. “It’s just the hormones. Sometimes they get the best of me.”
Ben cocks his head, his sad eyes full of concern. “I’m not buying it, Addison. Not one stinking bit.”
I wipe my eyes and paste on a smile merely to placate him. “I’ve been on my feet for most of the day. My bladder knows the coordinates of every available restroom within a fifty-mile radius. Unfortunately, the closest one is still another mile up the road.” There, that ought to shut him up.
“Apparently your bladder is missing a hot spot. I happen to know of one that’s super clean and available just for you. Please come back with me, Addy. We can catch up over dinner. I’ll even make your favorite Cajun chicken kabobs on the grill.”
